Assassin's Moon: Moonstruck Wolf, #6

By Silver James

A man living in the shadows…

Wolf shifter Griffith "Abel" Caine is a disgraced SpecOps sniper working in the dark of the moon as a paid assassin. When a major player offers millions to take out her competition and his family, Griff can cross his one moral line in the sand or walk away—except the woman signing the check will put him in the cross-hairs if he does.

 

A woman looking for daylight…

Lennox Morgan lost over a year of her life to PTSD and crippling depression. She's come to Brazil to volunteer at an orphanage, hoping to find herself. Instead, she crosses paths with an enigmatic man with a dark agenda and a vindictive arms dealer. She has a chance for more happiness than she could have ever imagined. All she has to do is stay alive.

 

Will they survive the Assassin's Moon?

From the jungles of Brazil to the playgrounds of the rich and famous in Rio de Janeiro, these wounded warriors will fight for their lives, their love, and their future—with an assist from some very special operators…

 

Note: This work was previously published (2018) as Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Assassin's Moon under a special license through Aces Press. Original rights have been reverted by the licensor to the author. Revisions have been made to update the story with approximately 5,000 words added. Any reference to the Special Forces: Operation Alpha world, including all copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Susan Stoker and Aces Press, their affiliates or licensors has been deleted.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Silver James
• Release date: Oct 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215736692

Silver James

Silver James likes walks on the wild side and coffee. Okay. She LOVES coffee. Warning: Her Muse, Iffy, runs with scissors. A cowgirl at heart, she’s also been an Army officer’s wife and mom, and has worked in the legal field, fire service, and law enforcement. Now retired from the real world, she lives in Oklahoma and spends her days writing with the assistance of her two Newfoundland dogs, the cat who rules them all, and the myriad characters living in her imagination.

Book preview

ASSASSIN’S MOON

Moonstruck Wolf #6

A close up of a logo Description generated with high confidence

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Silver James

Assassin’s Moon is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organization, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. 

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Assassin’s Moon

© 2022 Silver James

This book is being republished under a revision of rights from ACES PRESS LLC. The contents have been revised and updated, with an additional ???? words added to the story.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Contact: [e-mail]

Cover design by Clary Cary, [e-mail]

Cover images: www.depositphotos.com

Nude Male Pointing © majdansky

www.bigstock.com

Moon © tankerblazer7 

This work was previously published (2018) as Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Assassin’s Moon under a special license through Aces Press. Original rights have been reverted by the licensor to the author. Revisions have been made to update the story with approximately 5,000 words added. Any reference to the Special Forces: Operation Alpha world, including all copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Susan Stoker and Aces Press, their affiliates or licensors has been deleted..

TABLE OF CONTENTS

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

Author’s Notes:

About the Author

BOOK LINKS

Dedication

To everyone who travels to faraway places upon the pages of a book.

Welcome to the jungle!

I also need to thank my old friend Insomnia along with Jason Statham and Tommy Lee Jones

for appearing in a movie that I watched at 3 in the morning.

That movie gave me the seed of an idea that bloomed into this story.

Inspiration comes at odd times, and Jason, you could totally be Griffith Abel Caine.

Tommy Lee, you are totally Tex. Just sayin’...

Acknowledgements

Writers spend a lot of time with the people who live in their heads. A lucky author has a group of family, friends, and supporters who drag her out of the writing cave and into reality on a regular basis. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank those who contribute, cheer, cajole, and drag me kicking and screaming back and forth between real live and the one I write about.

I truly appreciate all the help I get from everyone involved in producing a book. Of course, the important ones are the readers. A big wave to all who enjoy my books. Y’all rock my world! And as most know, I couldn’t do this without the help and support of my wonderful husband aka Lawyer Guy.

Last but definitely not least, I want to recognize my cover artist, Clary, for taking my blurred visions and producing wonderful covers for me.. 

One last caveat: Any and all mistakes are my own.

Chapter 1

GRIFFITH CAINE jerked awake, sweat pouring from every pore, chest heaving as he tried to breathe through the panic. The stench of blood, fear, and things darker, more fetid remained in his nostrils and the screams of his team, the explosions and small arms fire echoed in his ears. He fucking hated the nightmares. His Delta Force team had been set up, the ambush devastating. In the aftermath, with his team dead or so badly injured they’d take years to heal, Griff had faded into the night to nurse his wounds—and to seek revenge.

His team thought they were clever when they’d nicknamed him Abel, playing on both the homonym and his last name because he’d been ready, willing, and able to do whatever necessary to keep the team safe. He wasn’t a stranger to violence. He could kill from over a mile away with his sniper rifle or up close and personal with his bare hands—hands that were coated in so much blood he’d never find redemption. He could live with that, especially when so many of his enemies hadn’t. Too bad the Army couldn’t. Even several years later, he had a price on his head, placed there by the good ol’ USA.

He was only good at one thing, which was why he currently walked the busy streets of Bangkok. People thronged the sidewalks but he cut through them like a dull knife hacking through aged beef. Griff wasn’t elegant. He was a blunt weapon and hell if he didn’t make a damned good living being just that. Locating the restaurant, he checked his surroundings. A meeting like this wouldn’t be the first time his enemies had attempted to set him up. That’s why he no longer did business in person. But this potential client had been insistent—and there was a lot of money dangling like that proverbial carrot. He didn’t plan on being an ass but his curiosity had been pricked.

Just beneath the surface of his skin, his wolf paced. It didn’t like the crowds, the myriad odors crashing against the man’s senses, though they were honed by the beast’s. Still, nothing set off alarms. He dodged traffic while crossing the street, leaving irate honking and shouted Thai expletives in his wake. He slipped into the place, following a noisy gaggle of natives. Peeling off, Griff headed to the secluded table in the rear. Three men, two of them masquerading as sumo wrestlers, stepped in front of him. He didn’t slow. The thin man in the middle went down with a broken arm, the pistol he’d been holding now in Griff’s possession. The fat boys were too slow and after he banged their heads together, they’d be lucky to come out of the encounter with only concussions.

He offered a cynical smile to the elegant woman sitting at the table. Veronica Toulouse was a stone-cold bitch. She trafficked guns, drugs, humans—anything that could pay her freight, which was hefty. She shopped the runways of New York, Paris, and Milan and the designer outfit she currently wore would feed the average Thai family for almost a year. Her dark eyes were cold and sharp—like a reptile’s. He’d never met her but he knew her type. The blurry photos he’d been able to track down didn’t do her justice. And, given the trouble he’d had finding pictures of her, he found it fascinating that she wanted to meet him in person.

Griff had agreed to this face-to-face only because she’d deposited half a million nonrefundable dollars in his Cayman account. The money was already transferred through a circuitous route to his holding account at a very old, very prestigious, and very discreet bank in Geneva, Switzerland.

Well, the woman purred, lifting one perfectly arched eyebrow in amused approval. You are exactly as advertised.

Griff set his shoulder against the wall so that the whole restaurant was in front of him. He didn’t acknowledge her obvious come-on. It was a distraction, a way to keep his attention focused on her face and tits—which were all but spilling out of the couture dress. Her ploy didn’t work, not that he was worried about the pistol the woman held in her lap, hidden below the table, which was her whole reason for the subterfuge. You paid a lot of money to get my attention, Ms. Toulouse. Why?

Yes, yes I did. Her faint French accent teased his ear as she offered a frank appraisal of him with her gaze. Holding his attention, she made a show of licking her lips, hinting at things sexier. I would think the why is obvious, Mr. Abel. I want to hire you.

I don’t do lap dances.

Her trilling laughter grated on his nerves but he kept his expression neutral. Arms loose at his sides, he tilted his head her direction but his own perusal had already summed her up. He was more concerned about other operatives she might have stashed in the restaurant.

That’s too bad. I would wager you give quite the ride. He didn’t respond and after a strained moment of staring, she cleared her throat. Sit down.

Griff didn’t move.

Playing hard to get? That brow lifted again, only there was no amusement in the expression. Fine. I asked for this meeting because I refuse to do business with someone I’ve never seen. You come highly recommended, Mr. Abel, and you appear to measure up to your reputation. You know why I want to hire you. I have already made a second deposit...a finder’s fee, shall we say? Let us discuss the details.

No. Griff didn’t like Veronica Toulouse and he was ready to end the meeting.

I do not think you understand the situation. She slipped a hand into a designer bag sitting on the floor next to her chair. Griff tensed, waiting. Then she slid out a large envelope and tucked it under her thigh. I’ll leave this here. It contains the necessary information. She picked up her cell phone and tapped out a sequence of letters and numbers on a message app. And now, your usual down payment has been wired to your business account. She offered him a cat-like smirk. This is, of course, in addition to the one million I have already paid you.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He didn’t need to look at the message to know the money was in place—two million dollars was his standard down payment. Those who did business in his world did not short the contractors. Doing so was always a fatal mistake. The final payment, to be determined after he planned the hit—should he accept the contract, would be in place before he pulled the trigger. She’d caught his attention. Three million dollars before he even accepted the contract would catch anyone’s attention.

The woman pushed back from the table, picked up the designer leather bag—now holding her tiny pistol—and strolled out. Her men scrambled after her. While the rest of the customers watched them exit, Griff scooped the brown envelope off the chair where she’d been sitting and disappeared through the kitchen.

Holed up in the cheap room he’d rented, Griff surfed the Internet. Tex Wilson was an arms dealer, which made the man scum of the earth, as far as Griff was concerned. But the man also had a wife and two children. The contract was carved in stone—take out everyone in Wilson’s family or forfeit not only the money but Griff’s life. He