The Power of Sight - Book 1 Excerpts
Nicolaus focused on the blood trickling from his hands instead of the dead child cradled in his arms. Every time he glanced at the small, round face, his sister’s ghost appeared before him, blurred by the tears that streamed down his cheeks.
He had witnessed the carnage and the atrocities in Yemen, Sudan, Ukraine, Syria, and more. He’d seen the true evil of drug lords, human traffickers, and tyrants. The worst humankind offered ricocheted through his memories, a reminder of the four years he spent engaged in secret missions and covert operations. Yet, the weight of this child’s body cooling in his arms triggered more horror and heartache in him than all those memories combined.
Nicolaus wanted to make a difference. He wanted to save the innocent from the crusades of warmongers, who terrorized and threatened to rain hell upon the earth. But everyone had a limit. And he feared that, after four long years in these trenches, he may have finally reached his.
María, another in their elite squad, ran up to him, still carrying her assault rifle, and put her left hand on Nicolaus’s shoulder. “We did the best that we could.”
He nodded and took in the surrounding scene. The acrid smell of chemicals and decomposing bodies overwhelmed his senses, burned his nose, and stung his throat. Their “best” freed over forty human trafficking victims and brought down a notorious methamphetamine drug lord, so the mission was a success by most measures.
Nicolaus focused on Akari as she strode out of the Myanmar compound, silhouetted against the flames shooting out of the building. Her famous swagger and powerful posture dissolved his worries and reaffirmed his resolve.
Akari stopped in front of them, took in the young child, and recognized the pain in Nicolaus’s eyes. She scanned around the landscape, her eyes narrowing against the smoke.
“María, grab some of those lotus flowers in the ornamental pond.” As María hurried off, Akari lifted the little girl out of Nicolaus’s arms and laid her on the ground.
Across the driveway, an injured assailant pleaded, but Veton, otherwise known as Dodge, the fourth crew member, shot two rounds into the man’s skull. “Fuck you and your synthetic drugs.”
María returned, placed the lotuses on the little girl’s chest, and called Dodge over. Akari hugged Nicolaus tight before they all locked hands, closed their eyes, and said a prayer. “Amen.”
“Yo, we have to go lickety-split,” Dodge said, even as they moved out. “The dirtbag we exterminated has another facility like an hour away, and his brother will want retribution. We either face another sixty cockroaches or bug out and let the Federation clean them up.”
Nicolaus reloaded his gun while Akari unmuted her microphone to speak with the command center. “Four Shadows of Light, ready to roll out. Targets eliminated. Are all the friendlies safe and evacuated?”
“Affirmative,” replied the command center. “Everyone is aboard trucks, and air support is on standby for coverage. Follow the yellow brick road and get your asses to the extraction point now!”
Each member jogged to the field, their guns held tight against their ribcage . . .
María bursts into laughter and snorts at Dodge as they exit his jacked up, heavy-duty pickup truck. They survey the vibrant green front yard plastered with colorful birthday lawn decorations. The festive display of a HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MARÍA VALKYRIE! sign with enormous letters, streamers hanging in the trees, and a big 26 sign dangling from the porch ceiling matches the flowers sprinkling the beds.
María keels over laughing when she sees a sign in front of her dad’s home, declaring You Must Be This Height to Enter.
“Ha, ha, ha,” Dodge says, tone as dry as the desert. “Your dad thinks he’s so funny. You’re how old? And Marcin still decorates like you’re sixteen.”
“You’re just jealous that he always outdoes your handiwork.”
He twitches his head, his brows furrowing as he considers her point. Since Julieta’s death—María’s mom—her father showered her with excessive attention and affection. As they enter the house, Dodge folds the sign in half, taking it from six to three feet so that at five-foot-five he’s allowed to enter. From the corner of his eye, he catches Marcin peeking through the window.
Did a party store vomit in María’s childhood home? Maybe. It seems her dad had spent hours cleaning, shopping, and decorating. Piñatas, balloon bouquets, and banners litter the small space.
“Dad? What is all this?”
“It’s not every day your favorite child turns twenty-six,” he says with a chuckle.
“Dad, I’m your only child.”
“See, my favorite, no competition.” He gives María an enormous hug and kisses her on her forehead. “María Valkyrie Landowski-Jiménez, you look more and more like your mamá every day.” His voice wavers on the last few words, like he’d shed tears any second.
He has a lot to be proud of. María is her mother’s daughter, a natural-born leader, tough as nails, cunning like a fox, and brilliant. He didn’t love the tattoos on her arms, but at least they showcased both her mom’s Mexican heritage and her dad’s Polish ancestry.
“So, what’s brewing for breakfast?” Dodge smiles from ear to ear.
Marcin smirks at Dodge and gives him a firm handshake. “Perogies, eggs, grits, and fruit.”
Dodge licks his lips. There’s nothing quite like the blend of Marcin’s cuisine.
María grabs Dodge’s hand and heads into the kitchen, where Nicolaus and Akari are already chilling and drinking some organic wine at the wet bar. Akari’s parents live next door to Marcin, so she and Nicolaus had coffee and a garden walk before venturing across the yard for the party.
They greet each other like they haven’t seen one another in ages, exchanging secret handshakes and tight hugs. Their families have been through tough times together, and they would risk their lives to save each other. Family is blood.
The Breadth of Familia - Book 2 Excerpts
Julieta lifted her eyes to the sky, searching for comfort in the restless clouds. They churned and shifted, sketching the outline of her cherished Mexico and the glimmering Caribbean islands. Her brow furrowed as she advanced, knuckles whitening around the chill of her sidearms. She fired round after round into the hay bale, her voice slicing through the gunfire. “No one will perish! Do you hear me, Aamirah!”
She slid her weapons back into their holsters, grumbling about cutting loose from the United Federation of Enforcement, the very organization that her passion helped create. Behind rose-gold aviators, the burden of her decisions pressed in. She massaged her arm, picturing Marcin, her husband, at their restaurant, his smile bright enough to thaw even her iciest moods.
“Come in here to help if you’re done with your shooting show,” her brother-in-law, Magnar Landowski, shouted, his voice rough and smoky as he puffed on a thick cigar. He guided an off-road armored ATV into the large bomber.
Julieta’s jet-black hair tumbled over her shoulders, catching the hangar’s light with a mahogany shimmer as she glided toward the waiting plane. She dropped onto a pile of gun cases, as stubborn and unyielding as a teenager refusing to surrender from being grounded. Her golden-brown hands cradled her belly, eyes tracing the maze of steel rafters above. “My little warrior,” she breathed to María, “I will keep you safe and shape a better world for you. Our gift is to rise and destroy evil.” She held tight to this moment. María was no ordinary child, but a blessing from the Divinities, watched over by Aamirah’s sacred gaze.
“You shouldn’t be going,” grunted Casey Kazanowski, his voice strained as he gestured for her to rise and finish loading the supplies into the bomber.
As Julieta stood, a fierce glint ignited in her narrowed eyes. “It’s my mission, and it’s our fuck-up for not eliminating the gangs during our first incursion in Haiti.” The heavy aroma of Magnar’s pre-victory cigar clung to her senses, provoking a wave of nausea. The thought of wringing Magnar’s neck brushed through her mind, though she realized he was merely a man who had just witnessed his wife, Dae, give birth to her nephew, Nicolaus Landowski.
From the hatch of the plane, Wayne Irons poked his head out, a reassuring grin unfurling. “Casey, let it be,” he called out, both hands motioning downward. “Julieta will be fine. Plus, if María is anything like her mother, the enemies had best watch out.” His glee danced through the air as he tapped on the plane’s exterior.
Casey stroked his long brown beard, which complemented his sun-kissed white skin, and peeked at Julieta with her three-month baby bump. Her hand gripped her sidearm, and he shook his head. He glanced over at Alannah McGrath and her husband, Elijah.
The large hangar door creaked open, unleashing a flood of golden sunlight that pressed against their eyes. Elijah leaned forward, his pale, stubbled face a mask of determination as he pressed his forehead against Alannah’s. Their two sons, Nolan and Flynn, appeared in a whirl of youthful energy, wrapping around their father’s legs and tugging at his black military camouflage pants with desperate grips.
With gentle tenderness, he bent down to his two sons. “I promise I’ll be back, and then we’ll go on a plane ride with Mr. Irons.” They clung tighter, with a stark reality hovering around them. An icy dread seeped into his gut, a whisper of finality that filled his heart. He could sense Alannah’s anxiety fraying at his edges, a silent scream pulsating around them …
“Hey, look, we have a stud wingman!” shouts Dodge, his voice ringing out over the thunderous roar of the helicopter’s propellers.
María narrows her gaze through the armored glass, tracking a predatory silhouette carving the sky—Wayne Irons in his F-22 Raptor. The Air Force jet glints like a silver spear hurled across the heavens, swooping and spiraling with a daredevil’s flair. “He’s such a fucking showoff,” she grumbles, though a reluctant smile tugs at her lips.
“He’s so dope.” Dodge throws his arms wide, fingers splayed as if sketching the jet’s wild maneuvers in the air.
Mack Irons rolls his eyes, shooting Dodge a sideways look. His fingers tap a restless rhythm on the machine gun. “My old man is a royal pain in my ass,” he gripes. Yet beneath the gruffness, a flicker of pride glimmers in the subtle lift of his chin.
“He’s only a pain in your ass,” Henry Irons fires back, his voice laced with a laid-back nonchalance, twisting around from the cockpit with a smirk. “Because you suck at flying. The worst pilot in your class, man!” He flashes his signature grin and chimes, “You gotta fly loose, like a leaf in the wind. Remember that!” His dimples crease, snow-white teeth flashing, the brown of his skin glowing under the greenish sheen of the control panel’s lights, his close-cropped hair, and clean-shaven beard giving him an air of polished confidence.
“Keep talking, and I’ll come up there and knock that grin off your pretty boy face,” Mack snaps, his words cutting through the noise as he grips the mounted machine gun, knuckles whitening against his dark skin. His biceps flex beneath his shirt. The Irons’ legacy runs deep. Each brother soared into the Air Force, helped forge the UFE, and now flies transports for Kazanowski Moving Forces.
For the next twenty minutes, the world unfurls beneath them like a living tapestry with checkerboard fields of green and gold, rivers flashing like gunmetal ribbons in the waning sun. The helicopter thunders southwest over rural Pennsylvania, and as they descend, the landscape snaps into clarity. The allied airstrip materializes, a slab of tarmac encircled by military trucks and hangars crouched against a farm.
Nicolaus peers through the glass and spots a black-and-green-striped tactical plane, its hungry profile unmistakable among the grounded fleet. Guns and missiles glint like fangs in the sun. It resembles a miniature warship, every contour built for stealth and destruction.
Akari’s hand finds Nicolaus’s arm, her grip tightening with each jolt of the helicopter. Only hours ago, they’d fled the chaos at GREC headquarters. Now the task ahead is to find the chamber pieces, deal with whatever Wei Zhao throws at them, and bring hope to humanity. But dread flickers through Akari’s thoughts as Medium, Sinrye, the Accursed, could strike without warning, sending a shiver down her spine.
“I still don’t think that’s enough to stop Sinrye in the air,” she whispers.
Nicolaus kisses her forehead. “Sinrye won’t lay a finger on you.”
Yet even as he reassures her, the weight of their parents’ legacy hidden on the ranch presses on him. His fingers graze the locket at his neck, a keepsake from Aamirah, etched with the Divine symbol and a key to gathering the chamber. Can anything stop Sinrye and his soul’s host, Wei Zhao? They breed selfishness and power at others’ expense, but that will only go so far until the world revolts; that is why the chamber is so important. His body tenses as he pictures his sister, Mi-Cha, otherwise known as the Iron Scepter, now in their corner, altering the balance of power toward the Shadows of Light. The ache to see her again pulses beneath his worry.
Akari nestles closer, resting her chin on Nicolaus’s shoulder, drawing comfort from his warmth. Her mind drifts to Asa, their martial arts mentor and Divinity Magnus, whose guidance lit the way—even when the Divine timeline felt like an unsolvable riddle. She aches for their Prosper, Texas, home, where laughter and love once drowned out the world’s noise. Even as they investigated the connections between Pierce Roosevelt Financials & Investments and GREC, they had kept their civilian lives as normal as possible. That peace now feels far away after the UFE’s intrusion, when Wei Zhao had the UFE barge into their home. She misses the gardening with Nicolaus or even shouting up the stairs to get his attention when he was so focused on his inventions. She sighs, scanning the surrounding faces.
María grips her weapon …