A sexy and mysterious mercenary finds himself drawn to a woman, who happens to be part of his latest mission, in this steamy and suspenseful tale. Keep reading to get a tempting taste of Kilo by Sybil Bartel, then add this contemporary thrill ride to your bookshelf! In honor of this ninth installment in The Alpha Elite series, make sure to fill out the form below for the chance to win a $25 Amazon GC too!
Breacher.
Navy SEAL.
Mercenary.
Being a breacher on the Teams wasn’t a job, it was my drug of choice. Detonating charges, the blast waves going through me, I lived for the rush of tactical explosive breaching. As long as I kept my brothers safe and didn’t eat a piece of frag, I never looked past my next mission…until I screwed up.
Miscalculating a blast zone, I took a hit. Then I was benched from active duty, told I’d taken one too many subconcussive blows, and forced into medical retirement.
Except the Navy wasn’t the only home for an explosives expert. Alpha Elite Security took me in, and I got to keep my addiction—right until a mysterious redhead walked into my blast zone and suddenly, I needed a new fix.
Code name: Kilo.
Mission: Detonate.
EXCERPT:
The elevator stopped on the twenty-sixth floor of the fifty-two-story hotel, and the doors opened. I didn’t look at Alpha.
I didn’t need to.
We were both staring at the redhead as she barely glanced up and stepped onto the elevator. Now I knew why the agent wanted to meet at the Four Seasons in Manhattan.
The target’s mistress. In the flesh.
I recalled that one line of intel I’d read.
Artist, depleted bank account, no recent address, born with dual citizenship, third acquired. The elevator doors closed, and I did what that agent was incapable of.
I got real intel.
The smooth sheet of red hair was recently brushed. Her four-inch heels that were nothing more than a couple straps of thin leather were hurting her feet as she shifted from one foot to the other. The beige-colored dress, tight over her ass, was designer. The brand-name bag on her shoulder was more carry-all than purse, and she was fucking nervous.
Starving artists didn’t wear designer.
They also didn’t have perfect posture, smell like expensive perfume and look like they’d just walked off the runway of a fashion show.
This woman was well-bred.
Too well-bred to be mixed up with an arms dealer.
The doors opened. The noise of the lobby hit, and she slipped out, heading toward the restaurant.
I glanced at Alpha. We didn’t need to speak. My gaze quickly cut to the redhead. His chin tipped toward the opposite direction.
In a coordinated move we’d done countless times, we flanked out. Alpha went right.
I moved left.
Heading away from the front entrance of the hotel, striding deeper into the crowd, my gaze was locked on her.
Everyone’s gaze was locked on her.
The crowd parted. Men stared. Women glared.
She looked past every one of them.
Head held high, back straight, shoulders proud, her hips and that sheet of silk hair swayed with every step in those high heels.
I closed the distance and hit her six.
Then I scanned the lobby one more time before I made my move.
She reached for the glass door of the restaurant.
I reached around her.
Covering her hand with mine, caging her in, I leaned down to her ear and issued an order. “Remember my voice.”
She flinched, her lush lips parted with a sharp inhale, and she lifted her head.
Amber eyes met mine in the reflection of the glass, and time fucking stopped.
Then she hit me with a soft, sexy voice. “Pardon?”
“You heard me.” Pulling the door open, I scanned the patrons in the restaurant before giving her the push she needed to start moving. “Walk inside.”
Slow, as if she was afraid to look, she started to glance over her shoulder. I was already gone.
I didn’t need to.
We were both staring at the redhead as she barely glanced up and stepped onto the elevator. Now I knew why the agent wanted to meet at the Four Seasons in Manhattan.
The target’s mistress. In the flesh.
I recalled that one line of intel I’d read.
Artist, depleted bank account, no recent address, born with dual citizenship, third acquired. The elevator doors closed, and I did what that agent was incapable of.
I got real intel.
The smooth sheet of red hair was recently brushed. Her four-inch heels that were nothing more than a couple straps of thin leather were hurting her feet as she shifted from one foot to the other. The beige-colored dress, tight over her ass, was designer. The brand-name bag on her shoulder was more carry-all than purse, and she was fucking nervous.
Starving artists didn’t wear designer.
They also didn’t have perfect posture, smell like expensive perfume and look like they’d just walked off the runway of a fashion show.
This woman was well-bred.
Too well-bred to be mixed up with an arms dealer.
The doors opened. The noise of the lobby hit, and she slipped out, heading toward the restaurant.
I glanced at Alpha. We didn’t need to speak. My gaze quickly cut to the redhead. His chin tipped toward the opposite direction.
In a coordinated move we’d done countless times, we flanked out. Alpha went right.
I moved left.
Heading away from the front entrance of the hotel, striding deeper into the crowd, my gaze was locked on her.
Everyone’s gaze was locked on her.
The crowd parted. Men stared. Women glared.
She looked past every one of them.
Head held high, back straight, shoulders proud, her hips and that sheet of silk hair swayed with every step in those high heels.
I closed the distance and hit her six.
Then I scanned the lobby one more time before I made my move.
She reached for the glass door of the restaurant.
I reached around her.
Covering her hand with mine, caging her in, I leaned down to her ear and issued an order. “Remember my voice.”
She flinched, her lush lips parted with a sharp inhale, and she lifted her head.
Amber eyes met mine in the reflection of the glass, and time fucking stopped.
Then she hit me with a soft, sexy voice. “Pardon?”
“You heard me.” Pulling the door open, I scanned the patrons in the restaurant before giving her the push she needed to start moving. “Walk inside.”
Slow, as if she was afraid to look, she started to glance over her shoulder. I was already gone.
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AUTHOR INFO:
Sybil Bartel is a USA Today Bestselling author of unapologetic alpha heroes. Whether you're reading her deliciously dominant mercenaries, bodyguards or military heroes, all of her heart-stopping, page-turning romantic suspense novels have sexy-as-sin alpha heroes!
Sybil resides in South Florida and she is forever Oliver’s mom.
To find out more about Sybil Bartel or her books, please visit her at:
Sybil resides in South Florida and she is forever Oliver’s mom.
To find out more about Sybil Bartel or her books, please visit her at:
**********GIVEAWAY**********
Great excerpt. Sounds like a good book
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