Page 24 of Angel

“I-I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“No, it won’t.” He tugs on his suit jacket to straighten it. And I shiver, and not from the cold, but from the way his eyes roam my body. “I had a very personal and painful occurrence befall me recently. Someone close to me passed away, and my patience is running thin, girl. You see, someone near and dear to me was murdered—in cold blood. And it has me feeling some type of way. So, I don’t have time for disobedient employees.” He stares out into the nothingness in front of him. And knowing his psychotic tendencies, I’m breathing more heavily.

“I’m sorry—”

He raises a hand, signaling for me to stop. “A certain client was a little upset the other night. Says you were a bit unfriendly. We’ve gone over this before.”

Steve, that cheating dickwad. I hate that I can’t stop my hands from fidgeting.

“I-I like to set a few rules. After all, a girl’s gotta protect herself,” I tell him, trying to rectify the situation.

The idea of him sitting inches from me turns my stomach.

The rain outside softens, and the trees go still. It’s something that happens right before a tornado, right before the storm. My palms sting as I dig my nails into my flesh.

The smack to my face happens so fast it snaps my head and neck to the side. My cheek immediately throbs, pulsing with pain, and I taste the copper from my lip being split open. Before I can recover from the blow, the oxygen is forced from my lungs, my airway closing in more and more as he grips a hand around my throat.

“Listen to me, little girl.” His grasp is tight, too tight. I see stars, and I’m desperate to catch a breath. I want to scream from the burn on my scalp as he fists my hair with his free hand, tilting my head back so I can peer straight into his devil eyes. My own eyes start to water. His breath is vile, hot, as it hovers over my face. “You work for me. You do as I say, because guess what, sweetheart? I own you.” He doesn’t own me. No one owns me. I own myself. The tip of his tongue grazes the skin under my earlobe, and I feel like spewing any contents left inside my stomach. He lingers close to me, then he inhales, smelling my hair. “I watched you grow into this flower when you were only a stem. It’d be a shame to waste a woman like you. I can’t wait to taste every single inch of this body. I will have you.”

I try to move away, break free, but it’s useless. I start to grey out. I can’t breathe.

He releases me, and I gasp for the air I’ve been desperately craving. I cough the life back into myself, and he shoos me away like an annoying insect. “I suggest, next time, you behave like a good little girl. Now… get the fuck out of my vehicle.”

My hands shake, trying to find the handle, and I gasp again, begging my lungs to regulate.

I fumble a bit, before flying out of his car and practically running to mine. Wanting—no, needing—to get away from this man. I still don’t feel safe, not until he’s far gone.

The sound of tires over gravel grows distant, and I let out a sigh of relief. I touch my throbbing lip and cheek, and slam my fist into the steering wheel. The violence is better than crying. The last man to make me cry is dead to me… and has been for a long time.

I refuse to cry. I won’t cry.

The hammering pitter-patter of the rain intensifies, and I wish I could be like it. Let the tears fall in disguise. If I stood among the downpour, no one would see me. No one would know.

But I would, and that’s enough to keep the waterworks at bay.

The drive out of there is torture. Do I return to the Skulls, or go back to my own club? If I show with a busted-up face, my brothers will ask questions.

Fucking asshole. No one puts their hands on me. Not anymore. “This is my life, damn it! How dare he fucking touch me.”

I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath. I will not cry. I press my cold fingers to my tender cheek, and the chilled temperature is soothing against it. I start up my car, swipe at the blood, and drive back to the other place that sends shivers down my spine.

I pull up to the Skulls’ clubhouse, but I hesitate before getting out. I check my appearance in the mirror, making sure the bruising’s not too noticeable. Too noticeable? My cheek is cut, my lip is swollen… I can’t go back to my club like this. So, here I am. At least, here, they won’t care. Here, they won’t ask.

I’m emotionally spent. This whole thing is a mess, but one I have to learn to deal with. My world is nothing but an obstacle, a challenge, and I have to keep going. I refuse to let it bury me.

The emptiness of the club relaxes my apprehension. Maybe I should find Mouse. He seems to be the source when it comes to getting information around here. I know I was primarily put on this job to watch Venom and make sure he doesn’t turn on us, but I can’t pass up an opportunity to help either.

Droplets of rain trickle down the side of my face, stinging the open cut. But before I’m able to make it inside, a large frame blocks my path, and I have to look up to meet his eyes.

Venom’s eyes. “You seemed to have misplaced this.” He holds out my phone.

Shit. I quickly snatch it from his grasp. “I didn’t misplace anything.” I turn to scurry away, but he steps out to block me again.

His soft, but rough fingers close around the bottom part of my jaw, and he turns my head to the side. His touch is surprisingly kind and not at all displeasing.

“What the fuck happened?” His glare hones in on my battered face and aching lip, and he looks almost murderous when his eyes trail down and land on my neck.

I didn’t think to check for any marks, but I also didn’t think they would surface that fast. Did they surface that fast? “It’s none of your business. And besides, why do you even care?”

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