by J.L. Lora
The Trinity, #3
Publication Date: March 6, 2018
Genres: Adult, Romantic Suspense, Cartel, Organized Crime
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Only the Devil you know has the power to really hurt you.
Strong, daring, and loyal to a fault, Amelia Solis is the soul of The Trinity. Yet, this leader of New York’s top cartel has become a pawn in the game of revenge. All to hurt Leandro, the man she wants more than life but cannot be with.
The enemy’s always watching, biding his time.
Leandro Masseur, Lieutenant in the McLean crime family, earned his position through loyalty, shrewd business, and ruthlessness. His enemies never see the bullet until it’s ready to lodge between their eyes. When a dead woman is found in Amelia’s bed, his world is flipped off its axis.
Their Devil knows what buttons to push.
Four women will die before a killer finishes a macabre target list, with Amelia as his crown piece. Leandro and Amelia must dodge the barrage of bullets and bombs to keep her safe. Tragedy has left them scarred and broken. But love won’t be denied, won’t wait, and Leandro won’t stop fighting for a chance. The only woman he’s ever loved has been marked for death. Leandro won’t let that happen.
I never needed a drink to sleep before. Not the day I shot my first guy right through the eyes. Not during the years Sebastian tried to turn me into his little bitch. Not after I got shot, and it’d hurt like a motherfucker. I hadn’t needed a drink to sleep then.
Until Amelia Solis stormed into my life. It was bye-bye Leandro Masseur.
One fucking day, an elevator door opened and her laughter pealed out. God witnesses daily how much I wish I had never turned around to see her step out of that elevator. Every fucking thing in my life went to shit, dragged and smeared around at her will. One look at her and I’d fallen through a hole full of obsessions, eating all my player promises.
Never-love-them-Leo would never fall in love with a woman, let a woman call the shots, or spend hours thinking about a woman.
So how the hell do I, of all the fools in the world, find myself here? Waking up feeling like shit and worshiping at the altar of a woman determined not to be with me. The answer is simple and complicated.
Yes, it was the painted-on-her-skin, black dress that spotlighted her curves. And yes, it was the way she walked to a sexy beat like a Maxwell song. And yes, it was her Coke-can-red lips, weapons more dangerous than the knife she carried in her leather boot strap or purse or in a sheath under her skirts.
Last night, again, she’d driven me to the understanding, comforting arms of whiskey. Noah married Gia, but Amelia tells me we cannot be. We cannot be, but she eye-fucks me as our friends take their vows. I don’t blame her. I feasted on her, like a homeless man looking through the glass of a bakery. The things I did to her with my eyes and mind…me, her, the priest, the tent, the flowers, the chairs, all should have been on fire.
But no, the wedding’s over and she hightails it back to New York with some bullshit excuse about checking on her friend Byanca.
My phone beeps again. I snatch it and almost fall off the bed when I see her name. My heart jabs at my chest and I turn into a boy again. That’s what she does to me.
I’m sorry, her text says. I want to slam my phone against the wall, over and over until it shreds into plastic and wiry ribbons. I flip the cell on the bed away from me like it offends me. I lay back down, contemplating texting her back, telling her not to worry about me. I won’t be bothering her with my attention anymore. Leandro Masseur will go back to not begging her. She can have all the space she wants. As a matter of fact, I’ll give her more. I’ll be so distant that it’ll make all the states between New York and California seem like a stroll down the block.
A scream bounces off the walls and my heart punches through my chest. My hand palms the Glock under my pillow, my head already calculating where it came from, how to get there, if the hallway’s clear.
Everyone in the house scrolls through my mind at once. Alec, the twins, but my mind settles on Carissa. I don’t know when I left the bed. My next breath, I’m at the door, securing the hallway and making my way to the home office. Carissa wails, prickling every pore in my body and I know it’s bad. Bad enough to make my stomach clench because I don’t know what it is, or who.
Who, because someone’s dead.
ABOUT J.L. LORA
J. L. Lora is a Dominican-American author. Her stories explore the dark side of good characters, people living in the gray areas of life while playing the cards life has dealt them. She loves strong heroines and their equally powerful Men. She currently lives in Maryland, pursuing her dream of writing compelling, sexy, can’t-put-down stories about empowered, badass alpha heroines and take-your-breath-away alpha heroes
If you wish to know more information about J. L. Lora, you can visit her website: www.JLLora.com.
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