The Madison Jennings Series Box Set Read online

  A Madison Jennings Thriller Collection

  Kiara Ashanti

  Copyright © 2020 by Kiara Ashanti

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Cover by Steven Novak www.novakillustration.com

  Editor Cheryl Ross http://www.cherylrosscomm.com

  Models for Counterstrike Cover Andrea Weatherby and Darrian “Shabbazz” Pennant, Model for covers Guardian & Takedown Madison Conway

  Created with Vellum

  Dedication

  For Mom, who told me I needed to write, Counterstrike

  For Yahrah St. John, who showed me how to write, Guardian.

  For Madison Conway, my muse, Takedown

  Contents

  I. Counterstrike

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  II. Guardian

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  III. Takedown

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Thank You

  About Kiara Ashanti

  Counterstrike

  A Madison Jennings Prequel

  Chapter One

  Christmas.

  A day celebrated by 2.2 billion people worldwide. None so zealously as children in the United States. Every year on the eve of that hallowed day, seventy-four million kids toss and turn in their beds. Many have spent months, perhaps a whole year, asking Santa and their parents for the gifts they want and—in their mind—need. Most wake up early, chomping at the bit to tear into red-, white-, and green-patterned paper-wrapped boxes to see if their wishes have come true.

  On this Christmas Day, Madelynne “Maddie” Collins followed the pattern of her eight-year-old peers the world over, but did them one better. She did not bound from her bed at the first sign of sunlight. Instead, she creeped from underneath her Lara Croft bedcover in the morning’s wee hours as weak, diffuse light filtered through her slatted window blinds. Then she crept to her bedroom door.

  Maddie opened it slowly, a quarter inch at a time, until she was able to stick her head surreptitiously into the hallway. She did not bother looking in the direction of her sister’s room. A nuclear bomb could go off right there, and Janice would not even bother to scream “Turn the light off!”

  No, Maddie’s focus was her parents’ room. She stared at their door, listening for any sound as she willed her mother to stay in bed. After a moment, Maddie closed her door and moved to her closet.

  Her clothes were already laid out: camo-colored shirt, soundless olive-green fishing pants, and black Chuck’s sneakers. She finished everything off with a rubber band wrapped around twice to secure her chestnut-colored hair into a ponytail.

  Dressed, she ignored her bedroom door and walked instead to her window. She’d given both sides of it the WD-40 treatment. Without a sound, it slid up and open. There was a small rectangle grate outside the windows. It did not have a bottom, but that meant nothing to Maddie. She stepped onto the grate, turned, and slid her window down. She could not get it fully closed, but it was down enough to appear as if it were closed from the outside and would keep most of the early-morning flying insects out.

  Turning around, Maddie leaped from the iron grate onto the thick limbs of the yellow pine tree pricking the side of her house. Stabilizing herself, she shimmied down the tree like a spider in the night.

  Once on the ground, Maddie moved over to a large bush by the side of the house and pulled out a duffle bag secreted behind it. She opened the bag to inspect its contents. She knew everything she needed was contained in it, but triple checking every nook and cranny was now a habit thanks to her overzealous Uncle Z, who’d drilled this bit of OCD into her.

  Game bag, skinning knife, ThermaCell bug repellant, and her slingshot. Got it! Smiling, she closed the bag, reached down to the dirt by the bush, and brushed away a layer of wood chips. Beneath lay three shortened arrows, custom designed in a berry hue. She grabbed them and scampered away from the house.

  As the sun rose for another glorious and green Florida Christmas morning and kids her age were attacking their presents, Maddie was focused on a different goal. For days, she had scouted to find the path the rabbits always took to the garden of her next-door neighbor, Mrs. Greenberg. Mrs. Greenberg let Maddie water her garden sometimes but forgot a child was in her presence anytime she saw the tell-tale signs of rabbits taking advantage of her garden’s bounty. She would curse like a street hood and vow to find their dens and blow them up.

  Today Maddie would provide a gift to Mrs. Greenberg by ridding her of the rabbit pests—and adding a little meat to the dinner table for Christmas.

  Maddie didn’t have to wait long. Just as the damp of the night began to dissipate from the rising sun, she spied movement one hop at a time. She pulled a set of binoculars to her face. One fat grayish-brown rabbit moved slowly at the edge of trees that surrounded one corner of the lake behind the community homes.

  To get to the edge of the garden, they had to dash across open ground. It was a risk, but the crispy goodness awaiting them in the garden was too tempting to ignore. Maddie scanned the surrounding area. Where there was one rabbit, the
re were more. After a minute of straining, she located two others, each one as plump as the first.

  Maddie readied her slingshot, but held firm. She let the first rabbit go by her. If she shot and missed, the other two would disappear. Anticipation flooding her, she took a few deep breaths to steady herself. It was something she saw Uncle Z do every time he sighted down a bow or gun.

  In her peripheral vision she spotted movement, but ignored it, knowing the rabbits would stop just before entering the garden. She pulled back her slingshot and took aim. A second later, one rabbit stopped by the bush. She was tempted to let loose, but held steady. The second rabbit began nibbling at some greenery by the bush just as the third one arrived. It sidled up to the opposite side of the second rabbit.

  She had one shot only. She could not see the third rabbit. It was not ideal, but you took the shot you were given, not the one you wanted. Adjusting her aim, she took another quick breath, held it so her arms would not shake, and let the arrow fly.

  The arrow sprung from the slingshot quick, flat, and true. A puff of red mist punched into the air. The arrow had flown through the second rabbit and struck the one behind it.

  “Yes!” whooped Maddie. She sprang from her hiding spot and sprinted over to her harvest. Sure enough, the second lay dead in the grass with an inch-wide bloody hole in its back shoulder. Its death had been quick.

  The third was still twitching with the arrow sticking out of its side. It had struck the rabbit enough to cause blunt-force trauma, but was still alive.

  Lesson one, a voice spoke in her head, hunters may kill, but we don’t let animals suffer. Not if we can help it. Never, ever.

  Without a millisecond of hesitation, Maddie pulled out her knife and jammed it quick and fast into the rabbit’s neck, ending any lingering misery. She stood and smiled down at her prizes.

  “Awesome sauce. Best Christmas morning ever.”

  Chapter Two

  Zavier Hunter whipped his car into the space next to the red Mercedes. He could feel the needle stare pushing into the side of his head from the car’s occupant. If he was lucky, it was all about how close his own large SUV had come to hitting the C-class luxury car. But Zavier knew he would not be that lucky.

  The driver was out of her car and around to his side of the SUV before he turned off the ignition.

  “You’re late.”

  Zavier answered Vonda with rolled eyes. He stepped out of his car, then regarded her with pursed lips. “Merry Christmas to you too,” he said. He enveloped her in a bear hug. She hugged him back like a limp piece of celery.

  “I’ve been stuck in my car for fifteen minutes.”

  Zavier looked his friend up and down, and then around. The sun was shining, birds were singing, and the temperature was balmy. A perfect Christmas day in Florida.

  “Oh stop it. You make it seem like you’re back home in New York, shivering away in your car. It’s seventy degrees out. I’m sorry, but Santa got delayed.”

  Vonda folded her arms. “Oh, that’s who you are? Santa Claus? You’re a little on the dark and skinny side for Old St. Nick, don’t you think?”

  Zavier just grinned. “Nothing wrong with a black Santa. Especially one this good looking and ‘swole.’” He half-turned, flexing his bicep. He quick stepped toward the back of his SUV before Vonda could punch him in the arm.

  She followed him, fully intending to satisfy her desire to punch him, but stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the contents of his opened trunk.

  “Are you kidding me?! Seriously, dude, you’ve got a damn store back here. You spoil her too much.”

  “Hey! I got you gifts too.”

  “Where?”

  “Right there. See,” he said, pointing. “The box in the corner.”

  Vonda looked from the collection of large boxes dominating the trunk until her eyes finally rested on a tiny box in the back. She whipped her hand out, slapping him in the arm. “Jerk,” she said, but with no venom.

  She bent down, gathering presents into her arms. “Whatever, negro. I know your butt loves her more than me. At least now I know why you insisted I wait for you. Black Santa needs help carrying his toys. Like I’m a damn elf.”

  “Certainly short enough to be one, though the build is all wrong.”

  Vonda was what the old-timers would call stacked, a brickhouse. At five four her short stature made her large breasts and apple-bottom butt loom large in the eyes of men. And not just black men. Zavier had caught more than a few white men staring at her when she walked past. She never dressed to emphasize her physique, but when you were built like her, it didn’t take much.

  Exhibit one was the modestly cut blouse she was wearing. Modest on anyone else. On her, it looked totally scandalous.

  Vonda stopped reaching for presents. She glanced up at Zavier. His brown eyes glowed with mischief; his mouth, however, was set into more of a leer than a smile. She looked from him down to her chest.

  “You know, my boyfriend—the ex-Spec Ops boyfriend I remind you—would not appreciate you looking down my shirt.”

  “I’m not looking down your shirt. I’m looking down at you. If your width-challenged shirt is providing me yet another reason to love Christmas in Florida, that’s not my fault.”

  This time she punched him in the leg. “You’re a total perv.” She gathered more gifts, pressing them tightly against her chest, and stepped from the car. She wasn’t spending the holiday with her boyfriend because he’d taken off this morning to drive halfway across the state to visit with his father, who was in a nursing home. She was happy to be here nonetheless.

  As for Zavier, right now as he stood by his car in front of this house, he was “at home.” He was here for Maddie, who was like a daughter to him. Zavier bent his six-foot frame and grabbed as many presents as he could. Standing up, he could barely keep them from falling. He would need to make another trip to his car to get the rest.

  Maybe I did go a bit overboard. As soon as the thought entered his mind, Zavier dismissed it. Then he tapped his car with his foot to close the trunk.

  Vonda was walking toward the house. He quickened his pace to catch up. Looking at her retreating form, he couldn’t resist making a comment. “You know, my dear, I’m surprised ‘Spec Ops’ even let you out of his sight with that shirt and jean combo.”

  “Stop looking at my ass. And if I knew you were going to be late, I would have given him a third round.”

  “Aaargh! I don’t want to hear that. God. Now I need to go into Tina’s bathroom and wash out my ears.”

  Reaching the front door of the Tudor-style townhouse, Vonda looked back at Zavier. Canting her head to the right, she formed her eyes into the epitome of angelic innocence. “Really? Let me make it worth your while then. In round two, we tried—”

  The front door whipped open, striking the back wall like a crack of lightning. “You!”

  Tina Collins, Vonda’s best friend, stood in the doorway. At the moment, this skinny five-foot-four white suburban soccer mom could make the Hulk run in fright and President Snow quake with fear.

  Vonda recovered from the shock first. She whipped her head around, giving Zavier her own piercing stare. “What did you do?”

  “I, I . . .”

  Further words left him as Tina reached up and over his presents to grab the throat of his shirt. She yanked him inside the house. “Come ‘ere you.”

  Zavier spun through his mental rolodex trying to recall anything that could have gotten him in trouble—again. When nothing came to mind, he glanced at Derek, Tina’s husband.

  Derek held up his hands. “You’re on your own, dude.”

  No help there. He turned to Nanna, Tina’s mother. The elderly woman just shook her head. He could tell a volcanic eruption of a laugh was being held in check. “Tina, I don’t—”

  “Shut up.” She yanked him forward again, dragging him into the kitchen.

  “Look at this!” screamed Tina.

  When he laid eyes on the kitchen counter,
words failed him. He faced a large cutting board covered with blood, fur, and a dead rabbit.

  “There’s another one in the cooler outside. The cooler I take with me to the tennis club to hold sweet tea and single-serve bottles of white wine now has a dead RODENT in it.”

  “Rabbits aren’t rodents. They’re lagomorphs. Their feet are supposed to be lucky, so maybe it will help your backhand.”

  “You think this is funny.”

  “No, I mean—”

  “You think this is ha-ha time? Do you?” Tina pointed a finger at Zavier, punctuating each word with a jab in his chest. “Every parent in the country is walking downstairs to see their kids ripping open Christmas gifts. But nooooo, not me. Nah, I come downstairs to find my daughter’s hands full of blood and fur, ripping open a damn lago-more-whatever, and a smile on her face, telling me it’s her Christmas dinner contribution.”