Please help me welcome today’s guests, Amber Daulton and Ángel Rascón…
People talk about wicked men like we crawl out of the dark already ruined. Like the choices come easy. Like the line between right and wrong snaps clean. I used to believe that, too, until the day Marisol knelt beside me on the sidewalk and kept me alive with her bare hands.
I’d been shot. Heat tore through my chest and shoulder. Blood soaked my shirt and pooled under me. A drive‑by isn’t personal until you’re the one bleeding out on the street, trying to stay conscious long enough to figure out who pulled the trigger. I should’ve died there. Fate disagreed.
When I woke up the next day in the hospital, Marisol was there. She’d stayed overnight in her blood-smeared clothes just to make sure I pulled through the surgery. We were strangers, but her kindness hooked its claws into me.
That’s when I developed my new favorite passion—stalking.
I filed a background check on her, and once released from the hospital, I drove by her house. More than once. All right, a dozen times. Then I waited in her yard, behind the bushes, along the fence line, watching her move through her life like she wasn’t the reason I was still breathing.
Six weeks of recovery gave me too much time to think. Her voice replayed in my head. The memory of her touch. The sassy sweetness in her smile. The huskiness in her laugh. I built an innocent version of her in my mind and wanted the real woman in my life. I fell in love with the idea of her.
Before long, I knew her routine—when she slept, what she ate, where she went, who she associated with—and I learned one very important thing. She was as lonely as me.
Thankfully, she’s a physical therapist and agreed to take me on as a patient. She hadn’t seen me since the hospital, but when I walked into her treatment room for my first session, it had only been a few hours since I last watched her from the shadows.
She was mine to protect. She just didn’t know it yet.
Wicked men with a passion like mine justify everything. I’m no different.
When my crewmate, Bruno, broke into her home, I couldn’t keep to the shadows anymore. I didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. I went straight through that door and dragged the man off her. Turns out, her brother stole from the cartel. To get the money back, my crew figured the best way to find him was to target her. Now, my loyalties are tested. But one thing will never change.
Marisol is mine. You touch her, you pay the price.
If that makes me wicked, then fine. I’m as wicked as they come. And I don’t regret a damn thing.
He was never supposed to touch her. Now he’ll kill to protect her.
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 latched the squeaky iron gate behind him and crept across Marisol’s darkened front yard. The soothing droll of crickets masked the sound of his footsteps while the overgrown trees, shrubs, and cacti at the far property line shielded him from any nosy neighbors. Not that she had any in this quiet, working-class neighborhood on the city’s outskirts. As he braced himself against the side of her house, the rough stucco scraped his jacket and the back of his head as it always did. Yellow light poured from the living room window in horizontal beams as though to expose him.
Fuck that. He wasn’t an amateur.
Faint music seeped from inside the house.
He smirked, willing to bet his bank account that Marisol was streaming reruns of her favorite telenovela. Desperate for a glimpse of her, he pressed closer toward the glass pane and peered through the slatted blinds.
Inside, Marisol was bundled under a thick red-and-green checkered quilt on the sofa and cheered like a love-struck teenager over something that happened on the TV.
Damn right. He knew his woman well. From the high-stakes story lines to the nineteenth-century period costumes, Las Sombras del Imperio had found its way into countless living rooms across the country. Including his own.
After the program ended, Marisol turned off the television, slipped on her fuzzy house shoes, and grabbed her dinner plate and glass.
He darted around the house and ducked under a mesquite branch in the side yard. The crisp breeze rustled through the leafy branches, swept back his hair, and chilled his skin. Gritting his teeth, he huddled deeper into his denim jacket. His thick, cable-knit shirt caught against the hard ridge over his collarbone, irritating the taut skin. A deep, metallic chill radiated from the inside out, numbing the fracture site with a dull ache. He yanked the collar away from his neck and cursed.
Light now streamed out from the kitchen window.
As the rambunctious mutt next door yapped at something stirring in the bushes, Marisol peered out the glass into the darkness. Fine lines crimped her face.
Ángel slunk deeper into the shadowy foliage. Once she focused on washing the dishes, he swiped a branch out of his way and rolled his tight, sore shoulders. A low grunt tore from his mouth.
Distant laughter rang out, disrupting the tranquility of the night.
He pulled his phone from his jeans back pocket and checked his notifications. Nothing from Raul. Or Muniz. What the hell was going on with them? He slid the cell back in.
A crash echoed from the other side of the house.
Ángel jerked upright.
Marisol flung her dish towel aside and raced out of the kitchen.
“Mierda,” Ángel dashed back around the house and snatched his gun from his hip holster. His pulse thundered in his ears. Icy dread slashed through his stomach.
The front door hung open.
“Get out!” Marisol shouted from inside. Something shattered. “Get out of my house!”
Buy links:
Universal: https://books2read.com/BreakingHerEnforcer
Amazon: https://amzn.to/43dXnRa
Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/breaking-her-enforcer-amber-daulton/ 1149425099?ean=2940185002971
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/breaking-her-enforcer
Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Amber_Daulton_Breaking_Her_Enforcer?id=ncW_EQAAQBAJ
Apple/iBooks: https://apple.co/4uZMn5u
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1963634
BookShop.org (Support Local Bookstores!): https://bookshop.org/a/121133/9798233981111
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.
Learn more: https://amberdaulton.com
