The Marines trained me to set my sights and wait for the shot. For eight years, I guarded my brothers and defended my country. Now I protect my clients. My personal security firm is the best in the business because I leave nothing to chance… until a dark-haired, hazel-eyed spitfire crosses my path.

She and her sexy-as-hell striptease were supposed to be a one-night distraction. But too late I noticed the branding on her back and my blood ran cold. This woman wasn’t a distraction—she was a death sentence.

Knowing who she was left me no choice. I took her on as my client. But running from her past wasn’t an option.

The Marines didn’t train me to retreat. They taught me to engage.

One shot. One kill.

“Kendall,” I whispered, half in disbelief, half in fucking horror.

“You can’t save me.” No intonation in her voice, her statement was pure resignation.

I asked the only question that seemed relevant. “Who else knows?”

“Candle.”

“No handler?”

She shook her head. “No. No witness protection. I refused.”

It was probably the only thing that’d kept her alive. Anyone knowing where or who she was would’ve been a target. Adrenaline pumping, my pulse Mach one, I stared at her in complete fucking shock. This woman had just signed my death warrant.

My nostrils flared with an inhale. “Chica—”

“Walk away, André.”

I opened my mouth to say something I’d regret, but she beat me to it.

“You can’t stop this,” she warned. “Go back to work. Pretend you never met me. Deny everything.” She picked up her dress. “I’ll be gone before you get home.”

I ran a hand over my face. “I don’t even know what to call you.”

“If you say my real name, you’ll be dead before you utter the last syllable.”