Book One

An Excerpt from Chapter 1

Sloane Stephens had been so close. Five hours. Six max, if she factored in the two beer rounds she’d begrudgingly agreed to with her FBI colleagues. A goodbye celebration to the end of a fourteen-year undercover career. No more role-playing or looking over her shoulder. She’d looked forward to waking the next morning without her life hinging on constant vigilance.

If only life was textbook perfect.

Now, instead of hoisting a beer at Max’s Tavern in Manhattan, she hung, both arms chained to a hook in a cramped room, reeking of sweat.

“Akoúo!”

Listen.

The Greek word shifted Sloane’s attention from regrets to the two brothers guarding her. A pair of turtles without the passive demeanor, they were short in stature, each with a hump between his shoulder blades that pitched the head forward. Their massive chests and excessively muscular limbs overshadowed their lack of height —a clear misuse of steroids.

They argued, their angry Greek words flying at a breakneck speed, leaving Sloane only able to catch every third or fourth word. The older brother accentuated his point with the jab of his rifle muzzle against his brother’s stomach, spittle flying as he ranted.

It would serve them both right if the gun went off. Sloane’s torso throbbed from their earlier fisted blows, her breathing uneven and shallow.