Joker: Z Boys

By Sofia Aves

It's only a game while you're smiling.

Scotty Evans used to be the perfect soldier. An intelligence officer for the RAF, his loyalty to rank holds until he discovers the worst betrayals come from within, dissolving as he falls into the void of addiction and grief.

Bonded together in the Z Unit brotherhood, an Australian military venture that doesn't officially exist, Scotty wears his designated call sign as a mantle, warding off anyone who comes too close to digging into the ruined soul beneath it.

To complete his mission he has to return to Trilogy, the gambling den where he left his innocence and dignity to uncover an illegal arms deal. But he's not the only one with a mission…

Analise Larsen has lost something, too. Searching for her wayward sister, her objective throws her into Joker's path in a clash of wills, snark and dark desire.

Escaping the casino unscathed seems impossible, if they can leave at all…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Little Quail Press
• Release date: Jun 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781922448279

Sofia Aves

Sofia Aves is a USA TODAY Bestselling author who writes fast-paced police romances, suspenseful mysteries, steamy cowboys with a Montana backdrop and the occasional cheeky god. She loves reading Indie authors and hides her collection of college romance books beneath an ever-growing TBR pile. Sofia is a mum of three crazies and an overly large fur baby who thinks she’s a teacup puppy. She loves orchids but can’t always keep them alive. Sofia lives near Brisbane, Australia Join Sofia’s newsletter & get a free Blue Blooded Brothers short story: https://BookHip.com/CNMQFX Follow Sofia on BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/sofia-aves?follw=true

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SOFIA AVES

Copyright Ⓒ Sofia Aves 2021

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or distributed in any form or by any means, including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it on a website, or distribute it by any means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed within are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Sofia Aves asserts the moral rights to be identified as the author of this work.

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Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks, and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within has endorsed the book.

First Edition

Published by Little Quail Press

Cover Design by Kay Maszek

Editing by Partners in Crime Book Services

ISBN 978-1-922448-18-7

Also By SOFIA AVES

BLUE BLOODED BROTHERS

Recommended reading order

COLLISION

POLITICS & PAPERWORK

novella

BLINDSIDED

MUGSHOTS & CANDY CANES

novella

SENTINEL

IMPACT

DARK REFLECTIONS

short story

RECKONING

BLUE BLOODED BROTHERS COLLECTION 1

(including exclusive college romance novella)

RED HART RANCH

SNOW ON THE RANGE

SIREN ON THE RANGE

––––––––

TEXAN DEVILS

RANGER’S WISH

RANGER BEDEVILLED

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sofia Aves writes fast-paced police romances, suspenseful mysteries, steamy cowboys with a Montana backdrop and the occasional cheeky god. She loves reading Indie authors and hides her collection of college romance books beneath an ever-growing TBR pile.

Sofia is a mum of three crazies and an overly large fur baby who thinks she’s a teacup puppy. She loves orchids but can’t always keep them alive. Sofia lives near Brisbane, Australia.

www.sofiaves.com

Join Sofia’s newsletter & get a free Blue Blooded Brothers short story:

https://BookHip.com/CNMQFX

A joker is a little fool who is different from everyone else. He's not a club, diamond, heart, or spade. He's not an eight or a nine, a king or a jack. He is an outsider. He is placed in the same pack as the other cards, but he doesn't belong there. Therefore, he can be removed without anybody missing him. 

— Man Ray

PROLOGUE

––––––––

Two more days, Scotty. Just two more. Winston Ramses Killington leaned back in his desk chair. A few threadbare canvas patches strained to contain his bulk.

Home will feel good, sir. I perched on the edge of my chair, my spine rigid and uniform uncreased in the presence of a superior officer.

There might only be three ranks between the RAF group captain and a lowly flight lieutenant, but with only a few serving years and a single deployment to my name—this one—it may as well have been the English channel for all I could breach the divide. Winston was aptly nicknamed Churchill with a solid head for strategy, and had, over our past three months on foreign soil, taken on an informal mentorship to further my career.

Relax, boy. No one important is watching you. Winston stared out past me, though there was nothing beyond the tent than a wall of sagging sandbags jammed against diamond mesh and the hazy barren desert beyond.

You are, I said without thinking. Sir.

And I’m important? My head won’t fit back in my tent if you keep kissing my arse, Evans.

Yes, sir.

You’re not going to get far if you can’t banter on days filled with nothing but grit and long hours, son.

It’s not the Army. Sir.

Winston laughed. Better. We’ll make a proper military man of you yet. Two days, Evans. Then we’re home.

On British soil. A pipe dream, as the plane didn’t arrive on schedule. It wasn’t unexpected; they never did.

But it was enough time for everything to change. 

I’d look back on those two days, when my career seemed certain, when I never fired a weapon outside a practice range. When Winston talked and I thought I understood what he was saying.

Two days before I lost my mentor in a puff of cordite and shadow fired from a weapon within our own compound. We were so busy watching for an enemy beyond the gates, we forgot to check who was already within them, wearing our own uniform.

Two days before Scotty Evans lost respect for rank and countrymen.

Before I became the Joker.

CHAPTER ONE

JOKER

Sweat trickled across the back of my neck and along my spine as Ace’s dark eyes blazed at me.

Well? he demanded. Are you going to be able to do it? His face reddened as I took my time to answer him, lacing my hands behind my head.

"Well, ability doesn't come into it, Lucas. It’s more whether I want to or not."

Sir.

That’s really not necessary, you know, I said idly as the sweat made its way down the crack of my arse, itching abominably. But the show of respect is nice. I wriggled down in my chair and crossed my ankles on his desk.

You might be RAF, Evans, but you’re one of mine. I have to get on a fucking plane and go meet your toff family if someone actually shoots you, which I don’t doubt might happen any day now. Ace planted his fists on the desk, pressing them down into the wood to tower over me as he rose from behind his desk.

It was a move designed to intimidate, and it failed in magnificent fashion.

I studied him with a critical eye, thickening my accent for shits and giggles. You know you could lose a bit of weight. Maybe lay off the seafood.

Don’t you mother me, Joker. Ace glared at me, seating himself with a huff. Well?

Hmm? Oh, the job. Of course I’ll find time for you, sir. I gave him my prettiest smile, and took my feet off his desk.

Ace muttered something under his breath as I left him in his sweltering office in Fairview House. Even his dog, Helix, whined.

The old queenslander homestead was the traditional base for Z Unit. Officially, we didn’t exist, hadn’t existed since the unit decided to show a certain general how poor the defences were in Townsville harbour back at the end of WWII. When the unit had successfully placed bombs on every ship in the harbour in one night undetected to prove their point, the general acknowledged the feat by disbanding the unit after eighty-one deadly missions — and a solid handful that never made it on the record.

Ace risked his career and reputation in taking us on, but despite the high stakes, or maybe because of them, giving him shit was too easy.

I tucked the file beneath my arm as I closed Ace’s door with a soft click.

Noah King paused in his crunches and stared up at me from the bare floorboards. You pissed him off again, didn’t you? You know I have to deal with your fallout for the rest of the day while you’re off gallivanting around with whatever damn mission you’re tasked with.

Ohh, private school boy not getting enough time with his big guns? I cooed, patting my hands on my knees as though calling a puppy over.

The young sniper—country’s best—raised an eyebrow and resumed his crunches. Sweat popped out over his tanned body, his Air Force workout singlet clinging to his lean but muscular frame.

Army brat, fucktard. And I’ll show you a big gun.

I smirked. Always thought you were compensating for something. Off to the casino, my friend. Enjoy.

I strode into my room off the adjacent hall and closed the door before he could give me another smart-arsed retort. King was good fun to banter with, and better back up, but I needed to concentrate on the job Ace gave me.

I tossed the file onto the bed. It fell open on the first page. A young man in his early twenties, around King’s age, stared blankly at the ceiling.