Guest Post: “Do You Have Triggers?”

You clicked. Good for you!

When it comes to darker themes, lots of readers have triggers. That’s all right. I have some myself. Mostly, the age-gap trope really rubs me the wrong way (usually when one character is old enough to be other’s parent), and I can’t stand the bully/academy trope because of the abuse involved. Each to their own, I say.

In Breaking Her Enforcer, you got stalking, gang violence, and suicide. All this happens on page, so if that offends you, skip this book. If it piques your interest, read on for your chance to grab the ARC…

Blurb

A drive-by shooting lands him in the hospital. And in the arms of temptation.

Cartel enforcer Ángel Rascón knows he should stay away from the woman who saved his life. Marisol is a sensual blend of fire and innocence, irresistible to his inner beast. She’s also the little sister of a man now on the run from the cartel—Ángel’s friend and former partner. Getting involved with her could destroy everything he’s worked for, but when she’s threatened, it’s game on.

Physical therapist Marisol Cruz knows Ángel is dangerous, yet he’s always there. Watching. Waiting. Wanting. After her brother’s enemies track her down, Ángel appoints himself her protector with every intoxicating kiss.

Ángel will have to risk his position—and his life—to keep her safe. But Marisol faces the most devastating choice of all. Loving her stubborn enforcer may mean losing her brother forever.

Excerpt

Ángel stormed through the gate in Marisol’s front yard for the road just as a sleek chrome roadster with glowing red taillights peeled off around the corner.

Bruno. Fucking hell.

The chilly air bit his bare skin, seeping straight through to the metal plate. A dull ache gnawed at his heavy muscles. The frantic drone of the crickets swarmed his ears, stoking the dark, ugly edge of violence surging through his blood.

If not for leaving Marisol unprotected, he would chase after his crewmate. Instead, Ángel stomped to the side of the house where he’d spotted the man through Marisol’s bedroom window. The lofty trees at the property line shaded the side yard, though enough moonlight pierced the network of foliage and branches to light his way.

“What an amateur?” He shook his head at Bruno’s boot prints in the dirt and the bent stems of a large, unruly bush. A strip of blue fabric clung to the thorn of a padded cactus. The idiot must’ve bumped into the thick pad. No wonder he’d shouted. Ángel plucked the fabric free and brought it to his nose. Stale beer and cigarettes—Bruno’s signature stench. He stuffed the evidence into his pocket and fisted his hands, desperate to squeeze Bruno’s mangy neck.

Something wet glistened on the stucco wall.

He reached toward the sticky substance, then froze.

Carajo. That was cum. Bruno was dead. Fucking dead. Stomach turning, he peered through the window.

Marisol was gone.

Hell, no. He dashed back around the house. She was safe. She had to be. He would’ve heard her fighting and screaming if anyone had broken in.

At the open front door, Marisol waited for him in a fuzzy green robe. The golden glow from the porch light highlighted strands of cinnamon in her hair and pushed back the shadows.

His stiff shoulders dropped. He ushered her inside the living room and locked up. “Pack a bag. We’re leaving.” He gripped her arm in a firm hold and steered her around the furniture.

“Stop.” Marisol pulled free. “What’s going on?”

“Bruno was spying on us through your fucking window.”

She gasped and tightened the collar of her robe up to her neck. “He saw us?”

A brisk nod. All he could manage as every bone in his body demanded he hunt the man down and force feed him a bullet.

“This isn’t right.” Frustration laced her words. Tears gleamed in her eyes. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m not hiding my brother. No one has the right to stand outside my window and watch what we just did.”

“No. They don’t.” Shame washed over him. Like Bruno, he’d stood outside that window and masturbated to her beautiful, naked body. More than once. He’d even sprayed the side of her house, marking Marisol as his territory as though he was a horny, godforsaken mutt.

He was just as bad as Bruno, Muniz, and Raul. He’d spent thirteen years building a place for himself in the organization, climbing from a garage kid running errands to a man Enrique trusted with his wife’s life. Hell, Enrique had even paid off Ángel’s hospital bills. In the last twenty-four hours, he stood to lose it all. His career. His brotherhood. His identity.

For Marisol.

She wiped her eyes. “I’m scared, Ángel, and so damn angry.”

“Come here.” He pulled her close and crushed her mussed, silken hair in his fist. “I told Muniz I wouldn’t report in on you, so he’s got his lackey running surveillance.” Yet the cum staining her wall had nothing to do with orders. He palmed her warm, flushed face with both hands and fought the urge to lower his left arm as pain shot through the limb. “I will protect you, Marisol. I will take care of this.” Somehow, he bit back. “Do you trust me to keep my word?”

She stared deep into his eyes, reading only God knew what.

Then she nodded. “I trust you.”

Her soft words eased the bite of the barbed wire clutching his heart. “Time to get off-grid.”

She pulled back from him. “Where will we go?”

“My apartment. I pay cash, and the lease is under a different name. Muniz doesn’t have the address.” At least, he hoped the man didn’t. He shifted his feet, the nerves in his legs twitching with the need to move. “Get your stuff. Pack enough for a few days.”

“Then what?”

“We figure out our next move.”

“That’s not an answer, Ángel.”

“It’s the only one I have right now.” He trailed his fingers down the sleeve of her cushy robe and grasped her cool, clammy hand. “I have no idea what Bruno or Muniz will do next. What I do know is that you’re safer in an apartment nobody has a record of than you are here.”

She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and cast her gaze around the room from the furniture to the Christmas tree and the rest of the holiday décor. Then she zeroed in on her mother’s faded photograph and the urn on the bookshelf.

Blinking back tears, she squared her shoulders. “Give me ten minutes.” She pivoted and headed toward her room.

He expelled a deep breath. After such a great night, how could things go so wrong, so fast? He had to fix this, or he didn’t deserve to be Marisol’s man.

The ARC for Breaking Her Enforcer is now available. 🌶️

About the Author

Amber Daulton writes raw, edgy romantic suspense and dark cartel romance featuring high stakes, deep passion, and defiant hearts. She’s the author of the Lozano Cartel, Arresting Onyx, Embracing You, and Ramseys in Time series, as well as a rich catalog of standalone novellas. Her books are available worldwide in digital, print, and select audio formats.

From her home base in North Carolina, she builds dangerous criminal underworlds and maps out fierce, second-chance love stories alongside her supportive husband and her demanding feline writing assistant, Zita.