Darkest Sins (Perfectly Imperfect, #9)

by Neva Altaj

I’m about to place my gear inside when I feel a sharp sting on my nape. The years of training finally kick in. Swinging around, I rip out the dart lodged in my neck. My hand reaches for the gun, but my fingers seem to have lost the ability to grasp the weapon. It slips from my hand and falls to the ground with a thud. I try to blink out the haziness that overcomes my vision. It doesn’t help. I stumble, my back hitting the side of the truck. Blurry shapes of a dozen or so men approach, their flashlights blinding me when they draw near. “Well, what do we have here?” a heavily accented voice says. “That motherfucker wasn’t lying after all.” The face of a man materializes in front of me. Even with befogged vision, I still recognize him from the mission documents Kruger sent me yesterday. Alfonso Mendoza. The leader of a Mexican cartel. My target. “You must have really pissed Kruger off,” he laughs. “He requested we teach you a lesson, then send you back once you remember how to bark on command.” He leans in close. “But, I think we’re gonna keep you instead.”