He’s sworn to find his son.
Dallas Mason did whatever was necessary to survive his stint in black ops. While in the Collective, there was no line he wouldn’t cross, and no mission he wouldn’t take. He bedded the enemy to secure his freedom and return to his brothers and build a new life, where the lines between right and wrong are sometimes blurred, but never erased. Now he and everyone at The Arsenal has one mission: find his son. His family and team will stop at nothing to achieve the goal—including sidelining Dallas from the hunt.
She’s sworn to find her father’s killer.
Kamren Garrett learned to rely on no one long ago. Surrounded by enemies, and surviving in hostile territory is nothing new for her. She can outshoot, outhunt, and out track anyone. She doesn’t need a Mason dictating what she can and can’t do to uncover the secrets of her father’s death. Dallas thinks she’s the problem. She doesn’t have time to handle him. She’s close to identifying her quarry. Unfortunately, she discovers she’s over her head and in need of help and she turns to the last person she ever wanted to ask—Dallas Mason.
Forced to take a step back from his true objective, Dallas sets his sights on fixing the problems threatening his son’s future home. Teamed with Kamren, he’ll uncover more than they expected. Failure isn’t an option when it comes to blood vows.
If you haven’t read the other books in this series I suggest you do that before reading this one. While it’s not necessary it will make far more sense if you do.
Kamren Garett is looking for her father’s killer, unfortunately her sister Rachelle has been bad mouthing her all over the place, calling her crazy and starting rumors she’s on drugs. Rachelle and her brother Cliff have been at the Arsenal since Riley convinced everyone something bad was going on in Marville. The Mason’s have their back even against their sibling.
The ‘Marville Dogs’ want her to stop her snooping around. After a confrontation with Dallas Mason at the Sip and Spin, a bar where her best friend Dani works. She leaves town. When she returns all is not well and she makes the decision to ask the Arsenal for help.
This is a favorite scene of her eventful journey up the road.
It’d been two weeks since her face off with Dallas Mason. He’d made assumptions she hadn’t corrected. Why bother? He was right. Rachelle was better off away from her and the troubles she’d stirred.
The troubles slamming her off the highway.
It’d been a mistake going to the Sip and Spin. Coming to The Arsenal.
The truck lurched forward against a grind of bumper-on-bumper contact. Her teeth rattled, her body slammed against the seat belt. She gunned the truck and powered on. Her pulse quickened, but a calm settled over her—a steady, rumbling awareness of everything around her. She scanned the area ahead.
The vehicle slammed into her truck’s side. Metal crunched, but Kamren swerved into the impact and gunned the accelerator. Close. So close.
Break away. Prepare a response.
She snagged the cell and hit the call button.
Come on. Come on. Come on.
Answer. Answer. Answer.
“Arsenal.” The gruff response was huskier than she expected, as if half-asleep.
She grunted as the vehicle slammed into her backside once more. Tires spun as she battled with the steering wheel. Damn it. They’d screwed up the alignment somehow.
“Who is this?” The voice—sharper, more determined—drew her attention. Adrenaline surged, fueling her thoughts.
“Kamren Garrett. Someone’s after me. I’m close, but not going to make it. I’ll draw their fire, but keep Rachelle safe. Don’t let anyone outside Resino County get my backpack.”
She doubted any of it made sense, but she had no time to repeat or play twenty questions. She angled the vehicle off the road and barreled out the passenger door as it lurched to a stop. Right hand on her rifle, left hand on her backpack, she did an awkward, curled roll into the overgrown grass in the bar ditch.
Headlights danced and bobbed as her two opponents pulled over. Voices fractured the otherwise silent night. Gasoline filled her nostrils. The fuel tank was damaged from the impact earlier. Good. Her pulse quickened as a plan formed in her mind.
She belly-crawled deeper into the grass toward the massive fence line denoting Mason land. She waited until the voices were nearer the vehicle she’d escaped.
Deep breath in. Pained breath out. She rolled into position. Up on her knees.
Flames shot upward from the pooled gasoline she’d ignited. Fiery rage chewed a line along the asphalt until it swallowed the truck she’d been in. Angry voices rose on the other side of the inferno. She settled deeper against the ground and waited more heartbeats than she expected.
The concussive boom rattled the ground. Flames shot out and chewed up the dry grass nearby. Shouts rose above the frenzied, fiery dance. Shadows sprinted and darted near the flame’s brightness.
Her ears rang. She squeezed her eyes shut a moment, willing her mind to focus beyond the shots, the flames. Voices. She needed more voices. Voices translated to targets. Targets were good. Targets kept her breathing.
She sat her ass on the backpack and raised her rifle as more shadows appeared beyond the flames. Headlights. A stream of headlights and raised voices. Gunfire.
She crawled deeper into the bar ditch, sliding the backpack through the grimy mud. Cow manure filled her nostrils. She crawled along the fence line, away from the fiery inferno she’d created. A beam of light fractured the night, spewing down on her.
“Stand down, Quillery. I have eyes on her.” The order was deep enough to break through the ringing in her ears, but barely.
Her breath quickened as she did another roll. Positioned atop her backpack, she aimed. The light returned, brighter and aimed at her eyes. She squinted.
Pain swept up her arm as a massive weight settled atop her. She bucked and kicked. Right hand grasped on her weapon, she fisted her left hand.
The figure looming above her grunted. A firm hand settled atop her right hand and pushed hard until she slammed backward on the ground. Shock detonated as she was summarily flipped onto her belly. Both hands were yanked behind her back and up until pain radiated from her shoulders.
“Stand down,” the voice growled.
She squirmed and bucked to no avail. The heavy weight pinned her firmly as her hands were secured behind her back. She stared at the lights of The Arsenal.
She swallowed the regret and hoped they’d keep Rachelle safe. Kamren grunted when she was turned over and hauled onto her knees. Knees firmly on her backpack. She glared up at her captor. Breath swooshed from her lungs as the annoying beam of light circling overhead spotlighted unruly dark hair and a muscular torso. The business end of a Sig Sauer aimed at her head demanded her attention for a few heartbeats.
Then her gaze continued its sweep. Thick thighs. Lean hips.
“Situation secured; notify local fire department.” The man eased his stance slightly. He glanced over his shoulder as another figure headed their direction.
Tension coiled in her muscles.
Pick your battles, girl. Sometimes you have to lose a battle to win the war.
Anger kept her silent. Head down, she focused on the threads of sound breaking through the ringing in her ears. It was like she was sitting at the end of a tunnel.
“What the hell was this?” The second voice rose in frustration. “We’ve got head shots over there, clean kills.”
“It looks like our girl here’s good with a rifle,” the first shadow commented. He shoved his weapon into a holster. “Quillery, raise the light a few feet so we can see better. You’re blinding us.”
Kamren peered upward as the light rose. A drone? Her stomach did an awkward somersault as she studied the figures a bit closer in the new light. Relief swarmed her insides like bees high on honey.
She recognized the distinctive dark hair and gorgeous bodies. Was one of them Dallas? She couldn’t tell with the low light and blurry vision.
Her head hurt. Bad. Though they all looked alike in the darkness, she knew there’d be differences in the light of day. For now, it didn’t matter.
Don’t be stupid. Dallas made it clear your troubles weren’t theirs. Keep quiet and get gone. You never should’ve come out here.
He’d offered help, too. She forced a deep breath and focused on the present.
“Sheriff’s on his way,” a third man said. He halted, looking down at her. “I’m Marshall Mason. This is my ranch you’re trying to burn up. What happened here?”
Carnes, Cara. Blood Vows (The Arsenal Book 3) (Kindle Locations 428-485). Heartscape Publishing. Kindle Edition.
That’s just the beginning of things blowing up, literally and figuratively.There’s a lot going on in this book with Dallas looking for his son, a set of twins missing and the mystery that is Kamren and her backpack.
In spite of all that Dallas finds himself attracted to Kamren. These two are more than explosive as Kamren wins over the Masons and the Arsenal crew. I love all the characters and this book has more than one twist.
This is a very powerful read, it’s emotional and hits on some very sensitive issues that are handled extremely well. All blended with humor and family.
All I can say is, don’t miss this book!
5 Contented Purrs for Cara!
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Born in small-town Texas, Cara Carnes was a princess, a pirate, fashion model, actress, rock star and Jon Bon Jovi’s wife all before the age of 13. In reality, her fascination for enthralling worlds took seed somewhere amidst a somewhat dull day job and a wonderful life filled with family and friends. When she’s not cemented to her chair, Cara loves traveling, photography and reading.