Delinquent. Savagery runs hot in his veins. Miguel González doesn’t have any memories that don’t include cruel fists raining down on him. The only light in his life had been his younger sister Valeria, who was slaughtered during a drug run by the Gulf cartels.
Vengeance is the only answer.
War is brewing between the Gulf cartels and Los Zetas. With it, a rising drug lord threatening to destroy everything he’s working towards. Miguel will need to claw his way to the top if he wants justice.
It’s a new school year. There are a bunch of new faces, fresh and eager to learn as they navigate through high school. Most people fear him.
Then there’s him.
Javier Hernández isn’t afraid.
There’s something strange about Javier, something lethal. His gaze is deep, penetrating. Like two blades covered in frost, sinking into his chest.
Javier breaks beautiful things.
But Miguel begs for it.
Table of Contents
St. Augustine, Florida
Miguel storms across the sea of bodies, shoving his way to the bar. He barks his order, choking back something sweet and citrus. Fists pound in the air as raucous party-goers sway to the music.
Where’s Mateo? He was supposed to be here.
The bruise on his eye throbs, blood still trickling down his brow from where his foster father, Felipe, had punched him earlier. He can’t even remember what he did to piss Felipe off. It started with a few jeers here and there, scathing comments about being a freeloader, then it ended with Felipe’s fist raining down on him.
Fucking bastard. Miguel knows he shouldn’t have left Valeria alone with him.
It’s all the same shit. Guilt rakes up and down his body, but he pays at the counter, not bothering to flash his fake ID before he downs his drink.
Shit. No sign of Mateo. Oh, well. He can’t wait forever.
Miguel fights his way through the crowd, desperate to get home soon. It’s late. Valeria will be worried. That’s enough motivation to keep him moving faster. He’s only about halfway across the room when he finally loses his patience and shoves into the next person blocking his path.
The man turns, a deadly glint in his eye as he checks who just pushed him. Miguel glares back defiantly, the stranger looking barely old enough to be allowed in a club at all.
He’s handsome. Devastatingly so. Miguel’s heart jams in his throat as the man smiles, sleek and cool. Deadly. A shiver runs down his spine and he banishes it with the hot flood of disgust that washes through him. This is not the time or place. Valeria, his younger sister, is waiting for him.
The man’s gaze morphs into something softer, steel melted down with fire. A smirk drags across his face and he steps closer. His hair is wild auburn curls, his skin ochre like the setting sun. The stranger’s eyes are a swirling mix of greens, blues, and browns, a smoky hazel. He’s wearing a neon green sheer top, his pierced nipples flickering in the strobe lights, and his black skin-tight jeans make his legs look endless.
“Can you back the fuck off?” Miguel tries to say but his voice gets lost in the heavy, pounding bass. He huffs out a breath and turns to continue elbowing his way through the crowd. He barely manages a step, when a hand encircles his wrist, the strength in that grip forcing him to stop.
He whips his head around to look back at the man who is impeding his escape. The fiery look is still there, as Miguel glowers at him. The man just grins lazily, tugging on his wrist until he trips forward.
The move causes Miguel to press up against the man, both of his hands splaying across his chest and his face nearly buried in the crook of the man’s neck. What the fuck? He tries to wrench himself back, to regain some distance from the man, when the other bends slightly to brush his lips against the shell of Miguel’s ear.
“Leaving so soon?” His voice is hot and wet against his earlobe. Miguel shivers and he feels the other man smile. “Dance with me.”
Fuck no. The way their bodies move is not what Miguel would call dancing. It’s too slow to match the beat of the song. The stranger slots one of his thighs between Miguel’s legs and presses forward, rolling his hips indecently. Miguel sucks in a sharp breath. With half a mind to punch the man in the throat, he leans back slightly only to find his movement being followed as a pair of lips attach themselves to his throat.
Dream, Live, Love.
Heaven and hell, demons and angels. J.K Jones has always had an affinity for otherworldly things. From her debut novel, it’s easy to see she loves all things crawling in the shadows. As it so happens, J.K Jones is the author of a gritty, fun, action-packed, soul-rending novel. Her characters are so dark and twisted they defy the dimensions of this world. She does not believe in HEA, she does believe in writing a suitable ending for her characters. Never will you read any of her works where the characters ride off into the sunset together. Not going to happen. There is nothing J.K. Jones loves more than a tragic ending. She is an avid reader, poet, and LGBTQ activist. She is a University graduate with a BA in Sociology, also has a TESOL certificate for teaching English as a Second Language.