STORY EXCERPT

No matter how many times his mother had gone on and on about how the heroes in her books always saved the day, no one was saving Nixon’s ass. Then again, his mom always said that real heroes didn’t exist and that was why she was so enamored with her books.

Nixon agreed. Not about reading romance novels—no thanks— but about how heroes didn’t really exist. Not the kind that knocked down doors and saved a guy who’d gotten his own ass in a sling. Sure, there were heroes like firefighters and other people who put their lives on the line because it was their job, but no SEAL would be busting in here to swoop him away.

Nope. Not a chance in hell. In fact, Nixon would be lucky to make it out of here alive. Cash was pointing a gun at him and, from the quirk of his lips, was getting pure enjoyment out of terrifying him.

“You’re not flinching,” Cash said with an approving nod.

Nixon wasn’t flinching because he was too paralyzed with fear to move, not because he was some badass. In fact, he was the total opposite. He wasn’t thick with muscles like his brother. He wasn’t that tall, either. He took after his mother, whereas Clinton took after their father.

At least that was what their mom told them. Their dad had skipped out when they were young—Nixon had been about seven at the time—so neither of them really knew him. He had only faded memories of the guy. The one thing Nixon did recall about his father was that Tanner liked to argue with Nixon’s mother. Left her crying many nights as he stormed out.

Then one night he never came back.

If you asked Nixon, Tanner Munford was nothing more than a coward and a selfish dick for leaving his wife to raise their sons on her own. That was probably for the best, though, since they’d argued a lot. Not a great household to grow up in.

But that was an issue for another time. Right now Nixon needed to survive the moment. He’d hate on his father later.

“You got him good.” Clinton gave a nervous laugh. “Just pay us what you owe us and we’ll be on our way.”

Even if Cash said they could leave, Nixon was so afraid he wasn’t sure he would be able to get his legs to work. He’d never had a gun pointed at him before, and it wasn’t an experience he wanted repeated. Once was enough to cure him of wanting a thrill out of life. Give him paint-drying boredom any day.

Nixon wasn’t even sure Clinton realized how deep into trouble he was heading until they’d ended up in the warehouse. Now Nixon and his brother stood there in the center of the room, the members of Cash’s group all around them, as if eager to see what their boss would do. Nixon was eager to not see what Cash would do. It couldn’t be anything good.

Then Cash tucked the gun into his waistband and smiled. It was the kind of smile Satan might wear when he was about to do some dirty shit. Nixon’s gut clenched, and he still had a hard time stopping his heart from trying to escape his chest. It was beating so hard it should have ripped right out of him.

“I tell you what,” Cash said in a way that implied he was a nice guy, which he wasn’t. “I’ll double your pay if you do me one little favor.”

Nixon cut his eyes toward Clinton. The last thing he wanted was to do some more work for Cash. He’d learned his lesson. Fuck easy money. It wasn’t worth his life.

“What kind of favor?” Clinton hedged. Nixon wanted to smack the taste out of his brother’s mouth for asking that question.

“We’ll just take what you owe us,” Nixon said, ready to get the hell out of there.

Clinton rested a hand on Nixon’s arm, telling him, without words, to shut up. When he gave Nixon’s arm a gentle squeeze, Nixon realized his brother was just as afraid as he was but asking the question would get them out of there. Refusing the favor might get their graves dug in small plots behind the warehouse where there was a cluster of woods, a place no one would look, where their bodies would rot forever.

Nixon curled his lips in.

Cash smiled, a smile that said that was more like it. “I need intel, but my guys’ faces are too well known. I need faces that won’t be recognized.”

Again, Clinton hedged the question. At least he wasn’t the biggest idiot on the planet like Nixon had previously thought he was. “What kind of intel?”

Nixon just wanted out of there. The men were giving him looks that said they’d have fun torturing him before they killed him. Nixon’s limbs were made of noodles, and he was sweating so badly that he had huge pit stains under his arms. The warehouse was dark and a bit cold, so the sweat quickly dried and made him shiver and itch.

“There is a particular vampire who keeps getting in my way,” Cash said.

Nixon blinked several times. “Did you just say vampire?” Now he knew the guy was on drugs.

“You thought only humans lived on earth?” Cash chuckled, and it was a very unpleasant sound. “Surprise! Nope. We’re not. I need you and your brother to track this vampire down and tell me what he’s up to.”

Cash was smoking crack. Now Nixon knew he had to get out of there because he was dealing with a lunatic. That should have already been apparent, but this “favor” made that glaringly obvious.

“Sure, sure,” Clinton said. “We’ll track down your vampire.”

Nixon shouted when Cash slugged Clinton so hard that his brother slammed to the floor.

“Don’t ever fucking mock me!” Cash snarled. “You may think I’m insane, but you have no fucking idea just how many vampires live in Ridgeway.”

Nixon wanted to help his brother to his feet but was too scared to move a muscle. He didn’t want to get slugged next. Clinton was a big guy, and Cash’s fist had dropped him. The guy’s fist would probably snap Nixon’s head clean off.

“What’s the guy’s name?” Nixon asked, hoping to soothe Cash’s fragile ego.

“Joaquin,” Cash said, visibly relaxing as Clinton pulled himself off the floor. “He hangs out at Club Lure on his downtime. I got word he’ll be there tonight.”

ADULT EXCERPT

When Joaquin opened his door, Nixon was impressed at how minimally the interior was decorated. The hardwood flooring, white couch, and glass end tables reflected both class and style. A vase with white lilies sat on a stand near the wall.

What didn’t fit were the black curtains and shades, not in a sea of such brightness throughout the room. Joaquin set his keys in a glass bowl next to the door. As soon as the door was closed, he pressed Nixon against the wall, their lips colliding, their hands everywhere. That answered Nixon’s question about Joaquin’s ulterior motive and whether he had one.

Nixon loved the toe-curling way Joaquin handled him, taking charge and showing Nixon exactly what he wanted. He gripped Nixon’s ass, yanking him closer, but Joaquin was a good foot taller, so in the midst of making out, Nixon worried about Joaquin getting neck or lower back pain.

As if he could read Nixon’s mind, Joaquin grabbed Nixon’s sides and hauled him off his feet. In a millisecond, Nixon caught on and curled his legs around Joaquin’s trim waist, rocking against the guy like some kind of wanton slut.

Was he going to stop? Nope. Joaquin’s hands and mouth felt too good, and he smelled incredible. Nixon tugged at the hem of Joaquin’s shirt, dying to see what was underneath. He wanted to run his hands over Joaquin’s chest, to see if he had a six-pack, to appreciate any exposed flesh Joaquin wanted to show him.

He might have thought of Joaquin as an elitist when he’d seen a picture of the guy, even when he’d met him in person, but Joaquin sure as fuck wasn’t acting stuffy. He was liquid pleasure, raw need, and animalistic in the way Nixon needed him to be.

Both their shirts came off. Bare skin pressed against bare skin. He tweaked Nixon’s nipples, sending tiny shocks of electrical energy through him. Their mouths were still molded together. Their hands were still exploring, and Nixon couldn’t seem to catch his breath at how intense and intoxicating this was.

Joaquin slid an arm around Nixon and pulled him away from the wall. Their teeth grazed, their tongues dueled, and Nixon was trying his best to inhale every breath that came out of Joaquin’s mouth as he walked them to the bedroom.

The room was just as modern and stylish as the living room, and there were black blinds and curtains in here, too. Joaquin dropped Nixon onto the bed, coming down on top of him but not hard enough to crush him. Joaquin wiggled, and Nixon realized the guy was kicking off his stylish boots.

Nixon toed his sneakers off, hearing them hit the floor. His hands had a mind of their own, and he was ghosting them over Joaquin’s impressive pecs. Nixon had never been with a man with chest hairs, and he loved it. The hairs tickled his palms as he searched out Joaquin’s nipples.

Then he jerked his mouth away from Joaquin’s and latched his mouth onto the left nub, using his teeth and tongue to worship the pebbled flesh. Joaquin arched his back, moans spilling from his lips. His hand gripped Nixon’s hair, tugging gently.

Nixon wanted to taste more of him. He wanted to taste more saltiness on his tongue, feel the soft glide of flesh against his mouth, map out the guy’s perfect abs as he worked his way down to the prize he desperately wanted.

Joaquin didn’t stop him—what guy would?—as Nixon slowly descended the man’s perfect body. He grazed his fingertips over Joaquin’s stomach, hips, and traced the waistband of his dark jeans.

Then Nixon popped the button. He slowly lowered the zipper while circling his tongue around Joaquin’s naval. Nixon loved that Joaquin had a happy trail, because most guys shaved those hairs. Which was a complete shame.

He teased the hairs with his teeth as he shoved Joaquin’s pants and underwear down his thighs. Joaquin’s cock sprang free, hitting Nixon’s chin. He pulled back to take a look at what he was working with and nearly gasped.

The guy was well-endowed. His cock was long, thick, and fucking perfect, just like the rest of him.

Feeling mischievous, Nixon nibbled at Joaquin’s inner thighs, slowly working his way up. Then he teased the guy’s balls with the tip of his tongue. Joaquin’s legs shook slightly, like he could barely contain his need. Nixon wanted to see if he could get Joaquin to lose control. That was a huge turn-on for him.

Nixon didn’t want to rush this. He was enjoying seeing Joaquin squirm, but his mouth was also watering for a taste of the beast between the guy’s legs. When he looked up, Joaquin was watching him closely, his eyelids heavy and partially closed. The green irises had grown darker, and for some reason, Joaquin was pressing his lips together, like he was afraid to make a sound.

Nixon wanted to change that. He wanted to hear Joaquin shouting his name. He wanted all the sex noises he could wring from him.

He mouthed Joaquin’s balls, lashing his tongue over the sensitive flesh. He also wanted more room to play, so Nixon reared back and yanked Joaquin’s pants and underwear the rest of the way off then removed his socks. Then Nixon settled between the man’s legs and licked a path from inner thigh to the base of his cock.