The bestselling author of the Killer Instincts novels “knows how to write scorching sexual tension”*. Now she really sets it on fire in a new series about men and women living on the edge of violence, sex, and life and death. After a devastating war decimated most of the world, Hudson Lane has only known the oppressive life under her own father’s tyranny. She finally escapes, branding herself an outlaw and hunted by the Enforcers. Her best chance at survival is Connor Mackenzie, an aggressively sensual fugitive who opens her eyes to the wicked possibilities of a world without rules. As the leader of a band of outlaw fighters, Connor can’t resist the beautiful stranger who asks for his protection. Despite his reservations, he agrees to introduce her to a whole new way of life. But when Connor discovers Hudson’s connection to the enemies of liberty, he wonders how far he can trust the woman who has abandoned all inhibitions to challenge every forbidden desire. * USA Today “Strap in—these outlaws are the sexiest, baddest, hottest men around.”— New York Times bestselling author Lorelei James Praise for Elle Kennedy   “An adrenaline filled, exhilarating ride.”—Fresh Fiction   “Fans will be eager to see what Ms. Kennedy has in store for her mercenaries.”—Shannon K. Butcher, author of  Edge of Betrayal   “Takes readers on a terrific emotional rollercoaster ride full of relentless action, heated sexual tension, and nail-biting plot twists.... breathless passion will leave the reader begging for more.”— Publishers Weekly RITA-nominated and New York Times bestselling author of the Killer Instincts novels ( Midnight Action ,  Midnight Captive ), Elle Kennedy grew up in the suburbs of Toronto, Ontario, and holds a BA in English from York University. From an early age, she knew she wanted to be a writer and actively began pursuing that dream when she was a teenager. She loves strong heroines, alpha heroes, and just enough heat and danger to keep things interesting! 1 “I need to get drunk and laid—not necessarily in that order,” Rylan announced as the group crossed the threshold into the bar. Connor had to duck his head to clear the top of the doorway. So did the others. All five of them stood well over six feet tall, making an imposing sight as they entered the candlelit room. Every head turned their way, but fear dissolved into mild apprehension and disinterest once the patrons discerned that the men didn’t have Enforcer logos on their clothing. Most turned away, refocusing their attention on their companions or the alcohol in front of them. “And look at that,” Rylan said in delight. “The bartender’s cute. Must be new, ’cause I’d definitely remember those tits.” Connor followed his friend’s gaze to the long metal counter tended by a thin blonde with serious cleavage. Yeah, Ry would remember screwing her. Skinny and big-busted was his flavor of choice. Blondie glanced up and winked at the men, her pouty red lips lifting in a sensual come-hither-and-fuck-me smile. A sense of desperation hung in the air and mingled with the cloud of tobacco smoke hanging over the room like a canopy. Sex, booze, and cigarettes—rare luxuries these days, unless you knew where to find ’em. And hell, you didn’t even have to pay to fuck anymore. Currency meant shit outside the city, and besides, most women were as eager to get screwed as the men who wanted to screw them. But Connor wasn’t here for sex. He was looking forward to a nice date with Jack Daniel’s. It’d been way too long since he’d felt the burn of alcohol coursing through his veins. The bar used to be a morgue, and the compartments where stiffs had once been stored now contained bottles of alcohol and supplies that the owners of the establishment had amassed over the years. They’d brought in mismatched furniture, tables and old couches, splintered wooden chairs. No power in the joint, so they’d lit dozens of candles, which danced on the cinder-block walls and shrouded most faces in shadow. The small hospital on the floors above them lay deserted, because hospitals were a thing of the past. You got sick or injured, you died. Population control , the fuckers in the “government” called it. Connor chose a seat that allowed him to monitor both the door and the smoky main room, while Rylan, Pike, and Xander scrambled for the rest. Kade got stuck facing away from the door, which meant he’d be the first one to get a bullet to the back of his head if trouble arose. The tabletop was scratched and stained with shit Connor didn’t even want to know about. Without any discussion, Rylan went up to the counter to order their drinks. That meant he’d be the one paying the tab, but he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. Blondie over there was right up his alley. In a barter-and-trade era, you sometimes paid a high price for whatever you were trying to acquire, but this was win-win for Rylan—he’d get the booze and the pussy. Which made him a damn lucky bastard, because the la