Hell Hath No Fury, an unforgettable tale of loss, betrayal, and revenge in this romantic suspense standalone by RC Boldt, is now live!
Seven years ago, they took everything from me. My father. My husband. My child.
When they stole my chance at justice, I vowed to get revenge.
Then I met him.
He tempts that long-lost part of me, but his presence is a reminder that betrayal lurks around every corner.
Their biggest mistake is underestimating my commitment for vengeance.
They don’t realize that when it comes to a woman like me, hell hath no fury.
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My Review
HOLY COW! THIS BOOOOOOK!!! I was completely mesmerized and spellbound by this journey Caitlin was on. It's dark, it's intense and it's simply amazing. There are bad guys and good guys ... and a sweet pup! I was on the edge of my seat reading this one and I actually was so consumed by it, I read it in one sitting. And that was a mistake because I started it before bed. Needless to say, I didn't get a lot of sleep before work that day. I couldn't set this book down. It was unlike any of RC Bold's previous books and I was HERE. FOR. IT. I felt the emotions of these characters and learned what drove them to do what they did. Caitlin was a fierce warrior and she might have been beaten at one point, but she wasn't down. No siree! She kicked tail and took names. I was cheering her on, even though I was also holding my breath. I wasn't sure how there was going to be a romance out of this book, but it worked SO WELL! If you like a raw, gritty, emotional story then this is one not to be missed!
Excerpt
He’s a creature of habit, and it only makes things easier on my end.
I watch as he makes quick work of the steps leading from the precinct to the curbside where a food truck is parked, clearly raking in the cash if the coming and going of countless employees is any indication.
Detective Warren pays, then stands off to the side as he waits for his lunch order to be called. I study him through the small monocular from where I lie haphazardly sprawled on one of the benches across the street, and my eyes catch sight of a small nick along the left side of his jaw.
Thanks to the last vagrant who claimed this spot, I lie on padded newspapers clad in an oversized dark green poncho, the hood covering my head. With my projected air of defeat and filth, I easily blend in with the others in the vicinity.
Once the detective collects his order, I wait until he heads toward the stairs leading back to the building before I make the call.
Carefully stacking his to-go coffee on top of his Styrofoam takeout container, he withdraws his cell and stares down at the screen for a beat before answering.
“Detective Warren.”
“Hello, Detective. I’ve been meaning to call you.” The free voice-distortion app is doing its job, thankfully.
“Who is this?” He immediately glances around, searching for sight of anyone who stands out.
“Do you know what’s been going on with the Dixie Mafia these days?”
There’s a subtle stiffening of his shoulders. “Who the hell is this?”
“You’ve been working hard, but nothing’s stuck, huh?” It’s a rhetorical question, so I don’t pause for him to answer. “Well, that dirty money that went missing the other night? It found its way to a good cause. The Salvation Army and the Center for Abused and Neglected Children.” My voice hardens. “Those organizations will do that blood money justice.”
Detective Warren shakes his head slowly. “You can’t just go around killing people.” As he gains momentum, his tone grows firmer. “That’s not how things work.”
I glare even though he can’t see me. “That’s how things work now, Detective. When the justice system fails, someone else needs to step in.”
“You can’t—”
“Hey, Detective?” I interrupt suddenly. Because there’s my cue: the wince-inducing screech of the city bus’s brakes as it draws to its scheduled stop in front of the precinct. “Be careful shaving next time. It’d be a shame to nick any more of that handsome face.” The bus blocks my view of the detective as I end the call, then peel off the poncho, and tuck it beneath the thick wad of newspapers before I stride away.
I’m out of sight before the bus drives off.
I watch as he makes quick work of the steps leading from the precinct to the curbside where a food truck is parked, clearly raking in the cash if the coming and going of countless employees is any indication.
Detective Warren pays, then stands off to the side as he waits for his lunch order to be called. I study him through the small monocular from where I lie haphazardly sprawled on one of the benches across the street, and my eyes catch sight of a small nick along the left side of his jaw.
Thanks to the last vagrant who claimed this spot, I lie on padded newspapers clad in an oversized dark green poncho, the hood covering my head. With my projected air of defeat and filth, I easily blend in with the others in the vicinity.
Once the detective collects his order, I wait until he heads toward the stairs leading back to the building before I make the call.
Carefully stacking his to-go coffee on top of his Styrofoam takeout container, he withdraws his cell and stares down at the screen for a beat before answering.
“Detective Warren.”
“Hello, Detective. I’ve been meaning to call you.” The free voice-distortion app is doing its job, thankfully.
“Who is this?” He immediately glances around, searching for sight of anyone who stands out.
“Do you know what’s been going on with the Dixie Mafia these days?”
There’s a subtle stiffening of his shoulders. “Who the hell is this?”
“You’ve been working hard, but nothing’s stuck, huh?” It’s a rhetorical question, so I don’t pause for him to answer. “Well, that dirty money that went missing the other night? It found its way to a good cause. The Salvation Army and the Center for Abused and Neglected Children.” My voice hardens. “Those organizations will do that blood money justice.”
Detective Warren shakes his head slowly. “You can’t just go around killing people.” As he gains momentum, his tone grows firmer. “That’s not how things work.”
I glare even though he can’t see me. “That’s how things work now, Detective. When the justice system fails, someone else needs to step in.”
“You can’t—”
“Hey, Detective?” I interrupt suddenly. Because there’s my cue: the wince-inducing screech of the city bus’s brakes as it draws to its scheduled stop in front of the precinct. “Be careful shaving next time. It’d be a shame to nick any more of that handsome face.” The bus blocks my view of the detective as I end the call, then peel off the poncho, and tuck it beneath the thick wad of newspapers before I stride away.
I’m out of sight before the bus drives off.
Meet RC
RC Boldt enjoys long walks on the beach, running, reading, people watching, and singing karaoke. If you're in the mood for some killer homemade mojitos, can't recall the lyrics to a particular 80's song, or just need to hang around a nonconformist who will do almost anything for a laugh, she's your girl.
Connect with RC Boldt:
Facebook: bit.ly/RCBoldtFB
Website: www.rcboldtbooks.com
Twitter: twitter.com/RC_Boldt
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Amazon: amzn.to/2Kq1H9C
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