Brewer's Mark

By Lynn Burke

Reagan “Brewer” de Jager might look soft as a teddy bear, but his stint as a sniper in the SEALs hardened him into a lethal killer. The fact his wife cheated on him while he’d been deployed makes him unable to trust. Cold hearted and empty, he sets his sights on his next mark -- and one look into her eyes slays him.

Nova Smego wasn’t nicknamed Black Widow by her CIA superiors without reason. Underestimated for her petite form, she’s quick with her fists and lethal with a blade or a bullet. Tossed out of the CIA with a scarred reputation, she joins a hitmen-for-hire team in the hopes of exacting revenge on the one who ruined her career.

When the Outlaws eliminate her team in order to rescue one of their own, Nova is kept alive -- tied to her captor. A winter storm kills the electricity, but not the heat building between her and Brewer. There was a reason he couldn’t end her, and while she plans her escape, she fears losing her heart to the chemistry sizzling between them.

But when Nova’s desire for vengeance shakes the tentative bond between them, the Outlaws issue Brewer an ultimatum. Pull the trigger, or find common ground to trust one another and avoid the Outlaws’ demand for her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Aug 9, 2019

Lynn Burke

USA Today Bestselling author Lynn Burke is a CrossFit and coffee addict. Her three spawn dictate how often she can be found hunched over her Mac, typing as fast as her fickle muse cooks up hot stories.

Book preview

life.

Chapter One

Nova

My heart pounded in my ears, but the heightened sound of gunshots from downstairs broke through the muffled thumps of my rushing blood. I yanked open the roof’s trap door and peered into the attic below, my night vision goggles making the cold evening seem like a spring morning teeming with vibrant green.

No life stirred below from what I could see -- unlike the unexpected team of three men who had stormed our safe house, it was quiet as mice in a cupboard.

I slid down the ladder, the flesh wound on my arm aching. Adjusting my grip on my rifle, I pointed the barrel at the door and breathed slowly through parted lips.

Shots sounded again, but quieter as though they were in the basement where we kept the girl we’d been hired to hold. The senator who had dished out the cash for us to take care of his little problem had arrived a few moments earlier than the man who’d shot me. Another two must have slipped in the front door.

Teeth clenched against the pain in my arm, I wondered again why I hadn’t aimed for the face of the man who had shot at me after taking out our two northern sentries. The bastard had gotten one shot off -- enough to make my arm mostly useless.

I eased the attic door open and peered into the farmhouse’s hallway. Light shone from the stairwell around the corner to my right, so I flipped my goggles off and let them slip to the carpeted floor.

Adrenaline coursed through me as I crept forward, and even though I hadn’t gotten off more than a single shot or moved more than twenty feet from my sentry position on the roof, my lungs fought for oxygen.

As an ex-CIA operative, I should have had more control over my nerves. As a battle-hardened bitch, I certainly shouldn’t have allowed my shot at the man slinking up on the house to fly wayward.

Weak.

Lips pursed against disappointment in myself and the stinging pain, I approached the corner. A body whipped around in front of me, a meaty paw grasping my rifle’s barrel before I could swing it up.

Tall -- wide shoulders --

I threw a punch to the kidney of the back lit man, putting all my strength behind me, but my fist merely earned a grunt.

The rifle flew from my grasp, and I shot out a combination punch, the third getting caught in the other damn paw of the huge man.

He dropped my gun and I blocked his grab for my injured arm, landing a half assed blow to rock hard abs that bounced my hand back at me.

I dipped as he reached for my free hand, trying like fuck to smash into his sternum with my injured arm.

The fucker snickered. Got anything else, little girl?

I growled and punched again, the beast’s body a solid wall of rock I had no chance of conquering.

He grabbed my wrist. Enough.

My world flipped, and I found myself face down on the floor, the carpet burning along my cheek as he wrenched my arms behind me. I kicked. Attempted to pull from his grasp -- and he sat on my thighs, trapping them between his own. Fuck, he was big.

Enough, he snarled again, and zip ties tightened around my wrists. Second floor clear, he said, and I closed my eyes, finally stilling at the professionalism his words indicated about the team with him.

Fuck.

Heaving for breath I clenched my eyes shut.

They must have come for the woman locked in the basement. Men with earpieces, men who knew how to use their guns.

Another muffled shot sounded below us, and the man yanked me up, his hold loosening a bit on my good arm as I stood beside him. My back to the light, I peered up at my captor.

Hair, black as night, eyes blue as the summer’s sky…

My heart skipped and my adrenaline spiked again. Hot. No, gorgeous. Tall and solid, just how I used to like my men.

Let’s go. He yanked me down the stairs, his hold on my arm keeping me from tumbling down after him.

One of my team members lay sprawled at the bottom of the stairs, hazel eyes overtaken by dilated pupils that stared into whatever the fuck afterlife he’d believed in. I bit back my whimper, all thoughts of my hot-as-fuck captor erased from my mind.

Sit. He pointed at the wall beyond my friend’s feet, and I fought back tears and choking fear while doing as told, sliding down along the wall onto my ass while holding his stare.

Footsteps sounded from the kitchen. Another mountain of a man carried the woman from the basement, his hold gentle, his eyes tender while peering down at her. He lifted his gaze to my captor.

Sniper from the roof, my gorgeous attacker all but bit the words out.

Why the fuck is she still alive? the mountain asked while setting the woman onto her feet.

My captor turned his focus on the windows flanking the front door a few feet away. Gunner’s here, he muttered rather than answer his friend.

Headlights glinted across the entryway’s walls, illuminating the interior briefly, allowing me a quick study of the man looming beside me. Blood dripped from his arm from the bullet I’d put in him, splattering onto the hardwood floor, and I grimaced as my arm sent a shot of pain clear to my fingers, as though wanting to share in his.

My scowl deepened even though my insides warmed from the round, hard ass mere inches from my face. Perfect for sinking my teeth into. Perfect for grasping with my heels while he buried his length inside me. I craned my neck upward, taking in his broad shoulders, the muscular neck that disappeared into hair my fingers itched to touch.

Fuck.

I tore my gaze away, only to snag once more on my team member. Blood pooled beneath his sprawled body, once more erasing the arousal my captor had brought to life.

The mountain and woman walked out the front door without a word, leaving in a blast of cold winter air. I shivered despite my jacket.

Another man approached from the kitchen. The fuck, Brewer? he asked with a frown, glancing from me to my captor.

Brewer. The hot bastard who’d shot my arm at the same time I’d hit his.

Roof sniper.

Need me to take care of her? The nonchalance of the second man’s question sent a flash of ice through my body, seizing my breath.

No. Brewer growled the word, easing my spiked fear of having to eat a lead sandwich.

His companion shook his head while chuckling and made his way outside.

Brewer squatted in front of me, his gaze flitting over my short dark hair, down the tattoo snaking along my neck to my upper arm. You okay?

I didn’t gift him with an answer. His body heat radiated over me as the cold air continued to pour through the door his friend had left open.

What’s your name?

Again, I kept my lips tight.

What do you know about the woman in the basement?

As if I would answer any of his questions.

Brewer let out a heavy exhale. I’m the only thing keeping you from a bullet between your eyes, so I suggest you play nice.

I raised an eyebrow.

He tipped his head to the side, his scowl lessening as his gaze slid to my lips -- and stalled.

Tingles woke between my thighs for the first time in years, and I fought the sudden need to shift, to swallow against the dryness attacking my mouth.

A squirrely, much shorter man walked through the doorway, tearing Brewer’s attention from me. Two others followed on his heels.

How many? the man asked.

Too many for an easy clean up, Brewer said, his voice void of emotion.

Shawshank?

Brewer nodded toward the kitchen as my brain struggled to keep up with the truth of his words.

Fuck, the man muttered, glancing around. We ought to just burn it to the ground.

What’d Gunner say? Brewer asked.

To burn it to the fucking ground.

Brewer nodded his agreement, and the man strode into the kitchen, disappearing into the laundry room beyond where the basement stairs lay. The other two men following him like dogs on a leash.

Who was Shawshank to you? Brewer asked, squatting in front of me again.

Was. Oh, fuck.

I glanced beyond

Reviews for Brewer's Mark

[Jamie Lee Van Winkle · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Read the whole series. Loved every single book. Recommend you read it.