Title: You Don’t Know My Name (The Black Angel Chronicles #1) by Kristen Orlando
Published by: Swoon Reads
Publication date: January 10th 2017
Genres: Contemporary, Young Adult

Synopsis:

Fighter, Faker, Student, Spy.

Seventeen-year-old Reagan Elizabeth Hillis is used to changing identities overnight, lying to every friend she’s ever had, and pushing away anyone who gets too close. Trained in mortal combat and weaponry her entire life, Reagan is expected to follow in her parents’ footsteps and join the ranks of the most powerful top-secret agency in the world, the Black Angels. Falling in love with the boy next door was never part of the plan.

Now Reagan has to decide: Will she use her incredible talents and lead the dangerous life she was born into, or throw it all away to follow her heart and embrace the normal life she’s always wanted? And does she even have a choice at all?

Find out if you are ready to join the Black Angels in the captivating and emotional page-turner, You Don’t Know My Name, from debut novelist Kristen Orlando!

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About Kristen Orlando 

Writing is one of the great loves of Kristen Orlando’s life and she has been lucky enough to make it her living, first as a television producer, then as a marketer and now as a novelist. Kristen graduated with a B.A. in English literature from Kenyon College. She lives in Columbus, Ohio with the other great love of her life, Michael. You Don’t Know My Name is her debut novel.

Connect with Kristen: Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads

Giveaway

Enter to win a print copy of You Don’t Know My Name by Kristen Orlando

Excerpt

P. 50-51

 

When we moved from Philadelphia, every car I didn’t recognize on our street, every person who walked onto our property who I didn’t know, even someone who just looked at me too long would send my heart racing or close up my throat. I was convinced the hitman was still going to find us and that we’d never be safe. But every car, person, or look could be explained away. My brain—I couldn’t trust it. It played tricks on me. I’ve done my best to hide the paranoia and anxiety. My parents think it was just a fluke. A rough patch after the hitman. They don’t know I’m still struggling. That it’s escalated.

This spring, I noticed someone following me. Or at least, I thought he was following me. This was after two false alarms, so I kept it to myself. I put the fear and anxiety in my little box, pushing it into the numbest part of my body. But when Mom and Dad were on a mission, I was mid-makeup routine and suddenly couldn’t breathe. I started sweating and my chest was pounding so hard, I could have sworn you could see it beating through my shirt. I grabbed the cold granite countertop with my clammy hands, my arms and legs trembling. I thought I was having a heart attack or dying or something. I lowered myself down to the icy tiled floor, my back up against my wood cabinets, and sat there, begging my throat to open back up so I could suck in a full breath. Aunt Samantha found me, curled up on the ground, a few minutes later. She laid me down on the floor and put a cold washcloth on my burning forehead, asking me to describe my symptoms.

“What’s wrong with me?” I asked, staring up into her warm blue eyes.

“You’re having a panic attack,” she answered very quietly. She sat on the floor next to me, stroking back my dark hair, telling me it would pass and I was going to be okay. Once my legs stopped trembling, she helped me off the floor and insisted I lie in bed.

After two hours of lying side by side, watching over-caffeinated anchors on morning talk shows, I was finally feeling better. I could breathe again.

“What was that all about?” I asked, turning my head to face Sam. She twisted her strong, lean body to face mine, settling her head back down on my extra-fluffy pillows.

“I don’t know,” Sam said, shaking her head slowly. “I’ve never had one but I know they can be really scary.”

“It was,” I replied, my voice quiet. We stared at each other for a few seconds, waiting for the other to speak.

“I know what happened in Philadelphia is weighing on you,” she said, grabbing my arm, rubbing the fabric of my blue shirt between her thumb and index finger. “But you’re safe here.”

“I know,” I replied, even though I didn’t believe her. Not for a single second.