r her biological mother would have considered trash, which was precisely why she had chosen it. The salt wind w

n the passenger se

s fro

pen it to know what it was.

and, wearing a brilliant pigeon-blood ruby ring, was linked i

ing my dream co

ure, poisonous condescension

he seat without typing a single word. Ivy thought she had won a priz

on her own hand restin

ng she had thrown on the lawn earlier tonight. This was an ancient Foley heirloom-a ring Co

re nausea hi

the Pacific cliffs. She killed the engine, stepped out into

the ring into the black ocean below. It caught the moonlight fo

tie to the Foley

o get back i

fr

ddenly felt muted. Her pulse, slow and steady a

rs where a single missed shadow meant death. Long before her biological family br

hout headlights. One blocked her car from the front; the

ing tactical gear, heavy boots, and balaclavas st

s Beaumont. Someone didn't like your tweet tonight. She pa

h

even wait u

inward, her body trembling slightly, her eyes widening in

red, backing against the driver's door. "My

osture relaxing instantly. To them, she was just anothe

the leader sneered, stepping into her pe

out to gr

ushed her skin, the terror

something that made the leader's breath hitch in hi

a dro

ld process her movement, her right elbow snapped upward with terrifyin

AC

s rolled back, and his heavy body collapsed onto

ze, their brains failing to

steel baton from the gravel. With a sharp flick of

adva

apon whistling past her ear-and cracked her steel rod directly across his wrist. He dropped his weapo

t, ducking one wild swing, her baton lashing out like a striking viper. It smashed into the th

ttered. He dropped his weapon, turn

is knee, forcing him to his joints, and brought the heavy butt of the bato

conds. Four trained mercenar

barely elevated. The wind whipped her hair across her

with the toe of her boot until he groaned awa

metal tip of the baton dir

devoid of any warmth. "Did Ivy Beaumo