September 26, 2017
Originally published by Loose Id, now self published
Angel Zamora has always looked out for numero uno, even after getting sent to prison for robbing a convenience store at knife point. But now two crazy feds show up to tell him he has undeveloped magic. And they want him to inform on a group that has been recruiting and disposing of magic users. When Angel agrees, he expects to play the feds until he can make his own escape plans.
However, once he's inside the mafia and developing his Talent, he starts to realize that he's not as concerned about his own skin as he is young Matteo. The only son of the mob boss Mr. Luschese, Matt is even more trapped than Angel. His hot temper, disdain for authority, and deeply in-the-closet attitudes are all so familiar that Angel aches for the young man. A relationship that starts with Angel seeking one more potential advantage quickly turns into Angel's worst nightmare--a deep sense of commitment to another human being. Escape routes are closing, and Angel fears he is going to end up one more body dumped in the river...and if Angel plays this wrong, Matt could die with him.
I really liked Angel and his pragmatism. I liked that he decided to agree to FBI offer not because he suddenly discovered in himself hidden desire to help out law enforcement, but more out of the self -preservation. READ MORE
The Romance Reviews
New characters taking the lead in this story is a breath of fresh air! Angel Zamora is a convict almost done paying his dues in jail. Right before he is released, he is brought into a tangled web by two FBI agents. What's worse than telling him he could be dead right after he is released? Being told he needs to go undercover for them as an asset... READ MORE
MM Good Book Reviews
I really enjoyed watching these two men traverse in a dangerous world they are in. Some scenes are cring worthy as Angel adjusts to his magic and is tested in his new abilities by the mob... READ MORE
Angel grimaced when one of the guards mangled his name. He didn’t hang out with God and fight demons, so he sure as hell wasn’t no angel. Ahn-hell. It was pronounced Ahn-hell. However, arguing with the guards was a fool’s game, and Angel hoped he’d grown out of being a fool. So he dropped his cards on the table and headed for the guard gate. Damn. He’d had a good hand too.
“Angel Zamora?” the guard asked without looking up from his computer. Angel hated that the guards couldn’t even give him the respect to look him in the eye.
“Yeah, that’s me.” Angel waited as the guard typed. The asshole made Angel stand there, even though he chose to order Angel to report.
After an interminable wait, the guard spoke without looking up from his bulky computer monitor. “Red line, interview room fourteen.”
Off to the side, a heavy white gate clicked as a shrill alarm split the air. Another guard with a bored expression and thinning hair pulled the barred gate open. Angel followed the faded and broken red line painted on the dull concrete and turned into the maze of corridors when it split away from similarly worn green and yellow lines. Behind him, the guard followed. Routine defined Angel’s life, so this change made the hair on the backs of his arms stand up. He hadn’t been to the interview rooms since he’d been convicted. It even smelled different here—more of ammonia and stale air than sweat and toilets.
Angel stopped at room fourteen and paused, unsure about whether he should go in. The guard crossed his arms without providing any answers and took up a position next to the door, his back against the whitewashed brick wall. Hopefully Angel wouldn’t get slapped with a write-up for failing to read some guard’s mind, but he wasn’t standing around with his thumb up his ass waiting for permission. When he reached for the door, the knob felt strange. In over a year he hadn’t touched one. He ran his fingers over the cool smoothness interrupted by streaks of grime from other hands before he pushed the door open.
Inside, a man and woman sat behind a wooden table with thick legs, papers and files spread out in neat, overlapping piles. They looked like lawyers—all suits and shit. At least the man did. His dark slicked-back hair and red tie made him look like an escapee from a law firm’s commercial. However, the lady lawyers Angel had seen in the courtrooms were all buttoned up in expensive suits, and this one was on the sloppy side. Dark pants and a bulky sweater in baby-puke green hid any hint of a figure, and she’d tucked her hair up into a bun too messy to pass as fashion. Maybe she was the paralegal.
“I think you got the wrong guy,” he said.
“Close the door,” the man said. Angel had been in jail for sixteen months, long enough to know when to shut up and follow orders. He closed the door.
“Please, Mr. Zamora, have a seat,” the woman suggested. Despite her sloppy clothes, she was a looker, but Angel had always leaned more toward the men. The male lawyer had a nice body, even if he looked like he was too high maintenance for Angel’s taste. His suit was definitely tailored, and he was trimmed and groomed within an inch of his life. He was the prettiest damn man Angel had seen for a long time.
Angel took the seat opposite the pair.
“I’m Agent Darren Oberton of the FBI. I’ll be conducting an interview on your arrest process. You were caught after robbing a convenience store on Stiles and High Street?”
A fed. Angel lost all interest in Pretty Boy. “I don’t see my lawyer here, so I ain’t talking.”
“You are not under investigation,” Oberton said. The woman put her hand on Oberton’s arm. They shared a quick look, but Angel could tell they’d reached some decision in that moment. These two had worked together for a while, so that meant she was a fed too.
“Mr. Zamora,” the woman said, “are you aware that you have an affinity for magic?”
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