Two Cuts Darker
By Joely Sue Burkhart
The explosive follow-up to Joely Sue Burkhart’s darkly erotic thriller One Cut Deeper
Life on the run with an assassin hasn’t been what Ranay thought it would be. In fact, parts of it more closely resemble a sex-fueled vacation—until duty calls. The FBI believe Charlie’s brother is working for a human trafficking ring, and Charlie is the only one who can bring him down.
Charlie fears Vincent has become a murderous monster like their father. He owes a mercy to the brother he remembers, the one who’d never want to be an uncontrollable killer. But Charlie has never had to kill someone he loves. Not even to save them from a dark, inherited curse.
Killing his brother might be enough to push him over the edge.
Enough to ruin everything he’s built with Ranay.
* * *
As a bodyguard for the Vlasenko bratva, the very cruelest arm of the Russian mob, Vincent Gyres has seen and survived the worst the world has to offer. Former Special Forces, ex-CIA and a past inmate at Russia’s most brutal prison, he’s earned his reputation. They call him Ghost because he’s already dead inside.
Madison “Mads” Archer’s hatred for scumbags who traffic in human lives is personal—her sister was taken when the girls were just children. Now Madison’s on a joint FBI task force, deep undercover as a sex slave. It’s a small price to pay to see the Vlasenko bratva taken down.
A violent criminal like Vincent Gyres doesn’t make a trustworthy ally, regardless of his CIA background. But Mads will use anyone and anything to stop the taking of another innocent young girl’s life. Vincent’s invitation to her to play his submissive in order to get closer to the leader isn’t the problem. Trusting him, wanting him...loving him is.
Carina Press acknowledges the editorial services of Alissa Davis.
87,390 words
Dear Reader,
If there’s one thing we have learned from the kickass heroines of the fiction we read and publish, it’s that you should always be in control of your own happiness. And, if you’re reading this, I’m guessing you’re like me and books make you happy. So this February, during Valentine’s month, instead of waiting for someone to put some romance in your life, go ahead and do it for yourself: buy yourself all the books!
Shannon Stacey always brings a fantastic blend of humor, heroes and sigh-worthy romance, and her novella A Fighting Chance is no different. All work and no play makes Adeline Kendrick a dull girl, so when she heads to a casino resort for a friend’s bachelorette weekend, she’s ready to have a good time. Until she runs into Brendan Quinn, professional fighter and the one who got away—the one her family drove away—and things take a turn for the interesting. When the weekend is over, Adeline isn’t ready to give up her second chance that easily.
An unexpected fresh start leads to an unlikely—but absolutely perfect—pairing in Getting Him Back, a male/male contemporary romance from bestselling gay romance author K.A. Mitchell. Ethan may have followed his high school sweetheart to college only to get dumped his first day there, but he’s not going to let that stop him. And then there’s Wyatt. Mysterious, grouchy...hot. And possibly not gay. New college goal? Get Wyatt into bed and into Ethan’s life.
In Anna del Mar’s debut romantic suspense, The Asset, a woman fleeing from her sinister past must defy her fears and risk her life to care for a wounded warrior, a SEAL who will push the limits of his broken body and protect her to his very last breath. Don’t miss this first Wounded Warrior novel.
If you’re looking for a melt-your-panties hot erotic romance read, look no further than Wolf’s Ascension by Lauren Dane. Attacked by werewolves. Mated to the Alpha. Declared a queen. Kari is having an unusual day. In the Cherchez wolf pack, loyalty is earned, not given. For Andreas, the pull he feels toward Kari cannot be ignored, a physical bond immediate and unbreakable—though Andreas wants to win Kari’s heart as well as her body. And be sure to watch for book two, Sworn to the Wolf, on sale in March 2016.
In the explosive follow-up to Joely Sue Burkhart’s darkly erotic romance One Cut Deeper, life on the run with an assassin isn’t what Ranay thought it would be. In fact, parts of it more closely resemble a sex-fueled vacation—until duty calls. The FBI believe Charlie’s brother is working for a human trafficking ring, and Charlie is the only one who can bring him down. Two Cuts Darker brings you back into the world of dark romance but delivers the same satisfying happy ending.
The only doctor who can stop a man-made killer flu couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn with a grenade launcher—so his bodyguard, Sergeant Ali Stone, has her work cut out for her in Viral Justice, the last book in the Biological Response Team romantic suspense trilogy by Julie Rowe. And you can still pick up Deadly Strain and Lethal Game wherever Carina Press ebooks are sold!
Tempted to off your significant other for forgetting Valentine’s Day again? Satisfy your more murderous urges with our two mystery offerings this month.
Jonathan Watkins combines mystery with romance in A Devil’s Bargain. Past sins and dark secrets threaten to blow apart the lives and careers of criminal defenders Issabella Bright and Darren Fletcher when their friend, Theresa Winkle, is charged with the vicious murder of a man behind her bar—a man Darren learns is connected to his own family’s corrupt history and to the one case that has haunted him for years. Go back to the beginning of their romance, and indulge in all of the fantastic Bright & Fletcher mysteries now available: Motor City Shakedown, Dying in Detroit and Isolated Judgment.
In Brenda Buchanan’s latest Joe Gale Mystery, Truth Beat, a newspaper reporter struggles with unreliable sources while covering two explosive stories—the apparent murder of a priest who stood up to his church and a spate of increasingly destructive bombings.
Last, this month I’m excited to present a new romantic suspense series that I’ve been highly anticipating from Carina Press author Nico Rosso. Undercover agent Art Diaz had no choice but to drag Chef Hayley Baskov into the world of Russian mobsters, but when her tentative trust turns to full passion he vows to stop at nothing to protect her during the final strike. Be sure to pick up the first in the Black Ops: Automatik series, Countdown to Zero Hour.
So kick off your shoes, curl up in your favorite cozy spot, and treat yourself to a Valentine’s month of books. (When it comes to books, one day of indulgence is never going to be enough.)
And then look forward to next month, with releases from Shannon Stacey in contemporary romance, Dee Carney in paranormal romance and j. leigh bailey in male/male romance.
As always, until next month here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love, remember and recommend.
Happy reading!
Angela James
Editorial Director, Carina Press
Dedication
For my beloved sis
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
/> Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Excerpt from One Cut Deeper by Joely Sue Burkhart
Acknowledgments
Also by Joely Sue Burkhart
About the Author
About One Cut Deeper
About the Bad for You Series
Writing for Carina
Copyright
Chapter One
Cable Beach, Nassau, Bahamas
Vincent
“He’ll kill ’em all before you could get the safety off,” the driver said to the other man in the front seat. Then he shot Vincent a look over his shoulder. “There’s at least ten. They’re dealing coke on Vlasenko’s turf. You know what to do.”
Vincent gave a grunt of acknowledgment but didn’t bother with words. He didn’t even know the driver’s name. No need. The man was interchangeable with the other men in the bratva who took their orders from the boss but knew nothing more than required for his job. No use to Vincent whatsoever.
Time to get to work. Make himself useful to the boss. Try to get closer. So he could get the hell out. He started to get out of the car, but the man in the passenger seat, Luka, called out after him. “Yo, G. What time should I put my money on in the pool?”
Vincent stared at him a moment. As the bottom man on the totem pole, Luka took a lot of shit from the others. He was about as suited for this business as a snot-nosed kid.
The man paled and turned back around in his seat, pretending he hadn’t opened his mouth. All of Vlasenko’s men were scared shitless of him. Especially Luka, the useless one. But that hadn’t been Vincent’s intention, at least this time. So he answered, “Five minutes.”
The driver slapped the other man on the shoulder. “No fucking way.”
“You heard him. I’m putting a hundred on five minutes.”
“I’ll take that action.”
Shutting the car door, Vincent studied his target. The bungalow sat back from the quiet road, dwarfed by overgrown trees and shrubs that hadn’t seen a pruning shear in at least a decade. The only other houses up the street bore heavy hurricane damage and looked abandoned. Nobody’d be calling for police.
He’d already checked over his weapons before leaving Vlasenko’s headquarters at the Royal Reefs hotel. His favorite Glock, a backup, spare cartridges for both, six small throwing knives and one larger blade for any up-close kills he had to make. Quick, easy, in and out. Should’ve told Luka three minutes.
He slipped off the road into the heavy foliage, quickly making his way alongside the house. Lights shone from the front windows. Four rooms, no upstairs, cellar with brand-new steel doors and a shiny lock. Television in the front room. Sports game, soccer, two—no, three—men cheering. Vincent smelled cheap beer. Through a bay window, he saw five men around a table playing cards. One of them said, “And that’s when she told me to go all in, baby,” as he threw his cards down on the table, and the rest of the men roared with laughter. Someone fucked in the tiny back bedroom, the man grunting energetically. At the back of the house, a stoop. Two guards. Smoking cigars—good ones, by the rich tobacco scent. Eleven targets.
Best to start quietly. He unsheathed the knife. Long years in the Special Forces made it easy for him to stalk his quarry, using the shadows to get so close he could smell their sweat. The first man fell off the railing gasping through a puncture in his lung and heart. Vincent grabbed the second man’s arm as he reached for his gun, spun him around and broke his neck.
He slipped into the back room, a tiny, dingy kitchen. Smelled like smoke and old grease. A rickety table in the corner sagged beneath the bags of cocaine and cash. He eased down the narrow hallway, skipping the bedroom for now. Keeping the knife in his right hand, he pulled out the Glock with his left.
The first two fell before anyone managed to clear their chairs, let alone reach for a weapon. He stepped to the side and put his back to the wall, just in case the loud grunter heard the ruckus and decided to finish early. He shot the third in the chest. The man closest to him threw a beer at his head and crawled under the table. The fifth man managed to get a wild shot off before Vincent nailed him.
The three television watchers charged into the room. They’d probably expected him to take cover, but he always took the fight to his prey. He sprinted toward them, not giving them time to get a bead on him. Time seemed to slow. He registered their faces, the way their expressions changed from anger to slack-jawed shock as the bullets slammed into the first two. The third man whirled away, racing toward the front of the house. Vlasenko’s men could get him, but Vincent didn’t care to leave a job unfinished.
Pain seared his left shoulder, spoiling his shot, which went wide of his target. He threw the big knife instead, catching the man in the back. Blood dripped down Vincent’s arm and it felt like someone had doused him in kerosene and lit him up like a bonfire. He shuddered. The scent of his own blood sent his pulse skyrocketing. The fierce thudding of his heart echoed like a drumbeat in his skull. Instant rush.
Jacked up on adrenaline, he whirled and found the man who’d hidden beneath the table taking aim at him again. He strode toward him, ignoring the frantic shots the man squeezed off. The man scrambled away, tripping over the broken plates and glasses that had been on the table. Vincent grabbed a handful of his hair and dragged him toward the back room. The couple who’d been squeaking the bed had suddenly gone quiet. Vincent threw the man ahead of him, sending him sprawling on the bedroom floor. A gun fired inside, taking care of that target.
Vincent charged into the room and threw himself down low, skidding across the floor. A few shots went off, one close enough that he felt it whiz by his head, but now he had the shooter’s location. The man had selected a good spot behind the door in the darkest corner, away from the exterior windows.
With his blood scenting the air, Vincent didn’t want a quick kill. Instead, he wanted to get his hands dirty. He holstered the Glock and went after the man with his fists and feet. He kicked the weapon aside. Took out the man’s knee. Broke his nose. Yelling, the man dived for his gun. Vincent grabbed one of the short blades and jammed it in between his ribs. Hot blood poured over his hand and the man collapsed, wheezing, helplessly reaching toward his back as if he could stem the stream.
The man lay broken on the floor, gasping as his lungs filled with blood. He’d drown before he bled out.
A small noise made him whip his head around, hand automatically reaching down to pull out another small blade. Huddled on the bed beneath the blankets, a lump shivered. He jerked the blankets back.
So young. If she was sixteen, he’d give his Glock to Luka.
She scrambled across the bed, grabbed the lamp and threw it at his head. It shattered against the wall, but splinters of glass hit him hard enough to add a few new cuts on his bare forearms and the back of his head. He lunged after her, grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her head back, baring her throat.
Knife in hand. Breathing hard. Every instinct in him screamed with urgency. Blood, so sweet, so hot. He couldn’t focus. He could smell her fear and the stink of
her body. Dirt and bruises smudged her skin. Her hair was a tangled snarl, so filthy he couldn’t tell its color. Beaten and likely raped by these men, she still trembled in his grasp and the whites of her eyes flashed in the gloom. She still managed to be terrified. Of him.
Worse, her fear made the beast in him sit up and sniff the air. The predator had been fully activated.
Prey acquired.
She whimpered, her eyes flashing with terror.
Vincent growled beneath his breath. An electric jolt shot through her body and she jerked frantically against him, fighting his grip. Wrong thing to do. This monster liked to play. Arms flailing, she managed to scratch a bleeding furrow down his forearm. His nostrils flared, his heart rate spiked higher and his fingers spasmed on the blade. A cut bloomed on her skin. Not a deadly wound, but her blood welled with invitation. He could paint the room in red.
Panting, he tossed her back on the bed and he rushed outside. He breathed deeply, letting the cool night air bank some of the fire searing him to ash. Too close. He’d almost lost control and killed an innocent. A woman. He’d killed plenty of times. People who’d deserved it, or at least been targeted by the government. But he’d never killed an innocent.
He could have killed the last man cleanly and quickly, but he’d left him gasping on the floor like a beached fish to slowly drown in his own blood. Then he’d nearly slaughtered a girl who’d probably been forced into prostitution at an age when she should have still been playing with dolls.
Too far. He’d gone too far. With as many kills as he’d made for Vlasenko, it’d been inevitable. He’d cross the line eventually. And once a man crossed that line, even in his head...
One of Vlasenko’s men slapped him on the shoulder as he passed. One by one, others went inside to strip the house of weapons and goods. Then they’d torch it. Message sent to the small-time rivals, loud and clear. Fuck with Vlasenko, and he’d send his best enforcer to wipe them out and torch their place.
Laughing like a kid in a candy store, Luka paused in front of him with a wad of cash. “Thanks, G. I made a killing tonight. Five grand in four minutes flat.”
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