Sienna Lane, Autumn Karr


We just wanted to say thank you to everyone for giving Vendetta a chance! We‘re completely overwhelmed with all the amazing support we’ve gotten these past four months.

Thank you to our beta readers: Trisha, Christine, Celeste, Stephanie, Michele, Jess and Megan.

Kara Brown, thank you SO MUCH, to the moon and back, for reading over V at least twenty-eight times with us (if not more!) You’ll never know how much your support means to us and your enthusiasm for the story is often why we kept going. Thanks for the late night brainstorming sessions and for never getting frustrated with us, even if we messaged you in the middle of the night panicking because Leighton and Devon won’t speak to each other.

Special thanks to Love Between The Sheets and As The Pages Turn for all their hard work. If it weren’t for you ladies, we’d probably still be “thinking about” the release blitz and the blog tour.

Thank you to Ari at Cover It! Designs! We received so many compliments on our amazing cover.

Thanks to our editor extraordinaire, Lauren McKellar. We are so glad you’re a part of V-team, and we appreciate your enthusiasm and how fast you got the book back to us.

Pepper Winters - Thank you for all your support throughout this process!

To everyone who messaged us wanting to read Vendetta, we couldn’t be more thankful for your interest and support.

We hope you enjoy Devon and Leighton’s story.

Lots of love,

Autumn Karr & Sienna Lane.


Have you ever known that you shouldn’t do something, but did it anyway? Sometimes temptation outweighs risk, want trumps all consequences.

It was one of those moments.

It was a moment that started a hurricane that would sweep us away into the world of imperfect love and vicious hate. Insatiable lust. Excruciating pain. Guilt, and temptation.

That one look. That first tentative touch. Just two people who found each other in the dark.

It was as simple as that.

And it was just as complicated.

But nothing worth having ever comes easy.



I slowly crouch lower behind the rusty car, hoping, no, praying that they don’t see me. How do I get myself into these situations? You’re a stupid, stupid girl, I tell myself, for coming after him here. It’s true that I often get myself in trouble, but this is crossing the line, even for me.

I can’t pretend this didn’t happen. I'll have to tell my dad, and then a man’s death will be forever on my hands. Forever on my conscience.

But I can’t not tell him. George is supposed to be loyal to him, someone he can trust, and he needs to know whatever nefarious scheme he’s planning. I knew all along George was up to no good, there’s just something insincere about his presence.

He’s a rat.

A traitor to my family.

My hands touch the wet, dirty pavement on the parking lot, making me cringe. A stray cat watches me from under the car, its eyes glowing in the dark. I stay silent and listen, only hearing snippets of their conversation, but nothing to indicate what they're talking about, not really. And he's talking to him.

Devon Andre.

I’ve never spoken to Devon before, but I’ve seen him around.

A lot.

We both pretend we don’t know the other.

It’s easier that way.

Our families don’t like each other, and I don’t know why, exactly, but I can guess. I’m not completely naïve, and though I’m not told the exact ins and the outs of the world I live in, I do know what kind of things go on. The kind of things my family, and Devon’s, too, partake in.

Devon Andre. A head of thick black hair, cut shorter in the back and longer in front, partly concealing one of his green eyes. Tall, lithe, and with just the right amount of muscle, Devon belongs on the covers of magazines.

It’s such a shame.

“Here it is,” George says, producing a legal-sized envelope. Devon looks at it, taking a step back as if the envelope was a weapon, and not just a piece of paper. He runs his hands through his hair before slowly reaching his hand out to take it, but then he turns away, bracing his wrists behind his neck.

What the hell is in that envelope? I squint, trying to get a better look, but it’s so dark and I can’t risk getting caught.

I quickly take out my phone from my handbag. If I’m going to throw around heavy accusations I’ll need proof. Just to be sure. I crawl on my knees and elbows, closer, hiding behind the car’s flat tire, to at least record their voices clearer against the waves crashing in the Boston harbor. I turn on the camera then freeze. The flash goes off, illuminating two figures standing just a few feet in front of me. Fuck. I always forget to turn the stupid thing off. Wide-eyed, I watch as their heads snap in my direction.

I hear a muttered “fuck,” and get off the ground, instinctively starting to run toward the exit but by then it’s already too late. Someone grabs for my hair, halting my escape, and I’m confronted by George’s beady eyes.

“Traitor,” I whisper loud enough for him to hear, my pleading eyes darting toward a stunned Devon.

A sharp glint catches my eye as George raises his hand, and then everything goes black.


For a second I just stand there, watching her petite body slump to the ground. Then I snap out of it.

“What the fuck?” I whisper-shout at George as I walk to where he's looming over her unconscious body. I lean down to check if she's breathing, trying to see if she’s hurt. I don't know if she took a hit to the head when she fell, but she’s not moving.

“Shit,” George says, pacing around her, the gun he hit her with still in his hand. “Shit, she must have heard everything.” Suddenly he halts his pacing and looks at me, squaring his shoulders. “You have to go, I'll deal with this.” He drags me up and stuffs the fat yellow envelope in my hand as if it's on fire, already pushing me toward the parking lot exit.

I resist his push and look at him, disgusted. He just knocked a woman half his size out cold. I follow his calculating gaze toward her small body, making my fingers itch for the gun in my jacket pocket.

I know I shouldn't care. What the fuck is she doing here, anyway?

“Deal with this how?”

He just gives me a look.

“You can't be serious. Are you fucking nuts? If Keith finds out, you're done.”

“I'm done if I let her spill. Just mind your own damn business and get the hell out of here before someone else sees us together,” he says, a sheen of sweat forming on his forehead.

Of course, now’s the time to show he’s not nearly as confident as he likes others to think.

“It's going to look suspicious if she just turns up dead,” I try to reason with him. I hate that we have to work with George. I don't know why, I just don't trust him. The fact that she probably followed him here doesn't escape me. That's how reckless he is. Unfortunately, my uncle trusts him, and he's the only man we've got on the inside.

We both freeze at the moan that resonates above the constant noise in the harbor. I stand still, waiting to see if she wakes up, gets up, screams. Something. She moans again, but it's more of a sigh this time. I exhale in relief. It takes me a second to realize George is about to hit her again. Without thinking, I push him away from her.

“I'll deal with it,” I say, already knowing it's probably the worst decision I've ever made.

What the hell do I do with her? Where do I hide her? And how the hell do I stay away from her?

Maybe it's better to let him handle it. If things go according to plan, she's better off dying now.

George’s pinched features relax, his shoulders slumping. “Just make her go away.”

I crouch and check to see if she's gained consciousness but she's still out cold, her breathing even. I get up, fold the heavy envelope and shove it in the back pocket of my jeans. Then I bend down, picking Leighton Moore up, and throw her over my shoulder, walking away from the darkness of the parking lot that just decided her destiny.

For something so small, she’s not light at all, and it's not a short walk to my car hidden in an alley a couple of blocks down. It's even longer because I have to take a couple of detour alleys, just to make sure I stay out of sight. There are cameras all over this city; someone is bound to notice a man carrying an unconscious woman over his shoulder. Not to mention that in a few hours when they realize she’s missing, someone will be looking for exactly that.

It's so fucking cold I can barely feel my limbs, and my breath’s coming out in puffs every time I breathe out. I curse as my foot slips on the icy pavement and I almost fall down. She makes a whimpering noise as I strengthen my hold, ignoring the placement of my hands on her ass.

Please don't wake up. I know the minute she wakes up she’ll start kicking and screaming and the last thing I need is attracting someone's attention to check what all the commotion is about.

I shake my head, muttering another curse. I should have just left her there. It's not like I have an overwhelming urge to play her knight in shining armor. God knows she's not a damsel in distress. The woman is poison, like all the Moores are. Unfortunately, despite what people think about me, I can't stand men hitting women, and I'm sure as fuck George wouldn't have minded taking another swing at her. We may be criminals, but we're not complete assholes.