Weaponized (Foxy Valdez Thrillers Book 1)

Book summary

Foxy Valdez, a legendary mercenary haunted by her past, seeks a way out of her deadly profession. When a journalist uncovers a conspiracy involving memory manipulation, Foxy is thrust into a web of deceit and danger. To gain her freedom, she'll have to outsmart and outgun everyone in her path.

Excerpt from Weaponized (Foxy Valdez Thrillers Book 1)

Seventy-two hours before she killed an old friend for a few thousand dollars, Foxy Valdez passed a peaceful afternoon in her modest single-wide trailer. She remained lost in reverie until her smartphone rumbled on the dining room table. A number she couldn’t ignore flashed on the lock screen. She swallowed hard and answered. Her boss on the other end delivered the bad news. He was on his way over with her next assignment. A massive job that demanded the top mercenary from his PMC to pull off.

Lucky her.

She ended the call, closed her eyes, and breathed in deep. Relaxed. No loud reports of gunfire. No dodging bullets. Serenity. Accompanied only by Paco, her chocolate-brown pit bull, who slept at her feet under the dining room table.

The type of day she longed for.

A loud beep sounded from her smartwatch.

In an instant, Foxy's eyes opened. She disassembled the Beretta APX lying on the table. Cleaned it. Assembled it. She shot a critical glance at her smartwatch. Foxy shattered her old record by over twenty seconds.

Paco perked up at her feet.

“What is it, boy?”

He barked in response. Foxy’s focus switched to the window overtop the kitchen sink. An oversized pickup truck accelerated around the bend, leaving a trail of Arizona desert behind. Only one person in Foxy’s life drove to her home in a truck like that.

Freaking Hector.

She slammed home a mag into the Beretta, racked the slide, and verified the brass in the chamber. She considered killing Hector on her front porch. Blame it on Paco alerting her to a thief or an assassin here to collect a hell of a paycheck when the powers that be asked questions. Would they release her from her contract with Salvage Corps PMC? Grant her freedom?

Not a chance.

“It’s all right, Paco.”

After the F350 stopped behind Foxy's Ford Ranger, she opened the screen door and let Paco run out. He dashed at full speed and hit Hector's burly chest with his front paws, right below the yellow lettering of Salvage Corps PMC on his navy polo. He had his trademark dark brown leather satchel slung over his shoulder, as usual. Hector bent down to rub Paco's head, and the beast slobbered all over his cheek with its tongue.

In her white tank top and black workout shorts, Foxy stood at the door. Her toned physique showed off her countless hours at the gym. Frowning, she crossed her arms over her chest. She looked down at the tattoos covering her left forearm's warm olive skin elbow to wrist. Three butterflies stood out as the prominent feature on the half-sleeve. Reminders. Memories she wished would stop haunting her filled her mind. She’d managed to avoid them until now.

Give it up to Hector to ruin a perfect day.

“Gonna lick his gun too before he blows us away with it?”

“Ah,” Hector said, straightening his posture. He wiped his baby-smooth cheek with a handkerchief. “Dogs know the good ones. They only attack the bad guys.”

“In that case, we’d both be dead.”

“Can I come inside?”

Foxy opened the door for Paco, then glared into Hector’s eyes for a couple of seconds. Foxy motioned for Hector to enter when the only answer she had was a yes. She scanned the trailer park before she let the screen door go.

At the dining room table, Hector got the paperwork ready for Foxy to sign.

“Got any beer?”

After shaking her head, she pulled back a chair. “I don’t drink anymore.”

Her boss peered from his satchel and smirked. “How could I forget?”

Foxy flipped through the dossier file and her jaw dropped when her eyes found the mug shot with the name next to it. Andre Tavarres, Salvage Corps PMC. Retired. Hector had good reason to demand only the best for this contract.

“What am I killing Andre for?” she asked.

Hector clicked his tongue. “Job pays more for alive. A lot more.”

She leaned forward. “Why am I capturing or killing Andre?”

“He’s been running his mouth about PMC business. Bylaws apply even during retirement.”

“Punishable by death.”

“Exactly.”

She thumbed through the rest of the file. A ton of relevant information blacked out. No names, no clue what he revealed. She considered Andre to be a professional. A bit of a prick, but not a loose-lipped one with a death wish.

“Questions?” Hector said.

She finished combing through the file. Their eyes locked. There were several questions brewing inside her, but she didn’t voice her concerns. Given the number of Sharpies involved with this useless pile of paper, she doubted she’d get anywhere with them.

“When do I leave?”

Hector handed over a fake ID, along with a one-way airline ticket to Montana. She would be responsible for getting back home. On top of this, he slammed down a brick of strapped one-hundred-dollar bills.

“Ten thousand dollars now. You’ll get the rest upon completion.”

Hector stood, saw himself out, and Foxy took the money to her safe in the closet.

#

Heavy snow crunched like skulls under Foxy’s combat boots. A square window by the front door of Andre’s off-grid cabin glowed orange. She didn’t bother to pound the white stuff off her boots once she reached the cabin’s minuscule front porch. Her heart raced. The bitter night air long since numbed the exposed skin on Foxy’s face. She gripped the Beretta APX’s handle underneath her black coat, which hung loose in a leather shoulder holster. The security the weapon promised released a calming effect. Regardless of how terrible things got, it would all be over in a few minutes.

Or seconds.

On three.

One…two…

A deep breath. No turning back now.

Three.

The sole of her right combat boot crashed into the front door, busting it open. She stepped inside. Snow chased after her with a powerful gust of wind. The two male occupants, each with a full plate dinner in hand, jumped at the sound. She drew the APX, and their eyes broadened.

An angel of death—no, the angel of death—arrived to collect their souls.

Glass shattered after the two men dropped their plates. Chunks of hot beef and vegetables bobbed off the splintered hardwood floor. Foxy held the Beretta APX in a high-ready position, ready to use it if they gave her a reason.

Andre took a careful step towards the head of the table and sat down. The man's friend, a bald and muscular behemoth in tight workout clothes, stared her down. No trace of fear on his face. He was a hulking figure, and his 280 pounds didn't come from eating too many buckets of Kentucky Fried Chicken. He had a Glock in his waistline but reached for a shotgun above the wood stove. Foxy aimed for his head. He froze. She used her gun to guide him towards the table.

“Sit. Now.”

Hands high, he heeded her commands and sat to Andre’s left. Andre's gaze remained fixed ahead. His thick black curls were slick like he’d just showered. No emotion. A look from someone ready to accept his fate.

“Weapons,” Foxy said with her tone raised by a couple of decibels.

Muscles reached for the Glock and cast it to the end of the table. Seconds later a Kimber settled next to it. With her eyes on the two targets, she shifted the gun to her left hand and gripped the Glock with her right. She secured it in the shoulder holster under her coat, left the snap undone. She deposited the Kimber in the inside pocket of her coat.

“Foxy Valdez,” Andre said. He overemphasized the rolling Rs like he did in the old days. “Ángel de la Muerte. I should have known they’d send you.”

Her eyes flashed between the two men. “Should’ve stayed retired.”

“As if there could ever be any. For killers like us.”

Andre’s shoulder jerked, a slight movement a normal human wouldn’t have noticed. In her world, only a blind fool would’ve missed it. Throughout her career as a soldier of fortune, other mercenaries accused her of many things. Some real, most embellished. Blind and foolish never came across anyone’s list.

“Keep those hands where I can see them.”

Andre’s face remained emotionless. He’d lost weight from what she recalled. On his last day with Salvage Corps PMC, he’d been in the prime of his life at thirty-five and all limbs intact. Now, with all the former muscle mass gone, one could mistake him as suffering from parasites. He lacked his former confident demeanor. In the past, he didn't rely on bodyguards. He handled his problems himself.

Like right now.

With a sudden movement, he brought his hand out from under the table. He brandished a combat knife. Foxy fired. The round hit his center mass. He flung the blade. It hissed past Foxy's cheek, lodging in the wooden wall behind her. Andre fell backward in his chair and hit the ground hard.

Muscles made his move.

Foxy swept the gun left and fired. Her attacker’s right biceps vaporized. He kept moving like a deranged junkie so high that he felt nothing. He moved with a grace that his body didn't deserve. The man hit her left eye hard before she got a second shot off. Muscles spun around her, enveloped his colossal left biceps around her neck, and flexed.

Oxygen supply cut off. Her black leather gloves prevented her from piercing her attacker’s flesh with her nails. She used her feet to push off the table, hoping to throw off his balance. No avail. He tightened his grip around her neck. Lightheadedness compelled her eyes shut. Her father’s words entered her mind.

Someone else would quit. Not you.

She forced her eyes open. Black spots dotted her vision. Before she lost consciousness, she reached for the gun under her jacket. The attacker’s useless right arm was powerless to block her.

One last gasp.

Consciousness fleeting like riches on judgment day.

She clasped the Glock’s handle.

Index finger over the trigger.

She used every bit of her willpower. If not for her attacker compressing her larynx, she would have cried out. The Glock bucked under her coat. Muzzle flash singed her flesh. Muscles’s grip around her neck loosened as he pulled her to the ground with him. She rolled away.