Impure intentions magic.., p.1
Impure Intentions (Magic City Amores Book 1), page 1
IMPURE INTENTIONS
K.L. HERNANDEZ
CONTENTS
Untitled
Content Warnings
Playlist
Prologue
1. Vivian Calderón
2. Vivian Calderón
3. Matéo Montenegro
4. Vivian Calderón
5. Matéo Montenegro
6. Matéo Montenegro
7. Vivian Calderón
8. Vivian Calderón
9. Matéo Montenegro
10. Vivian Calderón
11. Matéo Montenegro
12. Vivian Calderón
13. Vivian Calderón
14. Matéo Montenegro
15. Matéo Montenegro
16. Vivian Calderón
17. Vivian Calderón
18. Matéo Montenegro
19. Vivian Montenegro
20. Matéo Montenegro
21. Vivian Calderón
22. Matéo Montenegro
23. Matéo Montenegro
24. Vivian Calderón
25. Matéo Montenegro
26. Vivian Calderón
27. Matéo Montenegro
28. Vivian Calderón
29. Matéo Montenegro
30. Matéo Montenegro
31. Matéo Montenegro
32. Matéo Montenegro
33. Vivian Calderón
34. Matéo Montenegro
35. Vivian Calderón
36. Matéo Montenegro
37. Vivian Calderón
38. Vivian Calderón
39. Matéo Montenegro
40. Vivian Calderón
41. Vivian Calderón
42. Matéo Montenegro
43. Matéo Montenegro
44. Vivian Calderón
45. Matéo Montenegro
46. Vivian Calderón
47. Vivian Calderón
48. Matéo Montenegro
49. Vivian Calderón
50. Matéo Montenegro
51. Vivian Calderón
52. Matéo Montenegro
53. Vivian Caldéron
54. Matéo Montenegro
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
UNTITLED
Impure Intentions
K.L. Hernandez
Copyright © 2024 by K.L. Hernandez
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except as permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents portrayed in this production are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
Cover, Interior Design, and Formatting by Julie at Books and Moods
Developmental Editing by Kylie Lynne
Copyediting, Lineediting, and Proofreading by Indie Proofreading
For more information, visit www.klhernandez.com
For the girls who love whimpering, submissive men, this one’s for you.
CONTENT WARNINGS
This story contains explicit content, minor violence, blood, amnesia, abduction, and mentions of a car accident.
PLAYLIST
Aventura - Un Beso
Rupee, Daddy Yankee - Tempted to Touch
Kevin Lyttle - Turn Me On
Sade - Kiss of Life
Jungle 74 - Candle Flame
Romeo Santos - Propuesta Indecente
Aventura - Mi Corazoncito
Luna Luna - Solo Tu
Jerry River - Amores Como el Nuestro
Naomi Sharon - Definition of Love
Majid Jordan - Summer Rain
Elvis Crespo - Suavemente
Angel y Khriz - Ven Bailalo
Majid Jordan - Waiting for You (ft. Naomi Sharon)
DJ Nelson - Esta Noche de Travesuras (ft. Hector “El Father”)
Wisin y Yandel - Noche de Sexo
Celia Cruz - La Negra Tiene Tumbao
Don Omar - Conteo
Ne-Yo - Closer
Sech - Tus Labios
Hector y Tito ft. Don Omar - Baila Morena
PROLOGUE
VIVIAN CALDERÓN
Nochevieja meant three things for Bruno Aguirre, Carolina Watanabe, and me: a sleepover, grapes, and alcohol. Tradition called for it—just like it called for Bruno and me to drive the four hours from Orlando to Miami. Even after Caro’s move two years ago, our seven-year record of celebrating New Years together still stood strong.
Stringed lights hung across her open backyard, ivy disguising the wooden fence near our withered camping chairs. We’ve never been camping, yet these chairs looked as if they’d been through all four seasons. Rustic, orange fabric tore at the seams while paint chipped on the legs, with armrests pads that were barely holding by a thread.
By living in Bruno’s trunk, they’ve aged like milk.
“Shouldn’t we buy new chairs?” I said wearily, the metal legs creaking beneath me as I tried to settle in slowly. One wrong move and the concrete floor would be my seat for the night.
“Not until they’re not standing anymore.” Bruno glanced at us from the back sliding door. “And all four legs are perfectly fine, no?”
“Bruno, I hear them ripping as we speak.” An exaggeration, but I needed to get my point across. With his parent’s credit cards, Bruno could very much afford new ones, ten times over.
He turned around as if he didn’t hear me. “What, Abue? I didn’t catch that!” In a second, he disappeared inside Caro’s house.
Giggles bounced in the air from beside me. “I hope he knows Obaa-san and Ojii-san are at the neighbors tonight.”
Although a grin stretched, I rolled my eyes. Bruno’s ridiculousness was entertaining, even when annoying. I couldn’t complain. Without it, we wouldn’t have the drive to dress up and lounge around doing a whole lot of nothing during the holidays.
While Miami was well in the seventies tonight, we sat underneath the moonlight and around the unlit fire pit with long sleeves. Tonight’s choice of armor was semi-casual; a short, black skirt and a pink lace top, my silver slingback heels the star of the show.
Caro, on the other hand, glammed herself to the nines. Her glittery eye makeup sparkled against her curled, shoulder-length auburn hair. Her short, lilac dress bounced with each step, the puffy long sleeves stretching as she steadied herself into the wobbly chair.
The humor in her eyes vanished, overridden by sudden fear. “How about we secretly buy new ones and set these on fire?”
“We could, but he’ll notice.” I shook my head. “Remember, I tried that last year? One look and he knew. I had to gift them to Mami y Papi since I couldn’t return them.”
“At least someone got new chairs,” she said in a whisper, the back of her hand covering her lips.
“Ladies!” Bruno chirped as he stepped outside. Typically, he outdid us, but tonight, his cobalt blue slacks and white button down didn’t scream excessive. Not even his heeled boots, since they were the tamest out of his shoe collection. Bruno was anything but mild in his life. “Y’all better have your resolutions ready!”
“You were serious?” I asked with an arched brow. “No more running around the block with our luggage?”
Bruno settled down the three cups of grapes on the pit, both hands settling on his hips. “Viv, you know I take New Years very seriously. Since luggage around the block didn’t work—Miami doesn’t count—we need to try a new tradition. Process of elimination until we find the one.”
Bachata and reggaeton songs blared, meddling around the block. Our speaker rested inside, untouched. What was the point of playing our music when the neighbors were already battling it out with each other?
“Aren’t the grapes enough?” I picked up a cup filled to the brim. Out of the three of us, Bruno was the math whiz, yet there were more than twelve.
Fireworks screeched in the distance. Midnight was ten minutes away, but when it came to celebrations, Latinos loved starting as early as yesterday.
“Of course! We’re doing all three!” he wailed.
“What do you mean, three?” Carolina bobbed her head and scrunched her eyebrows.
“We’re screaming our main resolution, making twelve wishes, and wearing red underwear!”
“What? You didn’t tell us about the underwear!”
“Then that’s just for me.”
“Where is this coming from?” Since Bruno was Chilean, Caro Peruvian, and I Panamanian, our New Year’s traditions varied. Bruno liked adding a new one whenever he remembered, but we’d always stuck to eating twelve grapes for twelve wishes as our tradition. Superstitious, yes, but I loved the simplicity of doing it with my best friends.
So where did the underwear and screaming our main resolution come from?
“I need anything and everything to...you’ll see!” He glanced at his phone. “We’re fifteen seconds away. Quickly, guys, pick up your cups. Y’all better have your wishes ready! Especially your main resolutions. Okay? Five, four, three, two...”
The neighboring music muffled as fireworks speared into the night sky, resounding booms and crackling bursts echoing. An explosion of colors and lights cascaded above us.
“I want to outdo my brother!” Bruno shouted at the top of his lungs as fireworks continued to lance through the a
“I-I want to fall in love again,” Caro said, her voice low compared to the crackles and sizzles around us. A shadowed smile appeared across her face as she tipped her cup to Bruno’s.
“I...” What did I want? For seven years, my twelve wishes were menial, something simple like health or passing school. While I didn’t believe in New Year’s resolutions to accomplish big goals, I knew some—like Bruno—needed that ‘new years’ push to take their first step into the right direction.
There was only one thing I’d ever wanted to accomplish. I don’t think screaming it into the New Year’s night would do much, but fuck it. I could always blame it on the liquor shots we’d shared earlier. What was the worst that could happen? It was a dream, anyway. They didn’t always come true.
“I want to get into Mount Group.”
In unison, we toasted and shouted, “Salud!” to the new year.
1
VIVIAN CALDERÓN
Sunday mornings signified one thing under the Calderón household: cleaning. It was the reset for the upcoming week and my parents' farewell gift to me. I don’t know what I was expecting, but this wasn’t out of the ordinary for Mami and Papi.
They spoke through actions rather than words, unless it was ‘no.’ Since my move was the first time they couldn’t say no to me, they sure were making it memorable.
Bachata music filled our single-story home, la mami querida swaying along the kitchen as she followed the sorrowful lyrics and guitar strings. She typically kept her deep black hair in a bun whenever she cooked, but today, it had been silk pressed, each roll of her hip translating in the swing of the sleek ends. It perfectly hid her face, but I still noticed the grounded expression that deepened the lines across her russet brown skin. Her dark umber eyes never met mine.
With the awkward tension between us, it was as if I was moving across the globe. I’d be a four-hour drive away—still within Florida—for Christ’s sakes.
She was also acting as if she wasn’t helping me with this.
“Ya, terminé.”
I gave one last wipe across the glass table, every surface in this house sparkling. A deep clean like this hadn’t been done in weeks. She probably saved it just for me. How sweet.
Mami turned to me as I stepped closer. While she was average height, next to me, she shrunk. In between Papi and me, she was tiny. It was equally adorable, as it was scary.
Her death glare compensated for the height, and I considered my next move. To get what I wanted, I needed her to feel bad. Twenty-three years being her daughter had taught me that...amongst other things.
“I even carefully cleaned your cigar collection.” I took a deep breath when she didn’t budge. “I can do it again, si no me crees.”
La mami querida’s expression softened. Slightly. “No, está bien.”
I stored away the cleaning products before she could command me to clean the walls.
“What are you making?” I glanced over at her. Peeled yuccas boiled on the stove while diced ingredients and Adobo seasoning decorated the counter. Papi was the cook under our roof, but whenever Mami cooked, it was small but for special occasions. My stomach fluttered.
She smacked her lips, but a smile hinted as her attention fell on the pot. “Sal. Tengo que terminar antes que tu Papá llegue.”
Without a protest, I escaped to my bedroom—large, empty luggage bags laid open across the floor. I tried not to procrastinate packing, but the anxiety of waiting for my parents to change their mind hovered over me like a shadow for the past week.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think they would say yes to my move. In their eyes, it was sudden, and spontaneity didn’t exist under our Latino culture, especially not in the Calderón household. My parents always emphasized planning ahead. In all my life, I can only recount one time they made an unplanned decision: thirteen years ago, when I’d had my accident.
My memories from that time ranged from foggy to practically nonexistent, but the horror and sorrow on my parent’s faces were ones I’d never forget. Mami’s words were a track that never stopped replaying.
“Miami has become too dangerous,” Mami had said. “We’re moving somewhere that has offered us security and safety.”
But reality slowly settled in as nerves ate at my stomach. My hopes of moving from Orlando back to Miami were finally coming true, leading me one step closer to my dream—which could only be accomplished by packing the necessities.
Like my entire wardrobe.
Bruno’s linen white pants and matching guayabera flowed with each step, strutting into the house like he lived here. Technically, he did. Three years ago, his parents retired early to Chile and entrusted the family hotel business to his brother. Bruno was able to avoid going with either of them by prolonging his junior and senior year in college.
Since then, he’d happily jumped between his college dorm and our couch. But that wasn’t a possibility anymore. After his graduation last month, his parents gave him an ultimatum if he wanted to keep his monetary support from them: move to Santiago and be with them or Miami and be with his brother.
Both choices were equally bad in his eyes, but he chose the one that not only let him stay in Florida, but just so happened to give me an out.
Although we had our missing piece from the trio down south, it wasn’t enough for my parents, especially my dad, to say yes. His overprotectiveness had persisted through the years. My first sleepover was at eighteen, and I couldn’t get my driver’s license until I was twenty. But because Bruno was a man, he said yes—hesitantly—to my request.
“He can offer protection I can’t extend,” he’d added. Never thought I’d see the day el papi querido became a machista, but never say never, I guess.
“Hey,” Bruno whispered as he stopped next to me and glanced at my three large suitcases. “Did I not get the memo that we were supposed to over-pack?”
I laughed. “You know I need my options as a size eighteen girly.”
“Right.” His smile dropped. “How’s it been with, you know?”
I lowered my voice. “Fine. I just need to talk to both, separately.”
He nodded with complete understanding. “You got it. Luis!”
Bruno walked over to Papi in the living room, sparking a conversation of God knows what. While many complimented his dark brass hair, warm, tanned skin, and sharp features that enhanced his amber eyes, his charm was top tier. He knew how to pull anyone from their shell, easily relating to them with the simplest of details. It was what opened me to him in freshman year of high school, after being homeschooled by my parents in my middle school years.
“Mami,” I said as I stepped behind her, her short legs speedy between the kitchen and dining table. She rested the steaming carimañolas on the wood surface with harsh movements.
“Mami, hablame. I don’t want to leave you mad.”
Her nostrils flared. “I’m not mad, Vivian. I just—I’m worried, eso es todo.”
“Didn’t you say not to worry about anything, since Tía Adriana is helping?” I whispered to her, Mami’s eyebrows raising as she peeked over at Papi who was solely focused on his conversation with Bruno. “You should take your own advice.”
Around Papi, mi tía Adriana’s name was mentioned only in special cases, with low whispers and hypervigilance. After our move, Mami had lost contact with her best friend, and it was two months ago when they’d reconnected with mi tío Rafa’s help. Since then, they’d been inseparable, talking on the phone from the moment Mami arrived from work until Papi got home.
Papi knew about their reconnection, but that link to the past, to before the accident, was the cause of their weekly fights. Like the one they shared yesterday after mami’s and mi tía Adriana’s call time.
In a novela, this would be entertaining. In real life, it was pure torture.
A shadow coated her gaze. I quickly asked, more cautiously this time, “Did Matéo find me a roof to live under?”
Blurry faces appeared in my mind. Tía Adriana was in a good chunk of my childhood pictures, but her son was only in a handful and in photos we didn’t look over often. Yet, somehow, he got dragged into the mix to pull strings for my housing.
