by Cara Dee
I’m not supposed to do this job without Boone.
We may not share genes, but it’s been us against the world since his mom took me in as a toddler. The rowdy O’Sullivan boys who raised all the hell that Vegas could handle. Not that all my memories are wild and make my heart race. After all, I realized I was in love with the bastard at some point, so there’s been plenty of pathetic yearning and jealousy too.
Even so, it’s been him and me. Brothers, partners in crime, and, for the past six years, co-parents to an amazing little girl. But that’s another story. Right now, I gotta focus on the job our cousin gave us, and I need Boone by my side.
The problem is we haven’t really been on speaking terms for four years now.
This story takes place in Cara Dee’s Camassia Cove Universe, a fictional town where all books stand on their own, unless otherwise stated, and the reader can jump in wherever they want.
My phone rang in my pocket, and I was surprised to see my cousin’s number. We hadn’t talked in a while. “Darius, how the fuck are you?” I smiled. We didn’t share genes either; he was Boone’s biological cousin, but we came from families that picked up strays left and right. I’d once been a stray, just like Ace.
“I’m good, kid. All good,” he answered. “How’s Vegas?”
“Hot.” I eyed a guy walking past. “What can I do for you, cuz?”
“I have a job for you and Boone,” he told me. “Willow’s gonna send you all the information you need.” That would be his tech-savvy little sister. “Pretty straightforward—recon work, virtually no pay.”
I grinned. “My favorite kind. How’d you know?”
He chuckled. “When push comes to shove, it’s more of a favor, but there will be plenty of opportunities for you and Boone to collect a reward from our target.”
Color me intrigued. I knew Darius used to be a private military contractor, but he must’ve taken a break from retirement if he was calling me about a job.
“You can count me in,” I said. I trusted him, and I was always on the lookout for my next job. “Boone’s another matter. We haven’t been on speaking terms for the past four years.”
“Why the fuck not?” Darius demanded. “Shit was good when we saw each other last year.”
No—far from it. “We’re good at pretending when we have to, I guess.” I hated thinking about it. I hated being reminded of it. “I don’t wanna get into the details,” I said. “Long-ass story.”
“So we’ll save it for another time,” Darius said. “But you better patch shit up with him, kid, because I need you both on this. You’ll hear from Willow tonight.”
I’m often awkwardly silent or, if the topic interests me, a chronic rambler. In other words, I can discuss writing forever and ever. Fiction, in particular. The love story—while a huge draw and constantly present—is secondary for me, because there’s so much more to writing romance fiction than just making two (or more) people fall in love and have hot sex.
There’s a world to build, characters to develop, interests to create, and a topic or two to research thoroughly.
Every book is a challenge for me, an opportunity to learn something new, and a puzzle to piece together. I want my characters to come to life, and the only way I know to do that is to give them substance—passions, history, goals, quirks, and strong opinions—and to let them evolve.
I want my men and women to be relatable. That means allowing room for everyday problems and, for lack of a better word, flaws. My characters will never be perfect.
Wait…this was supposed to be about me, not my writing.
I'm a writey person who loves to write. Always wanderlusting, twitterpating, kinking, cooking, baking, and geeking. There’s time for hockey and family, too. But mostly, I just love to write.
Find Cara on social media here.
Promotional post. Materials provided by the author.
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