Time to celebrate the release of BEG FOR MERCY, the second title in Jami Gray’s Fate’s Vultures series.
Even after the world goes to hell & chaos reigns, love survives.
Choosing a side has never been so dangerous…
The world didn’t end in fire and explosions, instead it collapsed slowly, like falling dominoes, an intensifying panic of disease, food shortages, wild weather and collapsing economies, until what remained of humanity battles for survival in a harsh new reality.
An assassin by trade, a loner by nature, Mercy is sent to infiltrate the Cartels and unmask the identity of their new silent partner. Instead, she discovers a darker plan threatening to crumble the entire Southwest and ends up with a hefty bounty on her head. Still, she’s determined to stop the impending attack at any costs, even if it means partnering up with a member of the notorious Fate’s Vultures.
After enduring a brutal, blood soaked lesson on the savagery of civilization’s scavengers, Havoc is well acquainted with the consequences of battling predators. But as a member of the nomadic band of arbitrators known as Fate’s Vultures, he’s determined to cement the necessary allies to oust the biggest threat looming on the horizon. When an enigmatic woman crosses his path, her secrets and troubling loyalty light the fuse on an unexpected craving and his insatiable curiosity.
In order to trap a common foe and derail an impending threat, Havoc and Mercy must turn the tables to hunt a predator. Can an assassin and a mercenary find their balance on the thin line of loyalty, or will it snap under the weight of their wary hearts?
Grab your copy: ESCAPE PUBLISHING AMAZON B&N iBooks KOBO
In case you wanted a teaser, how about this?
A breeze trickled through the heated air trapped inside the shop’s dim interior and the barest shadow inched along the wall marring the sunlight stretched across the pitted floor. It wasn’t much of a disturbance, but it was enough to make Havoc pause, the dark bottle of home-brew suspended halfway to his drier-than-the-desert-outside mouth. The bottle’s edge hovered over his lip as he watched the shadow slip along the rusted interior wall of the local ammunition dealer’s shop. Recently lax muscles coiled in anticipation.
Faint shouts drifted down the rutted street and through the shop’s opening, but he didn’t move, never taking his eyes off the shadow slinking along the wall. Another breeze caught the ragged edges of the head scarf causing a traitorous ripple. The deeper in the shadow crept, the more it began to resemble a slender human despite the baggy cargo pants and the oversized layered shirts. A slight shift in stance pulled the loose material tight. If he hadn’t been staring he would have missed the surprising curves revealed for the briefest of seconds. It left him adjusting his perception to a slender female. A slow blink kept the sandy grit floating on the air from making a permanent home on his eyeballs. Yet a strange, unwelcomed curiosity kept him from any other revealing movement.
The shouts came closer, the heavily accented voices rousing an old rage, but he locked it down and kept watching, wondering. The female tried to sink into the shrinking shadows. He should probably tell her that it wouldn’t do shit all. For a second his brain screamed at him to turn away. Nothing good would come from getting involved. Whatever sent her scurrying in here, wasn’t his damn business. He wasn’t here to get involved in other people’s troubles, he was here for one thing—to reload his brass, a necessity when ammunition was difficult to acquire. A project, the shop owner, Boomer, was currently in the midst of doing in the backroom.
As if Havoc’s thoughts were a primer, Boomer’s rough voice shot through the shop. ‘You need to be more particular about your salvaging, my man. Some of this brass is for shit.’
It was almost comical how fast the female’s head snapped around. Despite the crappy lighting, dark, heavily lashed eyes hit and held with his, sharing a flash of grim determination edged with defiant fury before it was quickly banked into a predatory stillness. The impact landed a sucker punch to his gut. Silently, Havoc cursed because with a single look, his resolve about getting involved was blown to shit. Without looking away from the wary woman he managed a quick sip of his beer before setting his bottle down on the table’s top and answering, ‘Most brass nowadays is shit.’
That elicited a bark of laughter from the back room. ‘True.’
A heated exchange erupted outside, Spanish curses flying like horseflies on shit, and the woman’s head whipped back to the street. Bad move, darlin’. Taking advantage of her momentary lapse of attention, Havoc made his move, slipping around the table and closing the distance between them, even as the devil on his shoulder snarled a curse. Using his heavier frame he trapped her smaller one against the wall. He wrapped one hand around her wrist and tucked it between the wall and her hip, locking it in place. Then he caught her other blade-filled hand before she could land her intended strike. With a sharp twist, he had her well and truly caught.
This close he couldn’t miss the feel of the sinuous lines of muscle under the loose clothing or the unyielding fury raging in the brown, green-shot depths of her eyes, the only things visible thanks to the grimy head scarf. The voices outside came closer. Knowing he would regret this, he dropped his head so his lips were at her ear, the not-unpleasant, faint scent of dust and sweat drifting to his nose. ‘Crate to the left, over by the table, see it?’
Time stretched as she searched his face. It wasn’t hard to miss the wary confusion in her brown eyes as it nudged fury to the side, making room for self-preservation to shove to the fore. Cautiously, as if she was waiting for him to bite, she turned her head and found the shipping crate sitting back against the wall. Her gaze came back to him and she gave a slow nod.
‘You get in and stay quiet.’
He waited for her nod, then released her less lethal hand and dragged her over. With his free hand he flipped the lid up. Thankfully, Boomer had just inventoried his delivery and the box was empty. He pulled on her wrist. ‘Get in.’
With one last cautious look between him and the doorway, she did as instructed, tucking into a small ball, and then flinching as another sharp burst of Spanish came from the street. With both hands on the lid, he stared down at her, the devil on his shoulder still ranting curses. ‘Don’t make me regret this, hear?’
She dipped her head once and he closed the lid. He shifted the crate so it hunkered between the wall and the table, then sat on top of it. The sturdy wood creaked under his weight, but he settled in to wait. Now he just needed to confirm who the hell was chasing her. He leaned his back against the wall, and sprawled his legs under the table before reclaiming his beer. He lifted the bottle and took a drink as his answer stepped into the doorway, blocking the sunlight. Didn’t it just figure that when he decided to step in it, he seriously stepped in it.