Smoke

I’ve been sold to Alain Dumortier. I was delivered to his doorstep naked as the day I was born, and two weeks later I haven’t got a stitch of clothing to my name.

This should have been an easy assignment. Get in, have him fall under my spell, grab every little piece of intel I can find, and then assassinate him. They were simple instructions, and ones I’d followed countless times before. What could go wrong?

Just about everything. Alain’s kept me imprisoned and drugged up to my eyeballs. The mind games he’s playing are nearly my undoing, but it’s hard battling a body that’s full of barbiturates or opium. There’s one more problem, too.

I think I’m falling in love with the bastard.

And that was how our story began. Little did I realise, but even though I was half in love with James back then, I would soon forget all about him in less than two weeks time. As unbelievable as it sounds, it was the truth. When the doors of Carte Blanche opened for me, they would strip my world bare, and I’ve never been a girl who was fond of black and white. Though James had tried his best to warn me, it wasn’t until I was on the road of no return that I realised I had made the biggest mistake of my life. All alone, and with no one to turn to, I’d made my bed, but lying in it was almost impossible. Alain Dumortier was out for blood. Mine.