Wicked Shots

By Katana Collins

Living on the edge…

Cassandra Walters has always followed the rules…until now. Introduced to the erotic pleasures of total submission, she spends her nights in the company of her master, doing as she’s told and surrendering to exquisite ecstasy. But indulging in her newly discovered passion is a problem for Cass. She’s caught in a drug smuggling ring with no way out and nowhere to turn. Cass is not just running scared. She’s running for her life…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kensington Books
• Release date: Mar 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781617736414

Katana Collins

Katana Collins splits her time evenly between photographing boudoir portraits and writing steam-your-glasses romances. In addition to navigating life as a small business owner, a first-time homeowner, and a newlywed, she is the author of the best-selling paranormal Soul Stripper trilogy. Her latest erotic suspense series, Wicked Exposure, comes out in 2015, along with its prequel, Wicked Shots. In the summer of 2014, she wrote her first ever graphic novel, Cafe Racer, with her husband Sean Murphy.She and her comic book artist husband commute back and forth as they please between Brooklyn, New York and Portland, Maine, with their ever-growing family of rescue animals (two dogs, a cat, and counting!). She can usually be found hunched over her laptop in a cafe, guzzling gallons of coffee, and wearing fabulous (albeit sometimes impractical) shoes.Visit her on the web at www.katanacollins.comTo contact or interact with Katana,go to Twitter (@KatanaCollins) or Facebook.com/KatanaCollinsIf you loved this or any other of her books, consider joining her street team, Kat's Kittens, on Facebook!

Book preview

Author

Prologue

Jessica Walters’s phone buzzed from inside her bag and she reached for it as the most boring date in the whole world droned on about banking. Why men thought working on Wall Street automatically made them interesting was far beyond her comprehension.

Oops, sorry. One second, she said, holding a finger up. Her sister’s name illuminated the screen, and for half a second Jess considered answering. Cass could probably get her out of this god awful date—yeah, it was just drinks after work. Late drinks after work; but weird hours were one of the pitfalls of working in the forensics department of the NYPD.

Instead of answering, Jess rolled her eyes and dropped the phone back into her purse. If she did answer, she’d probably just be met with a lecture on the dangers of Internet dating. It’s just my sister, Jess said to Connor, the boring banker.

He droned on for another minute or so before Jess heard another buzz from her purse. Relief flooded through her at the prospect of a message—the best gift her sister could give her on this date. I’m sorry, she held up another finger. Let me check this message—it might be something important.

She hit a button and Cass’s voice was low; nearly a whisper. Jessie. You’re in the frame. Jess’s eyebrows scrunched together and she strained to hear the rest of the message. In the background, she could swear she heard her own voice: "It’s just my sister." A seagull or some other warbled sounds along with what was … a man’s voice? Then the line went dead.

Weirdest. Sister. Ever, Jess thought with a sigh. At least she was with a man; for all Jess knew, her sister was a thirty-something virgin.

Clearing her throat, she met the guy’s eyes across from her. They were wide and green, and though he was attractive, he really just did nothing for her. Nothing with a capital N.

Oh, no! Jess raised her voice, jumping to her feet. I have to go … my sister’s boyfriend just broke up with her and she really needs to talk. You understand, right?

He jumped to his feet as well, doing that polite half-stand thing guys do when a girl leaves a table. Here, let me pay and walk you home.

She waved him off. No, no. You stay and finish your beer. I’ll text you tomorrow. Yanking her purse off the back of the chair, Jess tucked her phone back inside. Her jacket was slung through the slats on the chair as well, and when she grabbed it, the chair teetered, cracking against the hardwood floor as she tried to push her arms through her sleeves. Unsuccessfully so, of course. Jess’s head fell into her hands. She just wanted to curl under the table and die.

A handful of servers rushed over, one helping her into the jacket while the others pulled the chair back into place. Jeez, such a fuss over one fallen chair. The one waiter held the shoulders of the fabric while she fumbled her clumsy arms into it, and Jess flashed him a grateful smile over her shoulder. He nodded, his hands clasped behind him and sort of did an odd bow type of thing. Giving her date a quick final wave, Jess rushed out of the bar.

Brooklyn was finally cooling off from the brutal summer everyone had endured, and though a bit of humidity still weighed in the air, it was a welcome reprieve from the oppressive summer. She breathed in deep, looking into the night sky. Thank you, Cass, she said aloud and headed down Atlantic Avenue for home.

Diving a hand into her purse, Jess dug around for her phone to listen to that weird message one more time. Beneath her fingers, she felt her wallet, a pack of gum, some receipts—but no phone. She froze, checking each pocket and spreading her purse wide, then looking inside.

Son of a bitch. Her phone was gone.

Standing there in the middle of the avenue, she realized there was hardly anyone else on the street. One drunk couple staggered in the opposite direction, grasping onto each other for balance. Four legs were more secure than two, it seemed.

An eerie hold seized Jess’s chest as she moved forward in the direction of her apartment once more. She listened closely as the faintest footsteps clopped behind her. They were quiet and she could just barely hear them.

Jess froze, taking a moment to grab a piece of gum from her purse, listening as she stopped. Silence. No more footsteps. As inconspicuously as she could, she snuck a glance behind her. A streetlamp by a corner building cast a deep, long shadow on the north side of the street. Squinting, she could just barely make out the shadow of a figure leaning against the side of the lamppost.

Jess inhaled deeply—cigarette smoke. Menthols.

A sick feeling rose in her throat as she chewed her gum nervously, walking once more.

Again—footsteps.

With a glance over her shoulder, she saw that the shadow was now walking, only this time not nearly as quietly or slowly. He knew she had seen him.

Glancing from side to side, she saw that there was no one else around. Very few cars were on the road and there were zero cabs. She didn’t have her phone with her to call a car service or even 911 if needed. Jess gulped. She was utterly and totally up shit creek.

Without giving any indication of where she was going, she pivoted. Turning as she swiftly loped across the street, she didn’t see anyone following anymore. Not a single person. Not a single shadow. But the footsteps had been there. She had heard him, seen him … felt him.

Three blocks. She only had three sleepy blocks and then she’d be home safe and realize this had all just been the result of too many late night horror movie marathons.

1

"Cassandra …"

William Holtz rubbed at the wrinkles along his aging brow. His hair was almost entirely white, and Cass had no doubt she could lay claim to at least a few of those gray hairs. We’ve been through this. You are not in charge of setting up trials. We have sales teams who go around finding hospitals willing to participate—

"Fine. I respect that my job is to create the drugs. But, sir, please … look at the studies that have come out of Canada. This drug is a miracle worker with heart disease. With a little funding, this could be the medicine that puts us—"

Holtz snatched the paper from her hands, dropping it in the out-box teetering on the edge of his desk. I’ll send your research to the sales team.

Cassandra pressed her lips together and took a deep breath. Rage filled her, heating to a boiling point like a too-full teakettle. She took a second breath, inhaling deeply through her nose and releasing it slowly on a count to five … just as she’d been taught to do when that temper of hers would flare. Thank you, sir. But with all due respect, we both know they’re just going to sit on it—

Well, Cass, they know the market research. They know the trials that are highest in media priority, and at the moment, heart disease isn’t it. That’s what they’re paid for—to follow the trends and find what will gain the most sales and funding.

Cass’s heart sank and her stomach lurched with the imminent failure. She needed this to be legalized.