And I don’t know how he’s only twenty-two. I’ve never been in a serious relationship and rarely dated. High school doesn’t really count. Interpol recruited me when I was nineteen, and my main focus before was surviving.
I left home as soon as I turned nineteen—if you could still call it home.
A Twisted Hearts’ gang member dated my older sister, and she didn’t know it. Nor was she aware his nickname was Knuckles. When she found out, she tried to break it off. He threatened to kill our entire family if she didn’t return to him.
One night, while we all slept, Knuckles and three other men broke into the house. They killed my entire family, and I was left for dead, too.
But I survived. The pounding blow to the head Knuckles gave me with his brass knuckles wasn’t enough to kill me like it did my parents, little brother, and sister.
When I woke up in the hospital, an FBI agent sat in a chair and told me they were putting me in the witness protection program.
They gave me a new name. Lexi Phillips. I took the GED online since I was only a few months away from high school graduation.
I moved from Jacksonville, Florida, to New York City, where I could get lost in the crowd. It became my new home.
It felt anything but.
They gave me a bank account with money in it and set me up with a job, but the only thing I could think about was vengeance for my family.
When I was nineteen, a little over a year after the night my entire world collapsed, my FBI contact gave me a surprise visit to tell me the case they were building against Knuckles went bust. Evidence from my family’s murder was stolen from the prosecutor’s office. There would be no reason for me to take the stand.
I died once more.
And I tried not to let him in, but there was no way around it. As he walked into my tiny apartment and saw my walls, almost floor-to-ceiling covered in pictures of different Twisted Hearts’ members I was documenting, I lost it.
He wanted to know what I was planning.
I didn’t know. I had no training with weapons. The martial arts classes I had become obsessed with were the only way I knew how to attempt to protect myself. But the obsession to erase every person connected to the Twisted Hearts grew bigger every day, as the pain I felt about losing my family dug deeper into my soul.
And I didn’t care about any mercy for anyone who was a Twisted Heart. Somehow, I would figure out how to kill and take them out one by one if needed. What was my life anyway? I was alone. Broken. No remnant of the person I was before the murders existed, anymore. Even Lexi Phillips, the girl the FBI created, was an apparition.
Later, Interpol paid me a visit. I left with them and never looked back. And I legally changed my name to Gia Garmani.
Interpol taught me everything—how to fight with my bare hands, use weapons, and lure men into telling me things they normally wouldn’t.
Sleeping with the enemy may or may not occur, and I know every new target I take on has the potential to destroy me. But there are rules and procedures to follow in the dangerous game I play, and I stick to them so nothing happens.
My targets have consisted of men in their twenties through forties. And while the men I infiltrate are usually powerful and dangerous, I’m the one manipulating them and calling the shots.
I’ve never crossed the line and slept with any of them. I’ve gotten in and out and come out unscathed.
Until tonight.
Sure, I’ve thought targets were attractive before, and Connor’s photo instantly made my heart skip a beat, but I didn’t expect every cell in my body to hum with his energy or to feel like I wasn’t pretending.
You aren’t pretending. You like him and want him.
You underestimated him.
As soon as I get home, I stand in a hot shower, trying to get the intoxicating smell of his skin off me and forget about how it felt to be in his arms.
I felt alive and safe, like he would do anything to protect me, and all he wanted was for me to be his.
And I wanted to be his.
You still want to be his.
You have to tell Interpol to pull you from him. You can’t have these feelings and do your job.
How is he twenty-two?
Connor Brooks doesn’t appear or act twenty-two. He doesn’t touch me like he’s twenty-two. The sexual power and confidence radiating off him, I’ve never come across before and definitely isn’t in any other twenty-two-year-old I’ve ever met.
I dry myself off and get into bed. When my head hits the pillow, and I close my eyes, all I see is Connor’s eyes when I left him. They were begging me for answers and to stay, full of apologies for something he shouldn’t have to apologize for.
He’s into you. If he’s a Twisted Heart, he needs to be taken down. He’ll be easier to infiltrate since he wants you.
There is no way he’s one of them.
Then why does Fisher include him in everything whenever he’s in town?
When I finally fall asleep, the nightmares I often have about the night my family was murdered plague me.
I wake up in a sweat, tears stream down my face, and it takes me several minutes to realize I’m alone.
Alone. The only thing you’ll ever be.
Every Twisted Heart needs to go down.
Throwing on workout clothes, I run for miles in the dark of the morning, fighting my demons and thinking about vengeance.
When I return, I shower, open my laptop, and read a new message from Interpol.
It’s Connor’s agenda. He’s bartending on the island today.
You need to remove yourself.
I can handle it. His closeness to Fisher could crumple the entire organization.
With new resolve, I spend the day studying everything I can about Connor and Fisher. Interpol collected data about their previous encounters. Almost all their meetings are in Ybor City, St. Pete, or on the island. It’s almost always at bars or parties, minus when they sometimes work out together. Sometimes Connor’s sister Gracie is with them but only about half of the time.
When nighttime comes, I drive to Anna Maria and park several blocks from the beachfront restaurant where Connor is bartending.
At first, I watch him from the beach and zoom in on my phone. I snap a few photos of him joking and entertaining his guests.
The bar is full. It’s tourist season, and he works hard making drinks. His customers and the wait staff all seem to love him, and the entire time, my blood is pounding in my ears.
He seems to have gotten more gorgeous than last night. My body pulses, and I watch him. I’m about to leave, knowing I’m too attracted to him, but then I see Fisher.
He was at the bar with his back to me, but I was so focused on Connor, I didn’t notice him.
Why is he here?
He hands Connor a wad of cash.
It could be a normal tip.
It could also be how he pays him to make it seem legit.
Without thinking, I make my way to the bar. By the time I get there, Fisher is gone, and I slide into the same seat he’d occupied.
My heart is thumping, and when Connor turns and sees me, his eyes light up, and the throbbing in my veins intensifies.
A smile fills his face. He finishes the drink he’s making and sets it down in front of his customer. There’s a line of waitresses waiting for him to fill their orders. He picks up several bottles, throws the liquid in a silver tumbler along with ice, then shakes it with his eyes drilled into mine. After he pours the contents in a martini glass along with some garnishes, he takes several steps and sets it in front of me.