Series: Sicarii #1-3
Author: Adrienne Wilder
Genre: M/M Romance, Suspense
Release Date: April 28, 2020
Marcel isn’t going to save them.
He’s going to change them.
Because life is a gift.
Summary:
Ben Corbin lost his parents then his uncle and clues to the man responsible take him to the small town of Spencer. While Ben is determined to get justice for the murder of his family, he finds himself drawn to Jacob Moser, an ex-prostitute with ties to the killer.
Jacob Moser owes his life to Marcel Serghi. A man forged into a killer under the most brutal conditions. A man who saved him when no one else would.
Ben and Jacob, two men from completely different worlds, who have no idea how much they need each other until a killer brings them together.
Summary:
Ben Corbin has been swept up in a vicious game of revenge. A pawn to be sacrificed in a life or death game of chess.
In order to survive, Ben must make a deal with the devil, Marcel Serghi.
A mistake from Jacob’s past is brought into the game. And it could cost Jacob more than his pride.
It could cost him Ben.
Ben and Jacob, two men from completely different worlds, who have no idea how much they need each other until a killer brings them together.
In order to survive, Ben must make a deal with the devil, Marcel Serghi.
A mistake from Jacob’s past is brought into the game. And it could cost Jacob more than his pride.
It could cost him Ben.
Ben and Jacob, two men from completely different worlds, who have no idea how much they need each other until a killer brings them together.
Summary:
Marcel Serghi lives by the rules of his House Sicarii where he was honed into the perfect killer; merciless, emotionless, incapable of remorse.
Jacob Moser has always had undying loyalty to Marcel for saving his life.
Until Ben.
Now Jacob must make a choice, to love or live. Because breaking a vow with Marcel means returning what he gifted Jacob.
A chance to live.
Ben and Jacob, two men from completely different worlds, who have no idea how much they need each other until a killer brings them together.
Jacob Moser has always had undying loyalty to Marcel for saving his life.
Until Ben.
Now Jacob must make a choice, to love or live. Because breaking a vow with Marcel means returning what he gifted Jacob.
A chance to live.
Ben and Jacob, two men from completely different worlds, who have no idea how much they need each other until a killer brings them together.
Part 1
Chapter I
The killer watched.
Light bled from Sam Water’s window, backlighting his silhouette. The pencil danced in his hand. Whatever drove him from his bed must have been important. He was up early, even for a school day.
Marcel leaned against the porch railing and coaxed a cigarette from the package in his hand. The momentary flame from the lighter outlined the web of scar tissue across his palm and three and a half fingers. The car bomb had also spared his thumb. A good thing. Learning how to write with his left hand would have been a bitch.
Not that an old dog couldn’t be taught a new trick. He was no old dog, but the teachings ingrained in him had been done so under conditions leaving no room for change.
The cherry of his cigarette flared in the darkness.
Night in this suburban neighborhood was nothing like where he’d grown up. Tucked in the mountains, there were only the stars, the moon, and the occasional candle. There the darkness wasn’t just a state of being. It was a living thing. All-consuming and unforgiving, conspiring with the wilderness to kill those too weak to survive.
Here the darkness was just a veil; once lifted, life returned, shattering any chance of reaching such perfection.
The storm door to the house opened, and the wooden slats on the porch creaked.
Mild green tea and aloe mixed with the honeysuckle blooming along the split rail fence nestled between the houses. The heat left over from the shower clung to Jacob’s skin.
“I wish you wouldn’t smoke.” In the darkness, there was only the sound of his breathing, the rustle of his clothes, the weight of his body pressing against the space around Marcel. A space that shrank to nothing with another small step.
Jacob’s caress traced the line of Marcel’s jaw. Layers of scars disrupted the gentle movement.
“Did you find your money?” Marcel exhaled a stream of bitter smoke.
“You gave me too much again.”
“It is a tip. For…you know. Good service.”
Jacob teased his fingers down the back of Marcel’s neck. There was more in his touch than physical contact. There was longing, yearning, endless want. But Marcel would never be able to give the man what he yearned for.
“You don’t need to tip me. You already give me so much.”
“I make you live in a motel.”
“Only because it’s close.”
“I could buy you a house.” The tip of the cigarette flared. Jacob was right, he shouldn’t smoke. Damn things never tasted like anything but shit.
“I don’t want a house.”
“You should. You are young. Young people should want a house. A family. A car. You have nothing.”
Jacob rested his cheek on Marcel’s shoulder. “I have you.”
“Nothing.” Marcel snuffed out the cigarette between his finger and thumb, then slid the butt into his shirt pocket. “You should go. Get some sleep.”
“I napped.”
Marcel cupped Jacob’s chin. He didn’t need the light to know how Jacob pleaded with his eyes.
Marcel saw it every time they were together. “No. I have told you many times.”
“Maybe I keep hoping.”
“It is a waste.”
“I don’t see it like that.”
“I could let you go. I could give you enough to go wherever you wanted. Back to school, maybe. What was it you wanted to do again?”
“I don’t want to go to school.”
“You should.”
“I’m happy.”
“You need more than an old man’s cock in your ass. You could go back and get your degree.”
“It takes years to be a doctor, and that dream sailed a long time ago.”
He was young enough to catch up to it. Or simply change direction altogether. All Jacob needed was motivation. A reason to want more. Someway for him to see there was more.
Marcel leaned down, and Jacob tipped his face up, leaving his mouth an inch, maybe less, but definitely not more, away from Marcel’s.
“You need to save those for someone you love.” Marcel traced the bow of Jacob’s lips with his thumb.
“Maybe I have.”
“No, Jacob. I fuck you. That is all.”
“And I’m okay with that. I—”
Marcel stopped him with a press of his finger. The tremor running down Jacob’s body was nothing more than a flutter of his pulse.
Jacob swallowed. “Please don’t send me away.”
One day Marcel would. But not today. Or tomorrow. Jacob wasn’t ready. “Friday. Ten o’clock.”
Marcel went back to tracing Jacob’s lips. He deserved to be kissed, to be loved. But that part of Marcel had been stripped away those nights on a mountain ledge when he was a boy.
“Go home.” He patted Jacob’s cheek. “Rest. You will need it.”
The whisper of tennis shoes against wooden slats faded into steps of rubber soles on concrete. Then those too were gone, leaving Marcel to the darkness.
In the window of the house next door, the boy finished writing whatever had pulled him out of bed. He folded the piece of paper in careful movements. Then he disappeared from view, and the patch of light coming from his lamp winked out.
And the killer watched.
Chapter I
The killer watched.
Light bled from Sam Water’s window, backlighting his silhouette. The pencil danced in his hand. Whatever drove him from his bed must have been important. He was up early, even for a school day.
Marcel leaned against the porch railing and coaxed a cigarette from the package in his hand. The momentary flame from the lighter outlined the web of scar tissue across his palm and three and a half fingers. The car bomb had also spared his thumb. A good thing. Learning how to write with his left hand would have been a bitch.
Not that an old dog couldn’t be taught a new trick. He was no old dog, but the teachings ingrained in him had been done so under conditions leaving no room for change.
The cherry of his cigarette flared in the darkness.
Night in this suburban neighborhood was nothing like where he’d grown up. Tucked in the mountains, there were only the stars, the moon, and the occasional candle. There the darkness wasn’t just a state of being. It was a living thing. All-consuming and unforgiving, conspiring with the wilderness to kill those too weak to survive.
Here the darkness was just a veil; once lifted, life returned, shattering any chance of reaching such perfection.
The storm door to the house opened, and the wooden slats on the porch creaked.
Mild green tea and aloe mixed with the honeysuckle blooming along the split rail fence nestled between the houses. The heat left over from the shower clung to Jacob’s skin.
“I wish you wouldn’t smoke.” In the darkness, there was only the sound of his breathing, the rustle of his clothes, the weight of his body pressing against the space around Marcel. A space that shrank to nothing with another small step.
Jacob’s caress traced the line of Marcel’s jaw. Layers of scars disrupted the gentle movement.
“Did you find your money?” Marcel exhaled a stream of bitter smoke.
“You gave me too much again.”
“It is a tip. For…you know. Good service.”
Jacob teased his fingers down the back of Marcel’s neck. There was more in his touch than physical contact. There was longing, yearning, endless want. But Marcel would never be able to give the man what he yearned for.
“You don’t need to tip me. You already give me so much.”
“I make you live in a motel.”
“Only because it’s close.”
“I could buy you a house.” The tip of the cigarette flared. Jacob was right, he shouldn’t smoke. Damn things never tasted like anything but shit.
“I don’t want a house.”
“You should. You are young. Young people should want a house. A family. A car. You have nothing.”
Jacob rested his cheek on Marcel’s shoulder. “I have you.”
“I napped.”
Marcel cupped Jacob’s chin. He didn’t need the light to know how Jacob pleaded with his eyes.
Marcel saw it every time they were together. “No. I have told you many times.”
“Maybe I keep hoping.”
“It is a waste.”
“I don’t see it like that.”
“I could let you go. I could give you enough to go wherever you wanted. Back to school, maybe. What was it you wanted to do again?”
“I don’t want to go to school.”
“You should.”
“I’m happy.”
“You need more than an old man’s cock in your ass. You could go back and get your degree.”
“It takes years to be a doctor, and that dream sailed a long time ago.”
He was young enough to catch up to it. Or simply change direction altogether. All Jacob needed was motivation. A reason to want more. Someway for him to see there was more.
Marcel leaned down, and Jacob tipped his face up, leaving his mouth an inch, maybe less, but definitely not more, away from Marcel’s.
“You need to save those for someone you love.” Marcel traced the bow of Jacob’s lips with his thumb.
“Maybe I have.”
“No, Jacob. I fuck you. That is all.”
“And I’m okay with that. I—”
Marcel stopped him with a press of his finger. The tremor running down Jacob’s body was nothing more than a flutter of his pulse.
Jacob swallowed. “Please don’t send me away.”
One day Marcel would. But not today. Or tomorrow. Jacob wasn’t ready. “Friday. Ten o’clock.”
Marcel went back to tracing Jacob’s lips. He deserved to be kissed, to be loved. But that part of Marcel had been stripped away those nights on a mountain ledge when he was a boy.
“Go home.” He patted Jacob’s cheek. “Rest. You will need it.”
The whisper of tennis shoes against wooden slats faded into steps of rubber soles on concrete. Then those too were gone, leaving Marcel to the darkness.
In the window of the house next door, the boy finished writing whatever had pulled him out of bed. He folded the piece of paper in careful movements. Then he disappeared from view, and the patch of light coming from his lamp winked out.
And the killer watched.
I am a writer of contemporary and speculative fiction and artist of all things monster. I live to create new worlds and the people in them. Several of my books have been best sellers both nationally and internationally.
I do my best to write original stories with powerful characters and emotion as well as a fast-paced plot. My goal isn't just to deliver a good story but to take the reader into the story and let them experience the characters as if they are right there with them.
While almost all my books have a romantic element, I will be the first to admit, they are not traditional romance. In fact, I'd like to think there is nothing traditional about them. And the stories I paint are done so way outside the lines of traditional genres.
One of my favorite things to do as a writer is push the boundaries of what makes a story and to deliver the unexpected and maybe even change the perspective of the reader.
My characters are more often than not, beautifully flawed, not always the good guy, and make mistakes. Their stories will take dark turns which, in the end, make the light at the end of the tunnel all the brighter.
If you're looking for something different, exciting, and unique, my books are for you.
Check out my website for updates and how to contact me. I love hearing from fans.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Thanks for hosting Sicarii on your site :)
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