by Cara Carnes
Impact Zone
Cara Carnes
Heartscape Publishing
Sight Lines © 2020 Cara Carnes
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Cover Models: Alexandra & Simon
Photography by: Paul Henry Serres
Cover Design by Freya Barker at RE&D
Content Editor: Heather Long
Copy Editor: Becky Edits
Proofing: Ink It Out Editing
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Created with Vellum
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Bonus Scenes
Author’s Note
About the Author
Acknowledgments
It might take a village to put out a book, but when it comes to The Arsenal I’m beyond blessed to have an army behind me. I wish there were enough pages to thank everyone individually.
Thank you to my fearless editors, who never fail to knock my words into shape. And my talented photographer and fabulous cover designer for always, always providing gorgeous covers that bring the world to life.
Thank you to all the experts I’ve reached out to throughout this series. I have learned so much from your expertise, and I thank you for your time and insight. Any errors are entirely mine.
And to The Cohorts and all the readers who have reached out about this series…You all are beyond fabulous. Your passion for these books, the characters within and the romance genre itself is why I love writing so very much. I hope that I can do justice to the world you’re enjoying.
***While The Arsenal series is a romance at its heart, the fiber, blood and bone of this series is a gritty, sometimes dark, and daunting rollercoaster ride of suspense, family, team, and honor. Love isn’t ever an easy road to navigate. While I’ve made every attempt to warn readers of possible triggers, please know there may very well be subject matter within this series that may be difficult to read.***
Impact Zone has some scenes involving torture which may trigger some readers.
1
Bang Kwang Prison
Bangkok, Thailand
Eight years ago…
Fallon Graves expected death every day he woke. There were worse hells than death, but nothing had prepared him for the shithole he’d wound up in.
Days bled into one another. The sardine life, packed eight deep in a shit- and piss-scented cell, turned an hour into a century and rotted even the strongest wills.
Guards roused him from his perch atop a semi-rotten board—one of the only places he had to sit within his sardine world. One kicked his half-eaten, maggot-infested rice into the corner. So much for eating today.
The threadbare sandals he’d been issued pounded against the concrete as he fell into step with the four guards escorting him down a long, narrow corridor. Death row. The shackles welded shut around his ankles clanked with each short step they allowed, which left him in a constant hustle to keep up with the shorter guards.
Yeah.
He’d expected death, but nothing had prepared him for this place.
Rage kept him focused despite the narrowing timeframe. In a few days, he’d be done.
He breathed through his mouth as much as possible, but hated the putrid stench coating his tongue. Hopelessness filled his lungs and fused with the toxins of bad decisions and shitty luck.
The guards shoved him into a room with a wooden chair under a lone lightbulb. A man stood in the right corner. Hands on hips, he turned and regarded Fallon. Lips thin, gaze narrowed, everything about him screamed government, from the black suit to the matching tie. Whoever the bastard was, he wanted no part of this place or anyone in it.
Movement dragged his attention to the left corner as a woman stepped out of the shadows. Dark hair swept along her jaw in a haphazard manner, but her focused gaze demanded his attention as it scanned downward. Slow. Assessing. Anger bled into her gaze as he was forced into the chair. Two guards remained at his side, hands on their weapons.
“Guard” was a loose term. Most of the so-called authorities were prisoners themselves, ones entitled or privileged. Money bought favors, even here.
“Leave,” the woman ordered.
Neither guard moved. Fallon chuckled. “You aren’t in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. English isn’t obeyed, especially from pretty bitches like you.”
“Peter.” The woman’s voice was edged with enough steely grit to stir Fallon’s blood as the man barked orders. The two guards scurried out. The door slammed shut with a loud thud that ignited Fallon’s pulse.
“He’s not worth it,” Peter said. His fancy shoes scraped along the filthy floor as he shoved his hands into his slacks and moved closer. “You’re wrong about this one.”
“No.” The woman paused, stepped into Fallon’s personal space and crouched until their gazes locked. “I’m not.”
“As much as I appreciate the company, my dance card is a little full, lady.” His gaze cut to the suit. “Though, you lose the suit, we could have some fun.”
“Two days.” A thick file thudded to the floor near his shackled ankles. “You’re facing a firing squad in less than forty-eight hours, Fallon Graves.”
“Thanks. I lost track of time a while back. I’ll make sure to ask for extra maggots in my rice for my final meal.” He darted his gaze from the intensity she projected like a second skin.
“You’ve got an impressive skill set, better than any ordnance expert I’ve worked with. You shouldn’t have ever been caught, especially on a job as simple as blowing a car.”
Not caught, gift-wrapped. “You don’t know a damn thing about me. Who the hell are you?”
“You can call me Edge. We get to know one another, you prove you’re worth the pain in the ass that’ll be getting you out of this place, you’ll earn my name.” She remained crouched near enough he imagined the stench of his filth filled every breath she took.
Unlike the asshole pacing as far away as possible, she didn’t blink or back down despite the anger Fallon exuded. Hands clenched, he kept quiet. Whatever this was, whoever she was, didn’t matter. Two days, he’d be maggot food in the nearby graveyard.
His life would end buried in an unmarked grave, one he’d likely share with the seven other sardines in his cell. Why dig eig
ht holes when one would do?
“How did you meet him?”
Fallon tensed. Coppery liquid coated his tongue when he bit down to suppress the question in his throat. Him? No way she knew anything.
“My line of work, I’ve worked with a lot of people,” Edge said. “Some deadlier than you. Your line of work, there’s always a signature. A slice of the person behind the device. Why is that? Do you crave recognition? Or is it a small rebellion to being the faceless monster behind the death.”
“You a fed?” Fallon glared at the bastard pacing in the corner. “He sure as fuck is.”
“Our organization handles jobs…jobs people need done quick and quiet.” Edge continued talking even though Fallon’s attention remained on the suit. “We’re a lot like you and those who hire you. The only difference is I don’t set my operatives up to take the fall and eat maggots in a Thailand prison.”
“Get to the point, Edge.”
“Someone betrayed you. No way you would’ve gotten caught unless a target was painted on you.” She opened the folder at his feet and spread out the contents. Images of the bomb that’d gone epically wrong. “Found enough of your work. You never had unnecessary losses.”
Unnecessary losses.
Fuck.
He shifted in his seat and focused on the woman again. In another world, another life, he’d want a woman like her on her knees in front of him for entirely different reasons—ones far more fun than a chat in a foreign prison.
He wouldn’t waste precious time with a beauty like her chatting about unnecessary losses. Kids. Three children had been killed by a bomb linked to him. Only the one that’d blown hadn’t been what he planted. He wasn’t sloppy.
“Took me a long time to track down your origin, Malcolm.”
Fallon tensed. “Malcolm died long ago. You’d best leave.”
“When did you meet O’Ryan? I’m thinking Chicago, likely when you were young. One of the group homes?”
Paddy O’Ryan. His life once rose and set around the old man who’d helped him when no one else would. Everything has a price. Fallon, aka Malcolm, learned all about the price paid for someone giving a damn and helping you out.
Never again.
“Get. The. Fuck. Out.”
“Come and work with me. I’ll erase what few tracks exist back to Malcolm, to that life you left.”
“Yeah, right.”
“You’ll get your justice. Whoever put you here, that’s your business. Your score to settle. Work for me, I’ll stay at your back until that’s handled and for however long you help me out when needed.”
Fallon accepted he’d die soon, but killing the asshole who’d put him in death’s crosshairs would be sweet. Almost too good to believe.
Everything has a price.
“Bullshit.” Fallon shook his head. “No way you’ve got the balls to pull me outta here, even if I was stupid enough to agree. What’s your game?”
“Something you’ll learn about me real quick, Graves. There’s very little I can’t do when I’m determined. I don’t ever back down, and I sure as hell don’t leave anyone swinging in the wind.”
Fallon had simmered on the betrayal that’d sealed his fate the first few days he’d been imprisoned. Then he’d accepted the penance for his stupidity. He’d blindly trusted the man who’d trained him, been as close to a father as he’d ever known.
“I won’t give you O’Ryan. The old bastard’s mine to handle.”
“Why would I want a has been when I have you?” Edge smirked and stood for the first time. “A man like you, burned by one of the few you trusted, won’t work for just anyone. I get that. You’re a lone wolf.”
“Damn straight.”
“Six months. Work contracts for me for six months. I’ll give you the right to tap out and refuse as long as there’s a legit reason. When you’re between assignments, I’ll help you track down whoever’s on your list.”
“Who says I’ve got a list?”
“You’ve got a list,” she said with a laugh. “No one can hide from me, Graves. My partner and I can find anyone. Six months. You’ll see what I’m about, what I’ll do for those in my charge. And then…”
“Then what?”
“Then you’ll trust me with that list, and they’ll pay.”
That was a price he could pay. Six months to keep breathing. Then Paddy wouldn’t.
“I haven’t agreed to that,” Peter growled.
Fallon glared at the suited bastard, then at Edge. “He’s not on board. That’s a problem. Suits don’t do something for nothing. No way in fuck I’m doing anything for him.”
“He’s not worth it, Edge,” the suit said.
“Peter agrees or Quillery and I walk.” She stooped down and picked up the file. “He can’t afford to lose us.”
“No way you’d walk for me. You don’t even know me.”
“I know more about you than anyone breathing, Graves. If you wanna tap out and face the firing squad rather than man up and take control of your own life, that’s fine. No skin off my back.” She leaned forward. “You aren’t anyone’s puppet. You’ve been kept on strings long enough.”
“And I’m supposed to believe you aren’t like them? He sure as fuck is.”
“Actions speak louder than words. Six months. You don’t like what I do and how I do it, you walk. Either way, you’re breathing and making a lot more than you’ve ever made.”
Fallon mulled over the offer. Anything too good to be true likely ended badly—a lesson he’d learned the hard way more than once. He’d trusted few people since escaping the group homes. Everything had a price. O’Ryan had taken him in, given him a skill set, and then put him to work for a fuckload less than he should’ve made.
“I’m your mentor. Back in the day of knights, boys like you would apprentice. One day you’ll be ready to operate alone. Until then, you do what I say, whenever I say. You’re my hands.” The man held up his gnarled fingers. They trembled. “My hands and my eyes.”
“I don’t know what your endgame is, Edge, but I’m in. I won’t let you fuck me over, though.”
“Fair enough.” Edge looked at Peter. “Make the call. He walks tonight.”
“We need to discuss this,” the man argued.
“He. Walks. Tonight.” Mary glanced down at Fallon. “Make sure they know about the shackles. Bastards weld them onto death row inmates. That’ll need to be handled.”
“And how the hell is a team pulling him out of here?”
Edge pulled something out of her pocket and placed it in Fallon’s hand. “Take this at nightfall. All of it.”
Fallon looked down at the small vile. “What’s in it? How’s it helping me get out of here? What’s the plan?”
“I’m killing you before they do,” Edge said.
What the hell? Was she nuts?
“Is this another drug from your mysterious friend? The one you reference on reports as Doc?” Peter asked. “I never approved that.”
“Yeah, you did. You green lit getting him out. The how is my job,” Edge said. “Drink it all tonight. When you wake back up, you’ll be free.”
“You aren’t authorized to use that drug, or anything else from your friend. Not for this. If the op goes sideways, they could discover it in his blood.”
“This isn’t possible without Doc and the drugs, and I don’t screw up my ops.” Edge cut her gaze to him. “Drink it all tonight.”
About One Year Ago
Fallon Graves wondered if he’d made a mistake. The Arsenal wasn’t what he’d expected, not that it mattered. If Edge was here and in trouble, then he’d deal.
“We need to chat,” Marshall Mason said.
Fallon Graves grunted and followed the eldest of six Mason brothers who led the private paramilitary organization. The sprawling compound looked more like a ranch than a black ops group. Cattle grazed in open fields nearby. He’d never much given a damn what the headquarters of wherever he contracted at looked like, though. He’d a
lways been about the paycheck until Mary Reynolds, aka The Edge.
Someone had kidnapped and tortured her.
Raped her.
They’d pay.
Anger simmered within him, waited for an opportunity to rage out at the assholes who’d hurt the woman who’d singlehandedly changed his life. Upended his world and set it on a new path.
Marshall entered a small office tucked away at the far end of a long corridor in the second of three buildings. He picked up a folder and chucked it between them. Photographs and papers spilled out. Annoyance flashed through him, but he remained silent and waited. Though Fallon didn’t know much about The Arsenal, he’d heard enough about the Masons to know they were touted as the best, straightest operatives in the private arena.
“Mary says you’re the best ordnance expert she’s ever worked with.” Marshall folded his arms and sat on the desk’s edge. “You aren’t like the other operatives we’ve hired.”
Fallon grunted. “That a problem?”
“Depends on why you’re here.”
“I’m here for Edge.” A guy like Mason, carved from rules and regulations courtesy of the military, would need more. “She tell you how we met?”
“No.” Marshall crossed his arms. “You contracted for Hive.”
Fallon grunted. Maybe a trip down memory lane wasn’t the best option. Let the man think whatever he wanted as long as the end result was the same. “I owe her.”
“You aren’t the only one. She’s Arsenal now, which means she’s under our protection.” The warning hung between them a few beats. “The file she gave us on you is extensive, but there’s not much of a personal background there.”