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Going rogue in an effort to rescue her kidnapped parents has cost Reagan Hillis her automatic ticket to the Training Academy. But becoming a Black Angel is the only way Reagan will be able to exact revenge on her mother’s merciless killer, Santino Torres.
When Reagan is given a chance to prove that she’s worthy of training to be a Black Angel, she also gets the first chance she’s ever had to be her true self. No aliases. No disguises.
But when her friend (and more?) Luke joins her at the Black Angels training compound, Reagan finds herself once again torn between the person she was and the person she wants to be. Reagan has to prove that she's as good as her parents trained her to be, because she’ll never find Torres without the Black Angels’ help.
"Reagan, want to join us for a game of pool?” Cam says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans. “I hear you’re good with a gun but what can you do with a pool cue?”
“I should probably get unpacked,” I reply, leaning forward to unzip one of my bulging duffle bags.
“You sure?” Anusha asks, crossing the room and hanging her bathrobe on a wall hook between our beds. “I hear the chefs whip up some mean late-night snacks.”
“No. I’m good,” I reply, busying myself with pulling out sports bras, pajamas and training gear. “Thanks. You guys have fun.”
“Okay, but don’t fall asleep,” Anusha says, pointing toward me, her lips parting into a wide, easy smile. “We need to stay up and exchange life stories when I get back. I want to hear all about you.”
“Sure,” I lie, wishing I had one of Sam’s hexagon sleeping pills to cast its thick fog over my bed before Anusha returns.
“See you later, Hillis,” Anusha calls over her shoulder as she and Cam head down the hall.
I stare at the empty doorway as I realize that’s the first time anyone has called me by my real last name. The first time someone has asked to get to know me. The real me. No secret identity, no cover story. Easy lies no longer need to be prepared on the tip of my tongue. I don’t have to stare into the black at night, imagining scenarios, planning out the falsehood I’d spin and story I’d create.
Unexpected panic balloons first in my chest, then crawls up the back of my throat until its long, dark fingers rattle against my brain. The lies, the cover stories, the manufactured version of me is all I’ve ever known. The pretender was my shield, my security blanket. Without her, I’m just Reagan Hillis. And I have no idea who the hell that girl is.
You Don't Know My Name:
"Orlando strikes a fast-paced, flirty, and mostly believable balance between timely teenage conflicts . . . and pure peril . . . Orlando, much like Reagan, is just getting started." —Booklist
"At its core, [this] is an action-packed novel about searching for oneself in the midst of heavy expectations . . . A solid addition [for those] who love stories of spy craft and secret identities, with a splash of romance." —School Library Journal
"This is my ideal sort of book, full of tension, action, romance, family issues, and a girl struggling to figure out her identity. Kristen Orlando has created a kick ass character-literally!” —Sara Shepard, #1 New York Times-bestselling author of The Pretty Little Liars series