Frankie

Book 2 in the Sins of the City series.

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In the great cosmic shit-show we call the justice system, there's the law... and then there's the counterweight. Forget Lady Justice, that blindfolded hack. She's just the statue out front. The real work, the greasing of the gears, that's done by a different kind of broad altogether.

They've got a name for her: "The Dirty Lawyer". And let's be clear, they're not wrong. But to the six sons-of-bitches currently fertilizing a pine box forest, she's just Frank.

See, Frankie operates on a different docket; a personal one: a list of names belonging to the pricks who turned her family into a memory. And she's been working her way down that list, real methodical-like.

That was the plan, anyway. Then - he - had to show up and complicate the goddamn scenery.

Hector Pierce. The society pages call him a businessman, a philanthropist. What they don't print is his real trade. The man is an artist whose medium is fear, and whose brush is a straight razor.

The man has one rule: family. It's not a suggestion, it's a religion. So when a slick attorney with a death wish and a killer pair of legs starts sniffing around his family, she stops being a nuisance and becomes a problem. And Hector Pierce... he's a goddamn problem-solver.

He looked her right in those two barrels of doom she calls eyes and promised to burn her world down to the foundation. And she should want to put a bullet right between his principled, stupidly gorgeous eyes. But his loyalty... that deep, caveman, "I'd-kill-for-my-blood" loyalty... it's a fucking distraction.

To Hector, Frankie isn't just a threat. She's a lawyer who can argue a case on Monday and dispose of a body on Tuesday. Beautiful in a way that should be illegal. He's decided he's making her his. It's not a question of if, but a question of when the hell she would stop fighting him on it.

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⚠️ +18