To Die For

In this America, preselling your organs is legal. Sign the contract and the money lands today. Zarus collects later. The corporation that owns the market is richer than Apple, and its clients are waiting on parts.

Ask Charlie Paulson. He signed a Zarus contract for college money. He lasted a month.

Senior Special Agent Lynn Clarke has spent fifteen years in the Secret Service taking bullets meant for presidents. She watched Congress legalize the trade. She watched her own father die waiting for an organ the system would not give a non-member.

Then Lynn Clarke dies. Briefly.

Pronounced dead. Resuscitated. Walking, breathing, alive by every human measure. But a woman she has never met has filed a claim on her kidney, and the case climbs all the way to the Supreme Court. The ruling: the kidney must be surrendered.

Her own body is no longer legally hers.

And her blood makes it worse. Bombay Blood. The rarest type on earth, carried by fewer than a thousand Americans, and above Zarus sits a client who needs exactly what runs in her veins. A client nobody says no to.

They don't want her dead. Dead is wasteful. They want her fresh. The agency she bled for looks away, because the system doesn't fail. It works exactly as designed. She was never the customer. She's the product.

Hunted by professionals who harvest people for a living, Clarke has one asset left: they need her alive, intact, and undamaged. Which means she can do things to them that they cannot do to her.

She was trained to take a bullet. Now she learns to be one.

A relentless thriller for readers of Michael Crichton and Lee Child. Bombay Blood is real. Check your license.

Check your donor box. And then start reading, while you're still the reader.