Meet Mendoza & Ava in the explosive
new Hitman novel from the bestselling authors of Last Kiss and Last Hit a
jungle mercenary
and a female target find love on the
run...
LAST HOPE IS NOW LIVE!
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1Kf53li
Amazon
UK: http://amzn.to/1QkhdgL
Blurb
Mendoza: I grew up in the slums
and lost everything I loved to poverty, illness, and death. I had only one
skill to leverage myself out of my circumstances—violence. Being hired out as a
mercenary hitman brought me money and built an empire. But all that I've fought
for is in jeopardy. My next job: Steal secret information that could bring down
world governments. Find my target. Destroy it. But then, I meet her.
Ava: Karma hates me. When my best
friend Rose is kidnapped, I have no choice but to take a job as a mule for a
pair of criminals intent on selling top-secret information to the highest
bidder. I should have known that bad luck tends to cling, because the plane I'm
on goes down. That I survived a crash-landing was a miracle. And so was being
rescued by Rafe Mendoza—hot, sexy, dangerous. The thing is, he wants the
information that I need to free Rose. I can't let him have it, but I need his
help. And I need to fight this crazy attraction for this mercenary with hungry
eyes. Rose is depending on me, and I won't let her down, no matter how
appealing Rafe is.
LAST HOPE EXCERPT
The ricochet of the bullet has swollen my eye shut. I
might be slightly concussed from the free fall from six thousand feet into the
jungle. I’ve no clue where we are and we have no supplies, but I’ve never been
happier than when Ava stuck her tits into my face. Those babies felt like the
softest pillows ever created and I would’ve been happy to suffocate in damp
valley of cleavage. Maybe I’d even get the chance to lick her sweat away.
I might have groaned and pretended my injury was worse to
lengthen the moment. Her delicate hands smoothed over my forehead and, it may
have been my imagination, but it seemed liked she might’ve lingered over my
hair. Dig in, I want to grunt.
“What the heck is that sound?” Ava clutches me to her.
If I don’t answer, does that mean I can stay in this
position forever? Because I want to. Actually, no, I’d like to move over and
suck one fat tit into my mouth until it’s hard as a diamond. Then I’d like to
slide down until my mouth is level with her pussy and see how salty sweet she tastes
between her legs. The beast between my legs roars to life and it’s a good thing
that the monkeys above us scream again, causing her to jump and strike my good
eye with her elbow. The pain serves as a reminder of where we are, who I am,
and what the fuck I should be paying attention to.
“It’s the howler monkey. They sound like humans screaming
or sometimes like the jaguar. They’re kind of dumb and if we found Afonso’s
gun, we’d be able to kill one and have meat every night for a week.”
She shudders. “I don’t want to eat monkey.”
The jungle is hot and wet during the day and cold at
night. If the mosquitos don’t eat you alive, the jaguars and anacondas might.
Not very many people can crash-land into the middle of the Amazon and make it
out alive, but I’m upping our odds from around 20 percent to 50 percent based
on Ava’s positive attitude. Unless my eye heals up, I’m not giving us more than
that. If we could find the Boy Scout bag, though, we could bring our odds up
significantly.
“There’s plenty of food in the Amazon from plantains to
fish, so if you don’t like monkey, we won’t eat it.”
She shudders again. “Thank you.”
“You a vegetarian?”
No, that couldn’t be right. Didn’t she eat some prosciutto
at the café? But I want to hear it from her. I want to know everything about
her.
“No, but for some reason eating something that screams
like a human freaks me out.”
“Monkey is off the menu,” I say, making no attempt to move
away from her rack. “I have a knife in my belt.”
“Do you have anything else besides the knife?” she asks.
Her tone is accusatory like I’m holding out on her.
“No,” I say slowly. “Just the knife.”
She narrows her eyes and then reaches out with her good
hand and pokes my waistline. “What about that?”
“My pants? I don’t think that they’d fit you or they’d be
a good weapon. Besides, I’d rather my legs didn’t get eaten by mosquitos.”
“Look, if you just plan on leaving me behind, then do it
now. Don’t string me along.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Just my luck
to perv on a crazy woman.
“That!” she spits out, and this time her finger jabs
lower, right into the meat of my dick. I flinch back. “I can tell you’re
packing something. What’s that thing in your pocket?”
“None of your fucking business,” I growl out, my happy
feeling sucked away. I can feel the heat rising in my face that has nothing to
do with the humidity. I will my erection to subside but as she stares at it, it
does nothing but grow.
“Oh my god. Is that a . . . that’s not a gun, is it?” Her
lips part in shock.
“No.” The erection isn’t going to go down anytime soon.
Not with her eyes wide with wonder. She raises her gaze to me and then drops
back down again, and hell if she doesn’t lick her fucking lips. I turn away,
unzip, and then pull the shaft straight up behind the waistband of my cargo
pants. I fasten the zipper, carefully, and then pull my T-shirt down over the
top. It hides most of the problem. “Let’s go.”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles.
I surge to my feet, catching her off guard. She stumbles
back and thankfully stops staring at my junk. “Enough,” I growl more roughly
than I intend. “We have important things to concentrate on, like where are we
going to sleep for the night.”
She looks stricken and nods in agreement. “Sorry, I just
was taken by surprise. You don’t have to tell me what’s in your pocket if you
don’t want to. But I need to remind you that we’re in this together.”
I feel like an ass. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry
that she thinks my dick is fake. That’s a new one.
LAST HOPE EXCERPT
Ava
I wake up with my face
pressed against a warm, broad chest and my legs tangled in the leaves of a
tree. Somewhere close by, I hear birds chirping. There’s sunlight dappling my
face and everything feels damp.
Everything also hurts.
I’m dazed and my head is
ringing with pain, and the sun is beaming right into my eyes, which is freaking
annoying as hell. I rub a hand across my face and it takes me a few moments to
realize that I shouldn’t see the sun at all if I’m inside an airplane.
Then I remember the storm.
The thunderous boom as the plane was hit by lightning. Screams. The wing
catching fire. The chaos of Afonso with his gun. Free-falling through the
cabin, my grip on the seats the only thing keeping me from flying through six
thousand feet of empty air.
Mendoza’s hand ripping out
of mine when the cabin depressurized. The screams of people going silent.
Mendoza.
I remember him, too.
A noise from somewhere
nearby catches my attention. It sounds like heavy breathing. I open my eyes and
look around.
I’m still strapped to my
seat. There’s a portion of the plane underneath me, and the two seats Mendoza
and I buckled into are still together.
He’s next to me, the broad
chest I’m currently draped across. His eyes are closed, dried, crusted blood
around the injured one. He’s got an enormous bruise on his forehead and his
arms are around me, as if he was trying to protect me even as we fell.
“Mendoza?” I ask, sitting
upright and pulling out of his arms. Sitting up makes everything in my body
scream with pain. My ankles hurt, but I don’t know if it’s because they’re
seriously injured or because they were tucked under the seat in front of me,
which is also still attached. I test my legs, untangling them from his longer
ones, and wince at the pain shooting through my body. It feels like I’ve been
trampled in my sleep. My ribs hurt, and my right arm radiates agony.
But . . . I’m alive. I sit
up a bit straighter and look at my right arm. The purse I’ve carried for days
is gone. The skin is puffy and turning purple. When I flex my fingers, the pain
brings tears to my eyes. I look away from it, faint and sick to my stomach at
the sight. It’s not just the pain but what it represents. I’m a hand model. I
can’t do a thing if my hands are jacked up.
Not that it matters right
now.
“Mendoza,” I say again,
because I’m about to panic, and panic hard. “Wake up. Please.”
He doesn’t stir.
Fear clutches me, and I
grab his shirt with my good hand and give him a shake. “Mendoza?”
That doesn’t wake him,
either. I press my cheek to his chest and listen for a heartbeat.
It’s slow and steady. Whew.
I sit up and examine him again. The knot on his forehead is huge. Maybe he just
got knocked out. I’ll have to figure out how to wake him up once I figure out
where we are. It looks like our section of the plane somehow separated from the
rest of the wreckage, which is why we’re alive and not a skidmark on the
ground.
I shift in my seat and the
world tilts. My eyes go wide and I freeze in place, then look around.
I can see trees overhead,
and sunshine, but it’s just now occurred to me that we’re not on the ground.
The chairs are tilted and everything shakes when I move.
I’m pretty sure we’re in a
tree. Clutching at the arm of the chair, I sit up carefully and look around.
I see nothing but air and
leaves, green vines and dappled shadows. In the distance, I hear the sound like
heavy breathing again. I look at Mendoza, but it’s not him. Oh God. Is it
Afonso? Is he still here? Biting my lip, I crane my neck and try to peer down
below. We’re at least twenty feet off the ground.
It’s like the wreckage has
been swallowed up by a wall of green. Green and wet. On the jungle floor,
there’s more greenery and what looks like smoking wreckage. Pieces of the plane
are scattered all over the forest floor, along with a few scattered suitcases.
In the distance I see another row of chairs, this one facedown in the dirt. The
heavy breathing starts again, and this time I see the source: a jaguar,
stalking through the wreckage.
My eyes widen and I go very
still.
A heavy rain begins to
fall, spattering me from above. I don’t move. My gaze is on that jungle cat as
it sniffs through things. If it notices us, I don’t know what we’ll do. Mendoza
is unconscious and if I try to move him, we might both fall out of the tree . .
. and land right in front of the cat.
The situation hits me and I
start to cry. I’m alone. I’m really fucking alone. I’ve never camped a day in
my life, much less been in a jungle. I look down at my hands. They’re my
livelihood. My way to earn a living. My income depends on them being soft and
perfect, my nails elegant ovals.
I have a long gouge down
the back of one hand, and my pinky is bruised and swollen. My wrist looks like
an elephant’s leg, if elephants were black and blue. Not gonna be hand modeling
for a long while after I get out of here.
If I get out of here.
I’m sorry, Rose. I’m
trying. I’m trying so hard. I shudder back a sob as the cat slinks into the
underbrush, something dangling and arm-sized in its mouth. I’m in the jungle
with a busted hand and a stranger that just wants the information I’m carrying
. . .
And I don’t even have the
information anymore. The purse is gone. I sniff hard, trying to fight back
another sob that’s threatening to break free.
“Don’t cry,” a voice says
softly.
I turn and look at Mendoza.
His shirt is sticking to his big body, wet raindrops splatting down his face.
He looks at me and smiles crookedly, and lifts a hand to try to touch my face.
“Don’t cry.”
Hitman Series Reading Order
Last Hit
(bk 1)
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1y9t61Q
Amazon
UK: http://amzn.to/1CzTiCs
Last Breath (bk 2)
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1EaGROH
Amazon
UK: http://amzn.to/1zojXnW
Last Hit: Reloaded (bk 2.5)
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1INVvxW
Amazon
UK: http://amzn.to/1ypyLTu
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1Cause3
GooglePlay:
http://bit.ly/14OcVuX
Last Kiss (bk 3)
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1GdjXed
Amazon
UK: http://amzn.to/1EaI6xg
Last Hope (bk 4)
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1Kf53li
Amazon
UK: http://amzn.to/1QkhdgL
Jen Frederick lives with her husband, child, and one
rambunctious dog. She's been
reading stories all her life but never imagined writing one of her own. Jen
loves to hear from readers so drop her a line at
Website: http://jenfrederick.com/blog/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/jensfred
Goodreads: http://tinyurl.com/p3ptasx
Author Jessica Claire
Jill Myles has been an
incurable romantic since childhood. She reads all the 'naughty parts' of books
first, looks for a dirty joke in just about everything, and thinks to this day
that the Little House on the Prairie books should have been steamier.
After devouring hundreds of
paperback romances, mythology books, and archaeological tomes, she decided to
write a few books of her own - stories with a wild adventure, sharp banter, and
lots of super-sexy situations. She prefers her heroes alpha and half-dressed,
her heroines witty, and she loves nothing more than watching them overcome
adversity to fall into bed together.
Website: http://jillmyles.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/_JessicaClare
Goodreads: http://tinyurl.com/q4272wf
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