Three sisters, once victims, now vigilantes—fighting for justice in the shadows, but at what cost?
Dive into the story of three foster sisters – Nia, Valentina, and Kuan-Yin – who have had a traumatic event that changed their lives forever. After witnessing a crime that the police failed to solve, the sisters decide to take matters into their own hands and become vigilantes to protect their community. The sisters are determined to fight against injustice and crime in their neighborhood, by any means necessary. They use their individual skills and talents and work in the shadows. Nia, the eldest sister, has her own private practice and clean-up crew on call. Valentina loves to be at the Recreation Center with her babies, but knows her way around a needle. Kuan is a charismatic social worker whose culinary expertise are to die for. As they work together to avenge the loss of their Mama, the sisters face many challenges, dangerous criminals, personal demons, and fine ass men. But with the support of each other and the community they protect, they remain determined. As they delve deeper into the underworld of their hometown, the sisters must also confront the personal traumas that led them to this path, and the emotional toll that their mission takes on them. Can they keep this up?
Sister Assassin’s: Vigilante is for readers who crave intense, action-packed thrillers with complex sibling bonds, vigilante justice, and high-stakes drama. Perfect for fans of Killing Eve, Nikita, and Gone Girl.
- Adrenaline-fueled suspense – Dive into a gripping, fast-paced story with high-stakes missions and unpredictable twists.2. Complex sisterhood dynamics – Explore deep, emotional connections and tensions between three fierce, flawed siblings navigating loyalty and betrayal.3. Empowering vigilante justice – Follow skilled women who take control of their lives and the world around them, delivering justice on their own terms.
Sneak Peek
No one ever explains to you the pain you feel losing your Mama. No one ever explains the ache that doesn’t go away. No one ever explains to you the depression you fall into. No one ever explains to you how to get out. No one ever tells you how to get help. Where to start looking.
Where does a Black girl, who just lost her Mama, go to get better?
My journey started at self-help groups. I tried a few before I found one that fit.
I couldn’t relate to the people. Yes, their stories were similar to mine and yes they were empathetic. But they didn’t look like me, so how could they understand everything I am going through?
I found myself explaining my Blackness more than I was telling my story.
There is relief in telling your story. I hadn’t realized the burden of keeping all my feelings inside until I found a place where I could be 100% vulnerable.
I started taking classes right after Mama. It progressed from a necessity to a passion and enabled me to heal. I ended up starting my own business; my own help group for women of color who are victims of violent crime. In the four years since Mama’s death, I have gotten my Masters in mental health counseling. Afterward, I opened a non-profit business called ‘Black Mental Health Matters’ where I employ two licensed black mental health therapists and two mental health professionals who have applied for their licenses and need their hours, one community resource professional and two administrative assistants.
All my employees are Black women. I love my job simply because of the representation it displays. Yeah, I had a lot of help. Mama left me some money after she was murdered.
Me and my friend Madison are therapists at BMHM. Madison provides self-defense every Thursday after group for beginners and I provide taekwondo for the more advanced women.
We have about ten girls who come every week. It hurts to see all these women being abused and taken advantage of. I am happy I provide them with the opportunity to take their life back. I put an advertisement for my group in the paper, encouraging more women to come.
As I walk towards the common room. I stop at Tiffany’s desk.
“Hey girl, did you pick up a copy of the paper? I want to see the ad I put in.”
Tiffany reached down to grab it and then sucked her teeth as she handed it to me. “You’re so old school. Nobody reads the paper anymore.”
I put my hand over my chest in mock offense. “Old school. I am only, what 3 years older than you?”
“Old enough to still use the paper,” she said, stifling a smile.
I sucked my teeth. “Girl, please,” and I headed to my office.
There is a room in the middle of our offices that has glass windows and is soundproof. It has a rectangular table, a couch, and a loveseat. In one corner there is a small chair and a bookshelf with children’s books and puzzles.
We don’t have toys; we want the kids to read. We only have books from authors of color who write about people like them.
I only wanted the ad run in today’s paper and was anxious to see who came to the group today.
After a few hours at my desk transcribed notes and listened to session recording. I packed my things up. I stopped in Madison and Ericka’s office to say goodbye.
Madison was on her way out too. As we walked to the door, we gave Tiffany and Monica tomorrow’s to-do lists and headed outside.
“How many do you think will come?” Madison asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope at least a few more.”
She shook her head and her shoulder-length bob waved back and forth.
“Girl, your hair is luscious. Look at that movement,” I said.
She smirked and side-eyed me. “You know you say that every time it moves even a little bit. As if you would do something besides braids. Girl, ya’ air is probably down to ya’ ass. How long have you been doing protective styles?”
“Since I could remember,” I said with my hands waving back and forth. “Girl, I wouldn’t know what to do with wigs or extensions.”
We reached our car and I put my purse in the trunk. “It’s a whole ‘nother job,” I added.
Madison stood in her open driver-side door and looked at me over her car. “You know I will hook you up. I do hair! I would love to get into that mane of yours. It is not as hard as your making it seem. Just moisturize, moisturize, and moisturize.”
I opened my driver side door and turned around to look at her.
She was smiling and flipped her hair from side to side. “They even got ones you can take off at night! Girl, you need to stop going to those Africans and come let Madison tame your mane.”
I threw my head back and laughed. “Oh, that’s your slogan huh,” I bent down to get in my car. “Ion’ know girl. I’ll think about it,” I said as the door slammed shut.
I’m a book-obsessed wordsmith who’s happiest with a cup of coffee in one hand and a keyboard in the other. Writing is my love language, and I split my creative energies between two identities: as Sheyanne Warren, I craft fantastical worlds full of magic and adventure for YA readers; as Ashley Johnson, I dive deep into gritty mysteries and spine-tingling paranormal tales. When I’m not weaving stories, you’ll find me lost in a good book, plotting my next twist, or pretending I’m not adding yet another novel to my TBR pile. Let’s get lost in the stories together!”
