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Brutal Kiss

Brutal Kiss

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Raised in luxury as a cartel boss's daughter, my life has been controlled and constrained. When my father promises to choose my husband, I seek freedom, choosing to give my innocence to a man of my choosing, Niall Flanagan. Yet, when one night of bliss turns into a compelling fantasy and my engagement looms, a hasty decision will reveal a cruel truth - even sweet kisses can hide brutality.

Brutal Kiss is the first book in the Santiago Cartel series. The trilogy is complete. Reading order Brutal Kiss, Brutal Bargain, Brutal Vow.

Major Tropes

  • Enemies To Lovers
  • Arranged Marriage
  • Age Gap


My family’s worst enemy wants my hand in marriage. But I’ve made up my mind to give my innocence to a man that I choose.

When I sneak out to a local bar to pick up a man for the night, my only thought is that I want the choice of who my first will be, before I’m married off to a man I hate. Niall Flanagan is a handsome stranger, alluring and a little dangerous, and everything I think that I want.

Except he doesn’t know who I really am. And as it turns out, he’s something more than what I think I know, too.

When one night of blissful pleasure turns into more, it’s all I can do not to tell him the truth. And when my father breaks all his promises, I make a snap decision that will change everything. Niall showed me that the world can be so much more–but he’s about to discover a terrible truth.

Even the sweetest of kisses can carry a brutal edge.

Click Here To Read An Excerpt

I’d planned on waltzing in here, buying drinks and picking a man to take my virginity like I was choosing out of a lineup, like they’d all stand there and wait for my approval, and I realize with a flush of shame and fear how ridiculous that idea was. Maybe some other woman could do that, but just putting on a dress and some lipstick isn’t enough to make me that woman, I realize, as Marc’s hand tightens on my arm, nudging me towards his friends’ table. I’d need to be older, more wise in the ways of the world. I can’t even order my own stupid drink, because I don’t know what I like, I think miserably, my thoughts flapping in my head like a frightened bird as I try to think of a way out of this. I shouldn’t have come.

“I’m not really here to make friends—” I try to tug my arm out of his grasp, but he’s stronger than I am by a good bit.        

 “What a coincidence,” he says with a toothy grin. “We’re not either.” He tugs harder on my arm, his fingers almost painful now, my drink sloshing out of the glass and adding to the stickiness of the floor as I try to pull away. One of his other friends moves in towards me, and suddenly my drink is gone.        

 “Sorry about that,” Marc says insincerely. “I’ll buy you a new one.”     

   “I can buy my own drink—” But it’s clear he’s not listening, already maneuvering me away despite my best efforts.        

Fuck. Fuck—my heart is in my throat, and I feel my eyes burning with threatening tears. I’ve fucked up—     

  “I think the lady is asking you to leave her alone. I suggest you listen.”

   Marc’s head whips around at the sound of the voice, one that doesn’t really belong here. It has a strange accent to it, a rolling burr that’s authoritative and soothing all at once, and I blink through the burning haze in my eyes to see the owner of it.

He’s striding towards us, the most gorgeous man I’ve certain I’ve seen anywhere—in person, in movies, in my entire life. My eyes skate upwards, over slim-cut black jeans to a charcoal denim button-down and a black leather jacket that looks like it would feel like butter under my fingertips, all the way up to a chiseled face, dark blue eyes, and swooping messy black hair that looks like it would feel soft when I ran my hands through it.

 I catch a glimpse of tattoos on the sides of his neck as he strides forward, his eyes only for me. “I’ve been looking for you,” he says crisply. “Looks like you found a little trouble.” The man pushes past Marc and his buddies as if they’re no one, coming straight for me, and the four men—boys, really, next to this guy—fall back, but not without protests.

  “Hey. We were talking to her—”

“And now you’re not. Fuck off, truflais,” the man growls, that accent thickening as his harsh blue gaze settles on each of them in turn, as his hand slips around my waist and urges me forward. “I’m here for her.”


The words settle over me as he nudges me forward away from the boys, effectively rescuing me. Here for me. I look up at him as we move towards the bar, his broad hand on the small of my back with a heat that feels like it burns through the silky fabric of my dress. He’s terrifying and gorgeous all at once, beautiful and overwhelming and thrilling, and I feel like what almost turned into a nightmare has become a dream instead.            

He’s everything I imagined when I came up with my plan for tonight. And now he’s here, with me.

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