But in agreeing to help the Night Squad, Vince gives up his dreams of returning to San Francisco. He knows he probably won’t survive the sting, whether it’s the drug dealers who get him, or the vampires.

Jas Tudor and his team need Vince to lead them to a drug kingpin, but Jas’s interest in the handsome bartender with the ultra-sweet blood goes deeper than that. Though he hides it well, Jas knows Vince is gay. Whenever Jas is near, Vince’s pulse races and his erection puts out a heat signal like a rod of uranium. He lures Vince out of his protective shell and enjoys taking him to unimaginable heights of pleasure, even as Jas counts his regrets. His team is swift and destructive, and rarely leaves behind survivors. If Vince doesn’t end up as collateral damage, the vampires will mind-wipe him when the operation concludes, destroying his memories of their magical time together.

“A bit of action, a bit of sex, and a bit of character development came together to make this a well written story.”
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ RomFan Reviews

His mother’s house wasn’t that far out in the woods, but at three in the morning when a car rolled up the drive, the gravel popping under its tires sounded like gunshots in the still night.

The sound was menacing. If Vince knew one thing about gay bashers, they crept up tauntingly when you were at your most vulnerable, slinking like lions on the prowl.

Was it Brogan? The old fucker couldn’t even get out of bed without help, let alone drive himself out here from the nursing home, but he was certainly mad enough to send someone to do his dirty work. After her death, they’d both learned Vince’s shrewd mother had put her house in Vince’s name before marrying the redneck bastard, and there wasn’t a damn thing Brogan could do to get his grubby hands on it.

Vince threw the covers back and flew out of bed. He smashed four out of five toes as he rediscovered his mother’s horrible plaid couch in the living room.

“Damn it!” He limped the rest of the way to the front window and lifted the edge of the curtain.

At first he thought he was imagining what he saw. A long, black limousine nosed out of the trees, creeping its way up the long gravel drive. Holy shit. That wasn’t a limo-it was a hearse. And it certainly wasn’t the elegant hearse that would take his mother’s coffin to the picturesque cemetery in three days. It was a classic old Caddy straight out of a horror movie.

Every instinct told him to run. This could only mean bad news to come. He hurried back to the bedroom and dragged on jeans and a flannel jacket without a shirt. His panic rose as he chose flight. He needed shoes. He’d never make it through the woods without them. He stuffed his feet into his hikers, forgoing socks.

With his heart climbing up his throat, he decided to take one last look out the front window before running off half-cocked into the woods.

He wished he hadn’t. The hearse had pulled to a stop sideways to the house. It idled, headlights throwing two foggy beams into the forest, a plume of steam billowing from the tailpipe. Four figures stood in front of it, silhouetted eerily.

Vincent West.

They were here for him. A surge of adrenaline made his scalp prickle. His name hadn’t been so much called aloud as moaned by a ghost.

Fuck this. Vince turned and ran.

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