Page 27 of Angel

“He doesn’t like me very much, does he?” I joke.

“He despises you, just like the rest of us.”

“Says the girl shacking up with me tonight.”

“Yeah, and don’t make me regret it more than I already do.”

Another grin resurfaces and tugs at my lips—this girl’s always surprising me.

Angel’s face is every bit as stunned as she admires my home for the first time. She stands in awe or maybe disgust. But I’ve always been proud of my place. It suits me. And seeing her eyes light up makes me kind of proud.

“What? Not what you were expecting?” It’s secluded and I like it. I’m not much of a people person, to put it at best.

“No, it’s not. I was expecting dead bodies lying in the front yard, or an old trailer with a creepy shed out back, where you hide your chainsaws for murdering. But this… this looks shockingly pretty, and dare I say… nice.” Her eyes widen, taking it all in, and I watch her. She’s right. It’s a decent size, with two floors, four bedrooms, and two baths. “How do you afford this?”

“That’s really none of your business, right, peach?”

She glares at me as I smirk at her. It is actually none of her business, because it was bought and paid for with dirty money. Drug deals, GTA, gun exchanges with the cartel. All the nasty, messy things you could think of? Yeah, we’ve done ‘em. I can’t say I’m very proud of myself, but this is my life. It’s who I am.

I unlock the door, flick the lights on, and I swear my balls shrivel up. It’s the fucking artic in here, but it’s not like I’ve been home to adjust the thermostat.

But the first place I go? To my freezer, pulling out an expensive bottle of whiskey.

I stare at Angel, who’s frozen solid at the door. “You want some?”

She hugs her mid-section. “No, I’d rather not have my senses dulled when I’m alone with you. Thank you very much.”

“Suit yourself.” I shrug, lean back on the kitchen counter, and cross my ankles. I watch intently as she looks around at everything, which isn’t much. I have the basics: a couch, a TV, a bed in two of the bedrooms, and a beer-stocked fridge. I’m a simple man. There’s not much else I need.

She hesitantly walks inside. The clunking of her heels echoes against the bare walls. “It’s as empty as your soul in here.”

I chuckle. “I’m not exactly a materialistic kind of guy.”

It’s weird, her being here. Almost feels… forbidden. Her scent immediately floods the room, spiraling through my body and warming places I didn’t think possible. Someone like me doesn’t deserve a nice and fuzzy fucking feeling. Jules was the only other woman I ever brought back to my place, and even that felt different. Different from… whatever this is.

“I don’t have much either.” Her soft voice resonates with a sadness, cutting me deep. There’s a story to her. In such a short period of time, I’m starting to see the many peeled back layers of the woman in front of me.

She stands there. At my door. Still hugging herself protectively. Then she shivers. It does something to me, like I want to wrap her up in my arms and breathe the warmth back into her. But I’m not that guy. Never have been and never will be. I’m not a man you bring home to Mom and Pop, or the type to send you flowers and stupid chocolates.

I’m no Prince fucking Charming.

“My shower’s upstairs; towels are in the side cabinet.”

She pauses, her gaze no longer searching her surroundings as she darts her gorgeous blue eyes over to me. She’s surprised. Shit, I’m surprised.

“I’m fine. I don’t need a shower.” If she forces that guard up any more, she’s going to permanently build it around herself before it swallows her whole. And that’s not something she’ll want forever. I can see it’s wearing thin, breaking her, and clawing its way to the surface to tear her down.

“No? Because your clothes are soaked, and I can see your teeth chattering from here.”

“Why do you care?” This game again? I’m too tired for this shit. I haven’t been home since before the incident. I haven’t had a decent meal, shower, or warm fucking bed in days. I could take my happy ass upstairs, steal all the hot water, and soak in the heat for an hour while she freezes down here in her wet clothes. She should be fucking grateful.

“Your nipples are showing right through your shirt, so if you don’t want me staring at your tits all night, then I recommend taking your ass upstairs.”

She gasps, and a slight rose color tints her pale cheeks. She pulls her leather jacket closed—the one she must have put back on before getting out of her car.

I trudge past her with a grin, but you bet I don’t miss the way she lingers on my soaked shirt. I slump onto the couch. And damn, it feels good. A hell of a lot better than the cement ground. I turn the TV on, click over to some bullshit show, and hear Angel’s heels clunk upstairs. I can’t help but smirk in satisfaction.

She’s going to be a wildfire, one that’s already setting me ablaze.

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