Jake Maddox Books Novels & Stories

"If they offer you money, take it, if they don't, you write it down in this book. They might not look it, especially Simon here who doesn't look part of the living, but they self-monitor pretty well and they'll come pay their tabs by the end of the month, you don't need to worry about that though." "Ok." I nod again, feeling like one of those dogs a few of my foster parents had in the front of their cars. "Tell me a bit about yourself, Jake. How did you end up with Maggie?" I must look horrified by his demand to know about my life, because he goes back to expression number two, dropping his grin and narrowing his eyes again.

My breath hitched as I looked up— Straight into the stormy blue eyes of Jake Blaze. Of course. Of course it was him. He stood there with tousled black hair, a leather jacket, and that infuriating smirk that could charm a snake. He was Willow Court High’s walking red flag—the kind parents warned daughters about and teachers pretended not to fear. “Sorry!” I squeaked, scrambling for my books before I cried or screamed—whichever came first. Jake didn’t bother responding. He just walked away, his friends snickering as he joined them.

“Tell me, Maddox. Where were you last night? What was more important than finding the murderers of your father? Tell me what was keeping you so busy that you didn’t even bother checking your phone, let alone answering our calls?” The image of Iliana lying on the bed, naked and tempting, seared my mind. Her moans, deep and raw, echoed in my ears. My fingers tingled with the memory of her body shuddering beneath them. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard, not willing my mind to go there, “I would’ve come to the meeting had it not skipped my mind. You know that.” The excuse sounded petty even to my own ears. His eyes narrowed into thin slits, “You never happened to miss one in the last fifteen y

"What makes you think the Diamondbacks killed him?" Raven reached slowly into her jacket, aware of how Jax tensed, his hand drifting toward his knife. She pulled out a thick folder, setting it carefully on the scarred coffee table between them. "Because I've spent the last three years learning everything I can about them. Watching. Waiting. Preparing."