Today is THE day! I couldn’t be more excited to share Nathan’s next adventure with you.
Please do me a favor? Take a photo or two of how you’re experiencing HIRED TO KILL – the more creative and pet-friendly, the better 😉 ! Tag or @ me, and include a #NathanMcBride hashtag on your posts so I know where to find you. I’d love to share my book out in the real world by re-tweeting, re-gramming and re-posting your shelfies.
I hope you enjoy my book! I’d love to hear from you here or out on social media. Feel free at any time to hit me up and tell me what you think.
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In this fast-paced thriller, special operative Nathan McBride battles the most treacherous enemy he’s ever faced—and the one hitting closest to home.
After simultaneous deadly terror attacks on San Diego and Washington, DC, hammer the nation, Nathan learns that the mass murders weren’t random events—they targeted his family.
And the threat is far from over. Part of a larger plot involving a sabotaged North Korean bioweapons facility and an ISIS training camp in northern Mexico, a third attack—bigger than 9/11—is being hatched by cold-blooded killers.
With the US Border Patrol and the CIA supporting the mission, Nathan teams up with longtime family friend Vincent Beaumont, the CEO of America’s largest private military contractor.
In a harrowing firefight, Nathan’s assault team will have to neutralize the terrorist cell, recover the weapons of mass destruction, and get them safely across the international border. The lives of thousands are at risk as Nathan weighs his lust for revenge against the most crucial part of the mission—taking the ringleaders alive—which might just cost him his life.
EXCERPT:
Holding her cheek, the woman cried softly. The guy looked at Nathan and made an exaggerated “mind your own business” gesture. Firmly hugging her mom’s leg, the child had her back to the man.Don’t do it, Nate. Don’t you dare…
Too late. He’d already started down the aisle.
There were three surefire ways to press Nathan McBride’s buttons. Strike a woman. Hurt a child. Or kick a dog.
This jerk probably did all three on a regular basis.
Approaching, he smelled the stench of alcohol.
Not beer or wine. Hard stuff.
Dressed in blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and a smeared ball cap, the guy was pasty white, big – maybe six two – and noticeably overweight. Cheap tats marred his arms. His wife or girlfriend stood a foot shorter. The little girl looked five or six with skin darker than the man’s and lighter than the woman’s.
Most people would’ve been intimidated by the guy’s size, unless they stood three inches taller, weighed the same, and had a BMI of less than 15 percent – which happened to be Nathan’s build.
It’s not too late to turn back. You know this isn’t going to end well. For who? Or is it whom? Probably whom.
With a smug expression, the man squared up and made no attempt to hide his revulsion at the sight of Nathan’s scarred face. A southern drawl declared, “This ain’t your concern, Frankenstein. Mind your own business.”
