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Arsenic is playing a dangerous game, but one with hefty payout—Red Wolf’s head on a platter.
For more than a decade, she’s worked in the shadows. From soft physical protection assignments for young royals to information gathering from hardened criminals to living a double, sometimes triple life in order to get the job done, Addison “Arsenic” Leeds gives her loyalty to one man—her brother. In her world, the ends always justify the means, so when they need to ferret out the last double agent within the Elite Metal ranks, she accepts the assignment to be recruited to his cause, to play double and turn the double.
For months, she’s ventured down the route. When her target finally trusts her with a key piece of information, she goes rogue, knowing full well that when she descends down the rabbit hole, it will take a Mad Hatter to pull her out. A job she entrusts to the only other man who can lay claim to her heart—Sam Reese, the loose cannon her brother despises, and the only man as crazy as she is. Whether he accepts her invitation or not, that’s a gamble.
Prologue
Arsenic didn’t slow down as she walked through the facility, spending two bullets for every man who got in her way. Nothing would be allowed to impede her progress to the computer room. Ricky had been showing his setup off earlier, so convinced he only needed an old fashioned key lock to keep the hackers out. Two bullets into the lock dispensed with his myth. Inside, Uranium and his so-called partner stared at her, shock etched into their faces.
“Good evening, boys. Thank you for all of your assistance.” These were the last words either man would ever hear. Two bullets for Uranium, followed by two more for his compatriot, Ricky. The fucking mole in the state department was nothing but a damn cog in the wheel, but he’d held Uranium’s leash, and for that, he had to go. After checking the loader in her Glock 17, she stepped over their downed bodies and retrieved the thumb drive from the computer.
It held all the information she needed to get to The Right Dishonorable Robert Carlisle, Earl of Bonneville—Red Wolf. Ricky spent an hour gloating over his invitation into the inner circle—all he had to do was deliver the information on that thumb drive.
Information men would kill for, and—as she glanced at the still warm corpses on the floor—men would die for. Elsewhere in the compound, an alarm began to blast. Her absence had been noticed.
Opening her clutch, she removed the lighter. Giving the bottom a twist, she flipped open the top then tossed it onto the bodies before exiting. She walked confidently, her pistol at her side. Most men, when they saw a woman in a pretty dress, never looked in her hands. In fact, it was the last place they looked.
At the end of the hallway, she opened the door to the patio and stepped outside. An explosion rocked the building. Guards standing at the stone railing overlooking the tropical gardens raced toward it. Girls, half-dressed, screamed as they raced away.
Arsenic kept walking, it was very much time for her to exit stage left. Another spate of gunfire echoed behind her, then a very Russian voice yelled, “Prival!”
Pivoting, she turned and blinked her eyes at the nervous guard pointing a gun at her. “I’m sorry, luv. I don’t speak Ruskie.”
Her nonplussed response had the desired effect; he lowered his gun a fraction. Her bullet hit him in the gut, and when he stumbled and dropped, her second went right between the eyes. “Cheers.”
The three more guards that entered the courtyard she took out conservatively—one bullet apiece. A second explosion, courtesy of the cleaning supplies she’d blended together before going to find Uranium and his cohort, ripped through the side of the compound.
More shouts ahead of her. Ricky’s security might not be well trained, but he certainly had a lot of them. Damn inconvenient of the bastard. Sliding her hand into her purse, she pulled out the cigarettes. Taking one between her lips, she tugged the filter free then tossed the slim explosive as the first lot made it to the top of the steps.
The grenade cleared the path for her, and she picked her way past the pile, then down the long set of stone steps to the beach. It took another two cigarettes for her to make it to the sand. Pausing at the edge, she wrapped the thumb drive in the case, pulling it tight to seal it. It was watertight, and it would need to be if she had to swim. Next, she taped it between her breasts.
Checking the load on her gun, she frowned. Only three bullets left. She was rapidly running out of options. A figure appeared above her and leapt down, catching her about the waist and sending her flying. They tumbled together before she made it to her feet. Her heels sinking into the sand had her off balance. The scar-faced bastard surged to his feet right behind her. Despite his monstrous size, he moved lightly. Great, she’d found the damn bodyguard.
Avoiding his blows, she tucked and rolled, then slammed her foot into the back of his knee. He went down with a roar, but caught her leg and flung her. She tumbled, then rolled over and landed on all fours. Her gun, however, wasn’t so lucky. It landed in the sand between them.
She could handle herself in basic hand-to-hand combat, but hand-to-bloody-mountain didn’t appeal. Kicking off her heels, she fit her palms into them and began the dance. The heels worked like blunt blades, cutting and slicing where she managed to score.
Roaring like a wounded bull, he got his arms around her and squeezed. All the air went out of her lungs. Slamming her shoes into his neck, it took three firm jabs until one finally penetrated his thick neck.
Instead of dropping her, he slammed her into the beach. Anyone who thought sand was soft had never been thrown into it by a bear of a man with the strength of an ox. His next blow caught her in the shoulder and damn near dislocated her arm. Rolling onto her knees, she slammed her foot into his crotch.
Staggered, he kept coming.
A second blow, and he yowled like a wounded animal, but he didn’t slow. Grasping her purse, she fumbled for the cigarettes, one left—popping the filter off, she hit him in the balls one more time then threw the cigarette at him. Scrabbling on hands and knees, she rushed to her feet and raced away from him. The explosion sent her flying, and she hit the surf.
Ears ringing, body bruised, she lay face down as the surf washed over her. Some distant part of her brain knew not to breathe, then reality surfaced with her, and she shoved upward. Above, the compound burned, belching huge, black clouds of smoke.
A helicopter circled and then dove in rapid descent right for the beach. She’d been spotted.
“Bugger all.” She fought to stand. If they took her out now, then she would go out on her feet. The helicopter didn’t quite land, but hovered right above the sand. The wind from the rotors staggered her, then the door opened.
“Well, come on then, you stupid git.”
God help her, the one bastard she’d wanted to get the message had. Not hesitating, she ran for the copter.
Chapter 1
36 hours earlier…
