Foto: Jodi Ellen Malpas
Marec je tukaj, kar pomeni, da bo kmalu tukaj tudi roman The American, peta in hkrati tudi zadnja knjiga v seriji Zločinci mehkega srca, ki bo bralcem po vsem svetu na voljo od 12. marca. Če je že nam, kot bralcem hudo, da se zgodbe teh močnih moških in mogočnih žensk, ki stojijo za njimi, zaključuje, kako se mora šele počutiti Jodi Ellen Malpas odkar je napisala 'konec' v peti knjigi.
"Srce me boli. Pritisk, da bi se od te serije poslovili z 'velikim pokom' je bil ogromen. Upam, da mi je uspelo narediti prav to. Eksplozij je na pretek, tako v spalnici kot zunaj nje, sovražniki se množijo, granate prihajajo močno in hitro, napetost pa je skoraj neznosna. Komaj čakam, da se zakopljete v to knjigo! Upam pa tudi, da jo boste znali dodobra okusiti. Kajti to je hkrati tudi konec," je dejala pisateljica, ki nas že od samega začetka njene pisateljske poti navdušuje z močnimi glavnimi junaki, katere lahko na kolena spravijo le njihove ženske.
In čeprav se s peto knjigo pisateljica poslavlja od te serije, se hkrati vrača tudi na njen začetek. "Pa vseeno ... prav tako to še ni konec, saj so pri založbi Amara odkupili pravice za izdajo serije v ZDA in Kanadi. Ponovno bodo izdali serijo Zločinci mehkega srca z novo vsebino in novimi naslovnicami! Navdušena sem in komaj čakam, da novi bralci odkrijejo Dannyja, Jamesa, Brada in njihove skrbne ženske," je razkrila.
Le še dva dneva nas ločita do izida romana The American. "Samo še nekaj dni nas loči do izida romana The American. Izvodi za testne bralce so že zunaj in prihajajo prve ocene knjige. Končala sem tudi s poskusnim poslušanjem zvočne knjige, ki bi morala iziti dober teden dni kasneje. Trajalo je nekoliko dlje preprosto zaradi same velikosti knjige in usklajevanja vseh pripovedovalcev, vendar sem večinoma sama poskrbela, da je bil ta konec Zločincev mehkega srca takšen, kot sem ga potrebovala," je dodala.
Jodi pa nam ponuja tudi ekskluzivni vpogled v nov in hkrati tudi zadnji roman. "Če ste seznanjeni s serijo, boste videli, da celoten prizor v 1. poglavju knjige The American, izhaja iz zadnjega dejanja knjige Vstajenje. Gre za spomin dobrih šest mesecev nazaj, ko je bil Brad ustreljen. Zadet od krogle. Zadelo pa ga je tudi nekaj drugega," je namignila pisateljica.
"Nerazložljiva, prepovedana privlačnost. Vstopi Pearl Kennedy. Začetek Bradove zgodbe. Ubogi fant. Nadaljujte z branjem, da se poglobite v njegovo glavo v tem ključnem trenutku v njegovem življenju, polnem drog, žensk in prelivanja krvi. Od tam naprej je vse le zabava in igre. Ali bolj kot agonija. In ne zato, ker je bil ustreljen. Pomežik Pomežik. To priložnost bom izkoristila, da se vam vsem zahvalim, ker imate tako radi in podpirate mene in to serijo! To je bil moj prvi korak v temno romanco in všeč mi je bila vsaka sekunda te poti. Začelo se je z Dannyjem Blackom. Človekom, rojenim v mojih možganih, ko sem ležala na ležalniku na Cipru leta 2016 in si ironično obupno prizadevala vzeti nekaj tednov dopusta od cirkusa, ki predstavlja moj um. To se je dobro izšlo, kajne? Da, pravzaprav se je. To je res prekleto uspelo," je še dodala pisateljica in priznati moram, da se strinjam z njo. Res ji je prekleto dobro uspelo.
Ekskluzivni odlomek
THE AMERICAN
Chapter One
BRAD
Winstable Bay, Miami - Six Months Ago.
Red. It’s everywhere.
Eyes open, eyes closed.
Red.
Blood, pain, gunshots.
Her hair.
Red.
I duck, the sound of guns firing, bullets flying.
But I still see red.
And then . . . green.
Green eyes looking up at me full of relief. Of hope. I tell her she’s going to be okay. She nods. It’s weak, it’s jerky.
Red.
This time, it’s not blood I see. It’s not vibrant, glossy, shoulder-length waves.
It’s a red mist.
Anger.
She looks down at the crook of her arm, and I follow her eyes to the needle hanging out. Then up the pipe toward a bag. There’s a hair tie halfway up, knotted around the tube, blocking the flow of drugs to her veins. Her jaw tenses, and she yanks it out. Blood sprays the mattress, and I look over my shoulder, seeing Danny hauling a blonde girl up from another bed. Goldie is watching the door, James has another girl in one arm, a gun in the other, and Ringo is carrying a brunette. Every taste in women is covered. Sick bastards.
“We have one more,” I yell. The weight of the other unconscious girl on my shoulder becomes heavier. “Fuck.” I jerk my arm, shifting her up more as I round the bed. “She’s awake,” I call. Smart. She’s smart. And so fucking young. I ask the girl—because that’s what she is, a girl—if she can walk. She gives me another jerky, strained nod as I offer a hand, and her delicate, pale limb reaches for me. She holds on to me so tightly as I help her up off the dirty mattress, the strain on her face painful to watch. The strap of her tank slips off her shoulder.
Purple. Yellow. Black.
So much fucking red, I’m forced to blink back the mist clouding my vision, anger crippling me. Her hand feels for the strap of her tank, missing it, her movements clumsy and disorientated. “Here.” I wince, lifting it back into place, covering her bruised breast. My teeth grind. What the fuck did they do to her? I hold out my hand again, but she doesn’t take it. I look at her. She looks at me. And for a moment, I’m lost, no longer dodging bullets and running for my life. Instead, I’m tumbling into a gaze so expressive. So hopeful.
So fucking beautiful.
Falling.
Just staring.
I feel my forehead furrow and shake my head mildly, trying to realign my focus. But her eyes. I’m a prisoner to them. I need to get her out of here.
And yet for all the will in the fucking world, I can’t move. Can’t even feel the weight of the other girl on my shoulder anymore.
Bang!
It takes that gunshot to break the spell. The girl startles, and I blink my vision clear of the red, looking back. More gunshots ring out, and mumbled yells of panic come from the young women who are drugged up to their eyeballs. “Fuck. We’ve got to go, sweetheart.” She’s quickly tucked into my side, clinging to my torso, both arms wrapped around me to hold herself up as she staggers along beside me. “You okay?” I ask, checking on her constantly, as well as our surroundings. James is raining bullets with no mercy or break, a machine gun in each hand, his face a picture we’re all used to.
Murderous.
We make it outside, and James holds the door while he and Danny have a brief argument over whether he blocks the Polish from making it through or comes with us. We all know Danny will lose. James isn’t moving from that door. Not until we get all the girls on the boat. So I keep jogging, knowing Danny will soon be following. My shoulder is burning, my muscles screaming. “Jesus.” I check on the girl still clinging to me, her weight hanging off my side as she trips and staggers along beside me.
“Brad, you good?” Danny yells, obviously seeing the other girl on my shoulder slipping. He takes the redhead from my side, allowing me to reposition the girl on my shoulder.
“We need to up our game in the gym,” I say, taking the redhead back and picking up my pace, hearing the sound of bullets hitting metal behind us. Fuck me, I hope James can hold that door for long enough.
I look down at the uneven, rocky pathway, catching sight of the girl’s bare feet as I do. If I could be sure it wouldn’t slow me down enough and get us all killed, I’d pick her up.
I look at her as she looks up at me, and once again I’m momentarily lost. No longer running for my life. Fucking hell. I tear my eyes away, seeing the broken, old jetty up ahead. I concentrate on getting her onto the boat before easing the other girl off my shoulder, rolling it a few times, wincing.
“You go,” I hear Danny say.
I turn, seeing him checking the magazine of a Beretta. “What?” I stand tall, ready for the fight. “No.” There is not a fucking chance in hell he’s going back, not without me.
“Go,” he grates, his face lethal.
Couldn’t give a fuck.
There’s always been one rule between Danny and me—never leave the other behind. Ever. He’s not only my cousin, he’s my best friend. Plus, I have the added bonus of promised death from his wife if I ever go home without him. Unlucky for Danny, I’m more afraid of Rose than I am of him. So yeah, not going anywhere.
I take a step and meet some resistance, something grabbing my hand and holding me back. I look down.
Red.
Her green eyes are scared. Lost. “I’ll be back in a minute,” I promise her, flexing my fingers in her hand, her hold tight. I manage to break away with some effort, collecting a rifle as I head back to Danny, ignoring his lethal expression. I check the chamber as I pass. “Say one word,” I warn him, “and I’ll fucking shoot you.” This dickhead—my cousin—has developed a habit of taking senseless risks. It started when he took Rose Cassidy from the enemy as collateral. Fatal. Since then, he’s made some really stupid fucking decisions. Can’t lie, I’ve become rather attached to Danny’s now wife. I quite love James’s other half too. They’re like sisters to me. So, yeah, I’m invested.
Getting on the jet ski, I wedge the rifle between my legs and start it up, making the engine scream as I roar away from the shore. I follow Danny around the cove, bouncing across the waves. “I’m out,” James yells when he sees us racing toward him, tossing his guns aside and forcing his weight back into the door. I look at Danny turning his ski, giving James the rear end, and then turn my eyes back onto James, seeing he’s got the gist. “Fuck me,” I breathe, locking, loading, and aiming. “So we’re stuntmen now, are we?”
James eases off the door, telling me not to miss. I laugh. He runs. And I fire.
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.
I watch as each of my targets catapults back, until I’m firing . . . nothing. I’m out. James sprints toward the sea, launching himself off the edge of the rocks toward the back of Danny’s jet ski. I toss the gun into the water and scan the vicinity, circling my jet ski, making sure we’re clear before I slam down on the throttle, catching up with Danny at the next curve on the coastline. But James isn’t on the back of his jet ski. Fuck. I search the jet stream for any sign of him, looking over my shoulder through the spray of water, hearing nothing but the roar of engines.
My body jolts.
“Fuck.” I cough, losing my grip of the handlebar, a wicked pain shooting through my shoulder. I frown and look down, seeing a perfect hole in my wetsuit by my collarbone. And when I slow down, I look over my back. Another hole. I puff out my cheeks, swallowing, gritting my teeth. Jesus fucking Christ.
I blink my vision clear, slowing, and the moment I see Danny’s panicked eyes scanning the water, my stomach falls into my ass. I start searching with him, my pain forgotten. Where the fuck is he?
“We go back,” Danny yells, taking the words out of my mouth.
I turn my jet ski, still searching the water, damning the stupid fuck to hell and back. Jesus Christ, I do not want to be in Beau’s path when she sees James isn’t with us when we get back to the boatyard. “Come on,” I whisper, searching the ocean.
“Dan—”
A surge of water rises, and James breaks the surface. “Motherfucker,” he bellows, shaking the water from his eyes, as I fold over the handlebars of my jet ski in relief.
“Jesus,” I breathe.
“Were you worried about me?” James asks, casual. Unaffected.
“Fuck you,” Danny wheezes, mirroring my pose, slumped over the handlebars, exhausted, relieved, and everything in between.
Couldn’t have said it better myself. Yes, I was worried, and I won’t lie and claim it’s because I don’t want to explain his death to his girlfriend who will likely shoot me for losing him. Fact is, I care about the murdering sicko. Since the day he walked into my club and told me my best friend wasn’t actually dead, I knew James Kelly would be around for a long time. I also knew Danny would be resurrected and shit would fly far and wide. And it has. It’s been nothing but fun and games.
I laugh, rubbing at my forehead, gritting my teeth, as Danny helps him onto the back of his jet ski.
“How many are left?” James asks me.
“I saw three drop.” I roll my shoulder.
“So two, assuming the hits were fatal?” he says, and I nod my confirmation. I’m a good shot. I aimed for their heads but bobbing on a jet ski on the ocean isn’t a marksman’s friend. “You okay?” Danny asks, looking me up and down.
“Dandy, but I really need a drink.” I squeeze the throttle and wince again, blinking back the haze. Not red, not anger.
Pain.
My stomach turns as I watch Danny maneuver the ski, heading back to Byron’s Reach, and the moment he’s turned away from me, I give in to the nausea, throwing up into the sea. “Shit,” I curse, watching Danny and James getting farther away. I peek down at my wetsuit, feeling at the hole, hissing. Blood spurts out. I’m no doctor, but the rate of loss isn’t reassuring. I shake my head, my vision clears, and I hit the throttle, squeezing the seat with my thighs, holding on for dear life as I zoom across the water.
It's the longest fucking journey of my life. The shore seems to get closer before drifting away again, the people in the distance close but miles away.
I eventually pull up onto the shore, faster than I should, wedging my jet ski into the seabed, and I slide off. “Fuck,” I mutter, reaching back with my good hand and pulling down the zip of my wetsuit, swaying, blinking, my legs heavy as I walk through the water, trying to make it onto the beach. I see two of everything. Danny, James, Beau, Otto, and Ringo. Hear nothing but slow, undistinguishable words that sound like groans as I pull the top of my wetsuit down. The pressure of it squeezing my body is making me feel sick.
The relief is instant.
Before the pain flares, my stomach turns, and I black out.
Red.
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