Supercop Jack Cannon’s met the man of his dreams and isn’t
about to give up loving Lucky… even when the man is marked for death.
LAPD Swat team member, Jack Cannon, takes on an unusual
assignment, Threat Management, a new crack team created to target LA’s most
violent criminals, The Hollywood Ten. Then… Jack is shot and forced to take a
vacation. He flies to London to spend time with his hot and sexy lover, Lucky,
in London.
Jack’s man is working on an undercover assignment. Jack’s
plans for a feisty little R and R don’t sit well with the hit man who’s been
hired by a mysterious source to bump off Lucky.
With things heating up between Jack and Lucky all over London
from public restrooms to five-star hotels, Jack lures the wild assassin into
their sensual web. This is either gonna be the beginnings of a spicy, feisty
threesome… or a triple homicide.
Excerpt:
“I see someone in the driver’s seat,” one of the bad guys
said. They sounded very far away. It was the bulletproof glass.
Where the fuck is Zuniga?
I pulled out my phone again, texting for backup, I hated
having to do it in the middle of a job but I wasn’t going to be much use to the
mission if I was shot full of holes. I wasn’t invincible as much as I liked to
pretend to myself that I was.
I couldn’t play cowboy and take on these pistol-packing
peanuts alone. Or could I? Go down in a blaze of glory? I didn’t want a life
without Lucky. They’d be doing me a big fucking favor if they shot me.
The message came back. Stay where you are. Don’t move.
“He’s texting! He’s texting!” one of the little assholes
outside yelled.
“Shoot him!” the guy beside me said. I heard the one sound I
didn’t want to hear. A gunshot. It bounced off the passenger window.
They started to rock the SUV back and forth.
Where the fuck is my backup?
I drew my gun out of the holster as I heard the second
sound I absolutely did not want to hear. My door releasing.
And opening.
I was ready for the little shit and shot him from my left
hand, clear in the chest with my new, handy-dandy, state-of-the art,
gazillion-watt Taser X26C gun. His eyes rolled up like escalator stairs and he
flew back, billowing out on the ground, twitching with the force of the
electro-magnetic impulse.
“Motherfucker!” his friends yelled. They ran toward the front,
shooting away at me. I blasted back, getting one little fucker in the shoulder
with my state-issue .32, with my right hand. The third little bastard screamed
at me. What an asshole.
He jumped over his friend’s writhing body and popped off a
couple of shots. One hit the driver’s door. As he neared me, I closed the door
toward me and whumped him as he tried to yank at it. It smacked him in the face
and I heard a satisfying crunch of bones. I let him have a little Taser juice
just because I felt like it. He was on his knees calling me a pig and a honky.
No manners.
I closed and locked my door.
We’d been had.
How did he know I was a pig? And calling me a honky? He was like
something out of a seventies’ blaxploitation movie.
I called my supervising unit. Nobody responded. I had three
prone assholes outside and an even bigger problem on my hands. Somebody had
ambushed us. Keeping my eyes on the road, I realized there’d been no traffic
passing by me during the entire encounter with the three guys still sprawled on
the ground.
Calling 9-1-1 was supposed to be my last resort but as far as
I knew, my partner had been ambushed and the supervising unit was out of
commission.
My cell phone rang. I prayed it wouldn’t be Lucky.
Author Bio:
A.J.
wants you to read them all. A.J. can be found lurking on Facebook and
Twitter—part-time class clown being another occupation. When not writing or
reading, A.J.’s other passions include juggling, kite-boarding, and spending a
fortune buying upgrade apps for Pearl’s Peril and Farm Heroes Saga.
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