#Book Blitz #The Snowman's Sweetheart by Shanna Hatfield #Contemporary Romance @Xpresso Book Tours31/1/2022
The Snowman’s Sweetheart
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo -- EXCERPT: As they reached the parking garage, Sierra followed Jenn over to her parking space, only to find Rob Kohl, Jenn’s boyfriend, waiting for them in his SUV. “Hey, Sierra!” he said, hopping out and opening the back of the vehicle. “Isn’t this great?” Sierra scowled at Jenn, furious she’d invited her boyfriend to join them for a weekend they’d been planning for months. “What, exactly, is going on?” “Rob got time off from work, too, and is joining us,” Jenn said, practically squealing with joy. Sierra had visions of spending the entire trip watching Jenn and Rob making lovey-dovey eyes and kissy-faces to each other. Although they were always good to include her in activities, she often felt like an unwanted third wheel when she was around them. She certainly didn’t need to feel that way on a vacation that was supposed to be a time for her and Jenn to relax and have fun. She tossed the interloper a blistering scowl. “I’ll stay home. You two go.” She started backing away from the vehicle. “No! You’re going,” Jenn said, handing her things to Rob, then grabbing Sierra’s arm before she could make an escape. “Rob surprised me this morning with the news he was free to go with us. I knew you’d do this, try to back out of it if you knew he was coming along, but you are going on this trip, and you are going to have fun!” Rob chuckled. “You can’t force her to go or have fun, Miss Bossy.” He winked at Jenn, then looked at Sierra. “But we really do want you to go, Sierra. Please? I promise we’ll both be on our best behavior. If you refuse to go, then I’m the one who’ll stay behind.” Sierra rolled her eyes. She wanted to refuse and storm off in a fit of anger, but Rob was truly a nice guy. And if he said he’d stay behind, he would, even if it was painfully obvious how much he wanted to go. She couldn’t very well march off in a snit after his offer to remain behind. Though she was disappointed her girls’ weekend with Jenn had just morphed into something entirely different.
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Between
-- EXCERPT: As the sounds of the conversation finished drawing me out of my slumber, I stirred and opened my eyes. I was lying in bed in my room at home. The golden sunlight of late afternoon was streaming in through the window at my right, casting a glow upon three people who stood at the foot of my bed. The people were talking amongst themselves, seeming not to notice that I was watching them. Ignoring the dull ache in my head, I pushed myself up to a seated position. “Kade?” I mumbled in weary confusion, rubbing my eyes. “Is that you?” All three of them snapped their heads in my direction. I stared back. I didn’t recognize the other two members of the trio, but the person who stood farthest to the right was definitely Kade, the same hot-guy hallucination I had seen when I drowned the evening prior. As before, Kade wore a gray t-shirt and jeans, and his dark hair was slightly tousled. This time, though, Kade’s brow was furrowed in a way I didn’t like. A sense of apprehension crept over me. Something was wrong—something even more wrong than the fact that I was apparently experiencing auditory and visual hallucinations, that is. 
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Charming
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: Sighing, I thought about my brother. I’d gotten a new phone with a different number. I didn’t delude myself into thinking he couldn’t reach me. He had people who could track me down, give him my number, or do pretty much anything else he asked. And yet he hadn’t… I had to wonder why. What are you up to, Specter? “Stop daydreaming, Dakota,” my boss barked from farther down the bar. I gave him a salute, grabbed the pitcher of beer and mugs, then carried them over to one of my tables. The guys were obnoxious, with way too many grabby hands. I’d already tried moving away multiple times, but it did little good. They latched onto me just the same. Glaring didn’t help either. At one inch shy of being five feet tall, I wasn’t exactly intimidating. Not even to drunk guys who looked barely twenty-one. In fact, I’d wondered if their IDs were fake, but the boss had let them order alcohol. Not my circus, not my monkeys. If the big guy wanted to get in trouble for serving minors, that was all on him. “Can I get you anything else?” I asked. “How about your number?” one of them asked, leering at me. “Nah, we don’t need her number. Why don’t you give us a round of blowjobs?” All of them laughed. I knew the boss wouldn’t take kindly to me dumping a pitcher of beer over their heads, but it was tempting. My hand tightened on the handle as I slowly counted to ten silently, hoping to cool my temper. Before I could even respond, a tall man with scruff along his jaw and a leather cut over his shoulders slammed the guy’s head into the table. “Apologize.” I hadn’t even seen him! Where the hell had he come from? I glanced around and saw several people staring in our direction. The guy pinned to the table didn’t seem so tough now. I got a closer look at the man who’d come to my rescue. My heart skipped a beat, and I wanted to check my chin for drool. Handsome men were a dime a dozen. Even big sexy ones. But something about this one checked all the boxes for me. I’d never really dated much or had a genuine kiss before. I didn’t count the lackluster ones I’d received in the past. Some guys needed to learn to use less tongue. No woman wanted to be slobbered on like a dog was licking them. So why did one look at this guy make me want to press my lips to his? I started to fan myself and stopped. You’re being ridiculous! He’s a stranger. While that was true, I knew his type. Seeing a guy like him get all protective had always been my kryptonite. Well, unless the guy was my brother. Specter just annoyed the crap out of me. But his friends trying to keep me safe? Biggest turn on ever. Not that I’d ever have told him that. And his buddies had never, not even once, tried to hit on me. I eyed the man again, wondering if he was one of the bikers who knew my brother. He’d helped more than one club over the years. If this guy knew Specter, I shouldn’t be lusting after him. Being with him would only end in trouble. The type that left me with an overprotective brother threatening to kill the poor guy, or worse, Specter would try to marry me to the man. Sexy or not, I didn’t want to ride off into the sunset with someone I didn’t know. “S-sorry,” the guy stammered. “We were just giving her a hard time.” I barely contained my snort. Sure. Let’s go with that. The asshole had been groping me and making lewd suggestions since he got here. I didn’t understand why the men always thought the servers were up for grabs. It wasn’t like you bought a beer and got a complimentary blowjob or something. “I’ve been watching the lot of you. If so much as one more finger lands on my girl, I’ll rip your Goddamn hands off and shove them up your asses.” He growled and put more weight on the guy. “Understood?” He got a jerky nod from the guys at the table before he backed off. His? I arched an eyebrow as I watched the hunky man. Since he was saving my ass, I wasn’t about to call him out on his brutish behavior. Not in front of these guys, anyway. Besides, my savior was hot. More than hot. Scorching. Marriage material? No. But… It didn’t mean I couldn’t be tempted to take him home for the night. Being the baby sister of an assassin meant my options had been limited over the years. Well, truthfully, it was worse. I’d had none. “Come on, beautiful,” he said, holding his hand out to me. I glanced at the patches and stitching on his cut. The one that said President gave me a slight pause. I didn’t remember my brother mentioning this club, but what if this guy figured out who I was? Could I risk it? I saw his name… Charming. I bit my lip so I wouldn’t laugh. This guy was anything but Prince Charming. More like Captain Caveman. 
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Wolf Warriors Duet
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: As they spoke, Brandwulfr noticed some of the more aggressive men watching the exchange closely, no doubt listening to every word. He could lose control of the situation as quickly as he’d gained it. “It really doesn’t matter much. You’re here. At my mercy.” When she opened her mouth to say something — probably plead for her life — Brandwulfr mashed his lips against hers in a searing kiss. Plundering her mouth, he slid his tongue inside, taking what she was too stunned to refuse. Miranda trembled beneath his touch, her hands tightening on his wrist and arm. She tried to kick out at him, but he only pressed his body harder against hers, trapping her tightly against the wall. Her fear was a bitter taste, but it was better than letting others think he was at her disposal instead of the other way around. Little whimpers escaped her throat, another bitter taste. Brandwulfr found he wanted this woman whimpering with need, not terror or — worse — disgust. The thought bewildered him. For a man who always knew his course of action, this feeling of indecision was maddening. Against his will, he softened the kiss, coaxing rather than taking. It wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done, but he seemed unable to do otherwise. Before he knew it, he’d loosened his hold on her neck, turning it into more of a caress than a restraint. He knew the moment everything changed for her. Her body still trembled, she still whimpered, but she met the thrust of his tongue with a tentative stroke. In that instant, Brandwulfr knew he’d have Miranda for his own. He inhaled, taking her scent deeply into his lungs, secure in the knowledge there was nowhere she could go that he couldn’t find her. She might be the daughter of his enemy, but she would be his. As he ended the kiss, Brandwulfr held her gaze. Her eyes were slightly glazed but wary. Her gaze flickered from his eyes to his lips as if she wanted more, but her attention was immediately back on his eyes and her face flamed. Again, fear poured off her in waves, the smell turning from the sweet scent of budding arousal to the bitter taint of fear. “Why did you do that?” Her question was asked so softly, Brandwulfr was certain even the shifters nearby couldn’t hear her. It was almost as if she didn’t realize she’d actually spoken. Everything in him ached to be gentle with her, screamed at him that she wasn’t like him and needed him to be tender, careful. Unfortunately, the situation dictated otherwise. He couldn’t show weakness, couldn’t afford to actually care about her. “You see all those men watching you? The ones in this cell and the ones across the corridor? Nearly every cell in this place is connected by tunnels. The second I leave you or turn my back, every man here will be after you. And without my protection, they will get you. Do you know what they’d do to you?” “I have a pretty good idea,” she muttered. She shook violently now, her body quivering against his with equal parts fear and arousal. That feminine scent of need called to Brandwulfr on a primal level, one that was nearly impossible to deny, her fear feeding her arousal in a sickening twist of adrenaline. If he were going to get them both out of here alive, he had to ignore it. “Now, kiss me again or you won’t have my protection.” “I will not!” Her outrage was clear, though he could still scent her arousal. “I will not be bullied into being your whore!” “The only way you’re going to live long enough to make good your promise to help these men is for everyone here to think you’re my woman. The only way for them to think that is for you to kiss me. Or I could fuck you right here.” He sneered. “Stake my claim in a graphic display that would make sure they didn’t dare touch you. Your choice, but I don’t normally like to display my sexual prowess for an audience.” Wide-eyed, Miranda shook her head, a silent denial, her face going pale. “Now, this time, I suggest you kiss me back. And you better kiss me like you mean it.” 
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One Night with a Billionaire
-- EXCERPT: When the front bell jingles, at first, I think I imagined it. There are never any customers this time of year because the store caters to tourists, not locals, and tourists don’t show up until spring break. Still, I stand on my tiptoes, cursing being height-challenged to peek over the rows of clothing racks to be sure, and that’s when I see him. And God bless America, he’s hot. With the front of his jet-black hair styled perfectly, a clean-shaven face, wearing a blue dress shirt and an undone navy tie, the tall man with massive shoulders strolls in the same way all the rich assholes do – like he owns the place. He doesn’t. Danny Denning is the man who owns this store and two others just like it up and down the coast. He’s a grouchy old man with a hunchback. Dammit, I’m so distracted by the customer’s sexy swagger that I temporarily forget that I hate men, especially gorgeous, rich ones like this guy and Braxton Walker. I’ve wasted too much time. It’s too late to make a run for the counter to put some space between us. Nope, I have to stand my ground surrounded by the buy one get one free beach towels when the hottie asks, “Hey, how’s it going? Where’s your swimwear?” That’s right. He doesn’t actually ask the first question like he cares how I am. Nope, he just uses it to pretend he has good manners when I have no doubt he’s a pretentious jerk. Which is why I make the split-second decision to lie to him on the second question. “Right this way,” I say as I lead him over to the section of racks a few feet away. I’m almost certain I can feel his eyes staring at my ass in my jeans. That’s why I grab the smallest size on the rack and hold them out to him. “Here you go.” One incredibly sexy black eyebrow arches, and I realize he’s standing even closer than I expected, so close that I can see the swirls of gold in his warm dark chocolate eyes. “Those are little boy’s speedos.” “Yes, they are,” I say. “Isn’t that what you wanted?” “I’m gonna need something significantly bigger.” No, Siena. Don’t go down this road. Don’t do it. Don’t flirt! “How much bigger?” I ask, despite knowing better. His perfect, beautiful face is even more appealing when he smiles, making two very deep dimples appear in his cheeks. Then he opens his mouth. “Want to go in the back and find out?”
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Unmeasured
Only 99¢ for a limited time! -- EXCERPT: Finally, he spoke. His voice was a raspy and feral version of itself. “Your safeword… Scream it loud. Scream it at the top of your fucking lungs, because I need your screams today for all the wrong fucking reasons.” He cracked the whip again, and it snapped her shoulder blade with the thinnest of cuts, sounding like a gunshot, feeling like a hornet’s kiss. “If I hurt you…” he said. She turned around, and her gaze locked first on his trembling hand and then his tortured eyes. “I will survive you.” “If you survive me, then you can have me, because truly I belong to no one else.” The whip cracked above her head. “Turn the fuck around!” When she did, he snapped a sideways strike across her ass. Her flesh lit with fiery agony. She balled her fists and inhaled deeply, trusting his control over the nine-foot length of braided leather. Then a loud thud sounded, and a crash followed. She turned around to see Oleg stalking toward her, his whip strewn across the floor next to a broken vase. Heavy, billowing breaths blew past his lips. He scratched his chin and then rubbed the back of his head. One last swallow, and he steadied himself. The worst of the storm had passed and she’d survived. In fact, she’d more than survived. Samantha had stood in the eye of the storm and remained on her feet. “Where the hell did you come from?” he demanded, grabbing both of her shoulders, shaking her once, though she was certain he wasn’t concerned with the name of her hometown. She didn’t flinch. His hold on her was nothing to fear. Then his thumbs swiped at the teardrops on her cheeks before he decided to sip on them instead. She melted right there. “How did you find me?” she asked the same unseen knower of all things. God, how badly she wanted this man inside of her. She pawed at the chastity belt, angry at it so suddenly. Danger wafted off him in invisible waves, unspoken, ultrasonic, undeniably magnetic. The beautiful, broken monster had revealed himself, raw, untethered, and she devoured his anger, his pain. It had given her peace even as she hungered to know the limits of his pain, to be at the sharp edge of his despair with him. But why? What could be found in dark, bottomless pools that made her want to jump in? She’d been asking herself that question all her life and still didn’t have an answer.
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It Started with a List
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My thoughts:
Enemies-to-lovers is one of my favourite tropes, so it was a no-brainer that I just needed to read Tinia Montford's delicious and sassy new romance It Started with a List. Vassa is an epitome of a Good Girl- she's genuinely interested in studying (well, she's majoring in English Lit, so I can relate), doesn't care for parties and meaningless flirting (yes, Lazarus Gilbert, I'm talking about you). She also has serious trust issues following her ex-best friend's betrayal...This is something that made this book stand out for me straightaway. It is hard to get over a bad break-up of a romantic relationship, but losing a friend you've known and been inseparable with since middle grade is just devastating. As it often happens Vassa never got her closure after Alexa publicly humiliated and then shunned her and that forced Vassa withdraw in her shell even more. She is in her fourth year of college and it is definitely time to rethink what she is doing with her life. Why not start with a bucket list of things that are supposed to make your last college year fun and memorable? Vassa and lots of other people may think that Lazarus is a baseball golden boy, a shameless flirt and a prankster, but what they don't know that he has his share of problems, one of which is failing his English Lit class. Lazarus needs a tutor and he really couldn't choose better than our quiet and thoughtful Vassa (who might have been harboring a crush on for a few years, shhh). Deep down you already know that despte the outward appearances, the protagonists are really more similar to each other than they realise themselves. Add a fantastic slow-burn romance to their relatable coming-of-age stories and you've got me melting in delight. Tinia Montford's writing is very easy to follow and you'll get involved in the story in no time at all. Tinia makes you feel a whole range of emotions alongside her characters. It's definitely a case of show, not tell. It might be a good idea to check out the list of trigger warnings before you embark on reading the book, as the author doesn't shy away from discussing some serious issues. Recommended to anyone who loves the opposites attract/sunshine Vs grumpy and enemies-to-lovers tropes, slow-burn romance and generally new adult fiction. I will definitely be looking to Tinia Montford's next book! Thank you to Giselle from XBT, the author and the publisher for the review copy, provided in exchange for an honest opinion. #Book Blitz #Pierce Her by Kelly Finley #Contemporary Romance #Suspense @Xpresso Book Tours27/1/2022
Pierce Her
-- EXCERPT: Charlie Relief dropped the tension in her shoulders when she turned to unpack the rifle. She had to turn away. Away from Daniel Pierce to and her breath. What the holy fuck was that, Charlie Girl? Her body howled awake at his handshake. At his touch. The first time in six years it had responded to any man. As a bodyguard, the sets she worked on accustomed her to being surrounded by beautiful people, men and women. She had seen, hell fought off, how such beauty was as much a burden as a blessing for many of them. She learned to treat them like nobodies. Or anybodies. It was one of the many reasons they trusted her. But damn. Daniel Pierce, famously the sexiest man alive, possessed so much exquisite physical DNA it required a full audit. Sure, she had seen him plastered across covers and screens. A sudden flush fired up her cheeks for the solo plea‐ sure she gave herself at the sight of his photo a few times in the past. But that was a screen, a fleeting fantasy. This was him, palpable and in person. And oh, where his staggering bounty of beauty stopped, his sexy charisma raced, lapping her body for the win. Damn, Charlie Girl. She adjusted the scope on the rifle. Slow your roll. You’ve got a job to do. A girl at risk. And she’d fucking asked for this. Asked Anders where the cast hung out. Wanting to meet each one of them. Off set. In a setting where their guard was down. In a setting where a stalker may betray himself. She wasn’t wheels down in Madrid for twenty-four hours, kissing her relaxing trip to Miami with Juliette goodbye, before she found herself jumping into the damn deep end of this job. Right into the ocean of Daniel Pierce. And it was raging wet. Over six feet of hulking muscles wrapped down a body that famously took discipline and sacrifice to achieve. Black hair fell in soft waves, framing aqua eyes as deep as a cenote, enticing anyone to jump in. Stubble blanketed a square jaw and deep cleft chin. Pillow lips formed a perfect soft bow, almost feminine, until they flashed a white-hot, hungry smile. He was cast as Zeus, the god of gods who had no equal, many enemies and could bed any woman in a comic book series turned movie franchise. Two films had dominated the box office in the blockbuster series. A third was rumored. And everywhere Daniel Pierce went, he was “Zeus” to his fans. Charlie read how many followers and press also branded him— “Sex God.” Careful, Charlie Girl. With a look like that, you’ll have a lot more to protect than a girl. 
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Hot For Me
-- EXCERPT: Adam Without so much as a hihowareya, she launched into full-on diva. “Your manager is a jerk. Did you all know that? He’s a total tool. I don’t get how you put up with him.” She pounded more than paced back and forth across the front of the stage, her arms waving around her head for emphasis. “Everyone on this tour is an adult, and we don’t need a dad. Perhaps one of you could remind him?” She quit pacing for a second to give us all “the look” every woman on the planet has perfected for calling out a man. Not waiting for a response, she resumed her attempt to wear a path in the stage floor with her stiletto heels. “Furthermore, someone needs to talk to him about his fashion choices. There is no one in the universe who will ever follow whatever trend he thinks he’s setting with those cut-off shirts tucked in—tucked in for crying out loud.” She threw her hands up. When I glanced at my brothers, I saw each of us trying to hold it in. Dakota’s lips twitched, Jack’s cheeks puffed out, and Blu had turned an interesting shade of purple. Oblivious to our response, Cristy plowed on. “Tucked into five-hundred-dollar custom-tailored dress pants. He looks utterly ridiculous. The man is just a, just a—” She seemed to struggle to say the word, but finally she sucked in a deep breath and whispered, “prick.” We erupted in guffaws we couldn’t hold back anymore. As she stood there all indignant, one foot in front of the other, hands planted on her hips, Jack, Blu, Dakota, and I laughed ourselves stupid. We probably should have tried harder to hold it in after the way she ranted about Garrett, but something about that sexy little pixie strutting attitude like a boss—who couldn’t bring herself to curse even when she clearly wanted to—struck all of us as hilarious. At last when I sort of tried to pull myself together, I looked at her and noticed the hint of a smile making her dimples twitch. Then I caught her watching me, a sparkle of mischief in her eyes. Apparently, even she saw the humor in her little tantrum. Dakota was the last of us to get it together, but as usual, the first to speak. “So Cristy, how ’bout you tell us how you really feel, huh? It’s okay if you want to call Garrett an asshole in front of us. We won’t tattle to him.” She rolled her gorgeous sapphire eyes. “Screw you, Dakota.” But she was grinning. “Now that we have the preliminaries over, let’s put the sound guys to work,” he suggested. Blu turned to me. “Whoa. Tron. You’re the usual captain of this boat. Are you going to kick back and let Dakota make all the decisions without a comment?” Jerking my eyes from Cristy’s gorgeous ones, I stammered, “Wh-what?” Blu laughed. “I see how you’re rollin’.” “Whatthefuckever.” Strolling over to the guitar rack, I grabbed my bass, flipping him the bird over my head as I settled the strap over my shoulder. Dakota and Blu didn’t stop laughing as they pulled their axes from the guitar cart at the edge of the stage. I might have succeeded in ignoring them if Jack hadn’t whispered in my ear as he passed me on his way to his drums. “Don’t blame you, man. She’s definitely hot.” “Fuuuuck,” I hissed under my breath. Usually, I’m the cool one. Not that Cristy would know that. So I ignored her for the entirety of sound checks. Afterward as we enjoyed the eclectic spread in the green room, I concentrated on food rather than on Cristy. Local seafood, our favorite Mexican fare—every flavor of tacos and burritos—and prime rib carved by Jeff Scott, our private chef. Chef Jeff’s usual array of workout-challenging desserts—I ate three—kept my eyes off of our sexy-hot guest. My mind was another story. Visions of all the ways I could have her long legs wrapped around my waist scrolled through my head, each scenario hotter than the last. All of them involved her wearing a pair of her stilettos. Judging from the variety she’d worn so far on the tour, the woman had an infinite wardrobe of the things. I liked them all. The bright purple-and-pink-sequined pair she wore today were kind of hard to miss as they reflected into my eyes from beyond the edge of my plate of cinnamon flan, fudge mousse, and raspberry tart. I let my eyes take a slow tour up the creamy skin of her toned legs and over her tight ripped denim cutoffs. I lingered at the place where her form-fitting green T-shirt left space for the diamond piercing her belly button to sparkle. How had I missed that piercing in all the times I’d checked her out? “Tron. My eyes are up here.” “I know where your eyes are.” My lips curved into a grin as I let my eyes continue their thorough tour of the purple and pink sequins creating a single rose in the middle of her rack and on to the sapphire necklace I’d never seen her without. In my peripheral vision, I noticed her wicked smile when my gaze settled on her cleavage, and I couldn’t help my answering smile at the mischief in her eyes when I stopped my tour. “You have the sexiest smile, Tron.” “Just enjoying the scenery.” “You like what you see?” she sassed. “Every single thing.” “Even though you’re the quiet one in the band, you’re used to the ladies giving you exactly what you want, aren’t you?” The tone of her voice suggested a land mine lurked somewhere nearby, but I ignored the warning. “It’s a nice perk.” “Yes, it is. I have no trouble getting anything—or anyone—I want either.” Rather than answer, I raised a brow and waited. And tried not to think of Cristy Valor with any other man. The visual flashing through my head made the taste of all that delicious dessert turn to ash in my mouth. Something of my thoughts must have shown on my face. “You’re okay with the change we made in the show for tonight?” she asked. The abrupt change of topic jerked my mind back into the moment. Trying to recover myself, I said, “Sure. Why not? Like Dakota said, you’re our guest.” “Uh-huh.” Grinning, I added, “It’s good to shake things up sometimes. Keeps us honest.” “Honest? Yeah, I’m all kinds of interested in honest, Tron.” 
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Dior or Die
-- EXCERPT: Four men shot at me with automatic rifles. I sat in a chair blindfolded, arms bound behind me with duct tape, and a gag stuffed in my mouth. The relentless gunfire battered my senses. Control the mind-game, Davia. Forcing my hands into tight balls, I leaned forward and arched my back, preparing to free myself. In response, a bullet cracked one of my chair’s legs, and I almost crashed to the ground. This ordeal was a boys’ club welcome to the first woman assigned to the most elite covert paramilitary team in existence. Of course, the team wouldn’t greet me with candy and flowers, but this? My face grew hot from suppressed fury as the rounds whizzed past unabated. I slowed my breathing. Four breaths in, four out. Again. Finally, there was silence. The malignant perfume of gunfire burned my nostrils. I listened for the click of empty magazines dropped and replaced. Instead, booming laughter and the dull thud of men slapping each other’s backs echoed through the space. “Let’s give Glenn some time to sit in her messed drawers.” It was James Warden, my team’s leader. When we met this morning at our training base in Virginia, he radiated Apex Alpha. Now, I amended it to Apex Asshat. “We can tell the colonel we didn’t hit the hostage,” said another. More guffaws. After their voices drifted away, I renewed my efforts to break the bindings. Within minutes, I was loose. I spat the gag from my mouth and tore the blindfold from my eyes, temples throbbing. How long would it take my shattered hearing to return in full? My location was a plywood shoot house with movable walls. Dummy targets riddled with bullet holes surrounded me, and spent brass casings blanketed the floor like a golden carpet. Crouching, I snuck to the door, flattened myself against the wall, and peeked out. Another teammate, Savant, sat at a distant table under a canvas shade, headphones atop his mop of fair hair. Hunched over a laptop, he bopped in time to an unheard beat. Gunfire began at a nearby range. The group had moved on. Bending, I lifted the combat knife strapped to my right calf and noticed a bullet hole had pierced a cargo pocket. The round missed my leg by a fraction of an inch. I was almost a victim of high-speed lead poisoning. Jaw set, I crept forward and thrust the knife under Savant’s chin in case he wanted to continue the hazing. Complex surveillance images streamed across his laptop’s screen as heavy metal blared from the headphones I tugged off. “Don’t move,” I hissed. “Oh, hey, Davia.” He pointed toward the distant gunfire. “Have fun.” He never looked up. Dropping Savant’s headphones into his lap, I put my knife back in its sheath. At the weapons table, I selected a submachine gun. Popping in filtered ear protection, I stalked out to the range. Let’s find the hyenas. Four battle-hardened men turned in sync when I approached, their expressions ranging from surprised to annoyed at my unexpected appearance. “Sorry, I’m late.” My voice was saccharine sweet, like I was tardy for a Sunday picnic. “We wasn’t ’specting you at all,” said Hodge, our burly Texan medic. “You’re tougher than a one-eared alley cat.” Most worked to hide smiles, but Warden scowled. “Careful with that gun,” he said. “I’ll show you how to use it in a sec.” Show me? I trained for years on every weapon they used, and some they didn’t. Not pausing, I discharged all my ammo, disintegrating the bullseye of the target. When I finished, teammate Ned tugged at his scruffy beard and said, “We should nickname you Bombshell, and not because you’re blonde.” The men all laughed, except Warden. FIREARMS PRACTICE CONCLUDED, we entered the primary building of the complex. Our boss, Colonel Streeter, kept an office in a nearby wing. “Why isn’t Savant coming with us?” I asked Ned. “He operates on a different plane than us mere mortals.” Besides his unkempt beard, Ned wore his brown hair in a hipster bun. Grooming rules did not apply to this unit. A female aide who worked with Colonel Streeter beckoned to another team member, K. He put up a hand in acknowledgment. K resembled Idris Elba, but younger and buffer. They moved away down a side hall. The rest of us turned into a room with a mat-lined floor. On one wall, racks held fighting sticks, knives of various sizes, and boxing gloves. “Ned, you and H pair up. I’ll take on Bombshell,” Warden drawled, emphasis on the B. Ned and Hodge pulled on boxing gloves. Warden handed me two twenty-eight-inch sticks, took two himself, and we faced off. At six-three, he had me by six inches. It was Davia versus Goliath. “Ready?” Warden’s full lips curled into a sneer. “Ready to lay you out.” He came at me and didn’t hold back, hitting with the power of a rhinoceros in a charge. Stepping fast to keep him from knocking me over, I blocked blow after blow. I pictured Batman bubbles over our heads: Bam! Pow! Krunch! Warden made the men on the cover of Muscle & Fitness magazine look like featherweights. He was one hundred pounds heavier than me and sported gallon jug biceps. Our weapons were a mere blur until a searing thwack landed on my upper arm, and I cringed away. “Give up?” Warden asked, driving me toward a corner. “You. First.” I gasped, sucking wind. Back up-Duck-Back up. At the edge of the mat, our sticks clanged. Cornered, I did a quick roll and slammed one of my bars against the back of Warden’s knees. He crashed to the floor. Timber! A giant hand caught my right ankle and jerked. I fell hard on my face. Kicking free, I sprang up, but Warden did the same. Rivulets of sweat coursed from his close-cropped, dark hair and down his face. We circled each other, and I grinned as he also fought to catch his breath. “Let’s go weaponless,” he grunted. “Fine.” We tossed our sticks aside. We went at each other in an all-out grappling fight, working through an entire catalog of wrestling, martial arts, and street fighting tactics. Kyle Kavanagh, my South Dakota neighbor, and his myriad of deadly friends, had drilled me relentlessly through the years. I remembered their admonition: The bigger they are, the harder they-- Warden latched onto my shoulder and tossed me to the ground. His reinforced steel body landed on top of me, and the air blasted from my lungs. Before he could trap my arms against the mats, I thrust a hand past his groin and wrapped my arm around his upper thigh. He went still for a split-second, hyper-aware I was a woman near his most prized and vulnerable possessions. To make up for his momentary pause, he grabbed for my hair, but it was too short. He rolled over in an instant, clamped an arm around my chest, and spoke close to my ear. “You don’t belong here.” “Says you.” I walloped him in the midsection with an elbow, leaped sideways, and broke away. We jumped to our feet, circling again, checking for weaknesses. My stamina hit the edge of empty. If I didn’t do something soon, this fight would be over. Warden lunged for me, and I caught his forearm. Using the last of my strength, I flipped him to the ground and trapped one of his knees with my legs. “Call it quits?” I drove his joint to an unnatural angle, grinding my hips against his bulk. Warden growled with frustration but didn’t give up. He bucked against me like a fly trapped in a spider’s web fighting for its life. After an age, he tapped out. I released him, falling back on the mat, drained. He untangled himself and got to his feet. “Here.” He reached down to help me up. I took his hand, and he yanked me within inches of his face. Our eyes locked. He held me much longer than necessary, then let go. “Welcome to the team,” he said and walked away. 
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