Page 32 of Angel

“Same.” Jules nods, agreeing with Tequila. “I bet he still has his place pretty empty, huh? When we dated, he had hardly anything. Only the necessities. Even after almost a year, I still felt like I didn’t know him at all. Such a mystery.”

“He never talked about his past?” I ask her, somewhat intrigued.

“Nope, knew nothing about him, except that he was the Vice President of the Skulls.”

“Interesting…” I prompt, my curiosity piqued. “By the way, how did you two meet anyway?” I don’t even know why I ask the question. I should try to ignore my envy, my jealousy over knowing Jules had him once before.

“He walked into my bar, pulled his fake charm on me, and I fell for it.” Was it actually fake? Or is the real Venom hiding in there somewhere? “Why so interested?” Jules prods.

“I just… never mind. I’m going to go change and get a workout in before breakfast. I’ll see you guys later.” I stroll upstairs with those parting words, knowing they’re going to talk about me as soon as I’m out of earshot.

“Let This Haunt You” by Slaves thumps from my earbuds, and one by one, each foot pounds down on the treadmill beneath me. I like sprinting. I like the way it makes me feel. How I’m free. The same sensation I get from riding on my bike.

The sweat pours down my face, my back, my arms, and I concentrate on my breathing. It’s an adrenaline rush for sure. With each step, I’m running farther and farther away. Destination unknown. But it’s liberating. Every pound of my heel brings me closer to that unimaginable freedom. Freedom I have been craving for so long, and not from my club. I’m not running from them; I’m running from my internal demons. The ones that haunt me every day. Inhabiting my past and now my present. The ones I can’t escape.

I’m running from them and him.

I press the button to lower the setting on the treadmill so I can catch my breath, the music still playing in each ear, and my heart mimics the bass of the song inside my chest. I lean into my shoulders as I rest them on the handles beside me.

I’m Angel, not Audrey… I do not cry. I won’t cry, ever.

I won’t cry because of my fucked-up childhood, and I won’t cry over being captive to my circumstances. I may be trapped, but I will not let it consume me. I swallow harshly, pushing the tears back, the ones desperately fighting to make their way out. After a few long, deep breaths, I walk off the treadmill and out of the gym, as if nothing happened.

Just like I do every day.

ELEVEN

Venom

“Scars” by I Prevail strums in my ears as I barrel down the deserted street. The early morning fog gives the illusion of running through clouds, as if I’m invisible. It consumes the street, my vision, and damn, if this doesn’t feel fucking fantastic. My muscles ached for this. Longed for it. I love strength training, weight lifting, but this—running—makes me feel alive, like roaring down the road on my Harley. Wind in my goddamn hair.

The sweat burns as it trickles over my eyes. Faster and faster, I run. Until my heart seems as though it might beat out of my chest. I slow my strides to a steady walk. The best part about my house being back in no-man’s-land… the privacy. The seclusion. Hardly any cars. No one else around. Just me and the open road.

I slept like a baby last night. Out like a damn light. The exhaustion was worse than I thought, and I’m paying for it now. Usually I’d be able to kill these sprints, but not today. I’m weaker. Something that never sits right with me.

Last night. Having Angel there. It conjured up some unexpected feelings. Ones I’m not used to having. Ones I can’t quite put a name to. No, unexpected was me all but licking her wounds.

Being what? A nice guy.

I’m not a fucking nice guy.

I’m not a fucking gentleman.

I’m the furthest thing from it. But damn, if seeing her in only a towel didn’t make my dick come alive. The way the water was dripping down her silky, porcelain skin. And I can’t forget how she parted those long legs for me. I know what I saw. And fuck, if I didn’t want to pull them wider, shoving my hard cock into her wet pussy. I know it was wet because of the moaning sounds she made as she stared at my body with thirst and longing.

Fuckin’ A. But what didn’t surprise me? Her being gone when I woke up. I didn’t pin her for the type of girl to stay. Come on, why would she? It’s me. And I was glad to find my house empty.

My blood boiled when I caught her snooping in my room, holding the only good memory I have left in the palm of her hand. It’s my photo. My last saving grace stems from that singular moment frozen in time. And if anything were to happen to it, it would fully destroy me. It’d take anything redeemable left inside me along with it, which I don’t think is much. I’m as good as gone, and without it… who knows if my full form will take place? I don’t let anyone into that past of mine, my former life. It’s nothing but a distant memory. But it’s the only thing I have worth holding on to.

I stop in front of my home, stretching in place as my phone rings, and I sigh when I see it’s Mouse. “Yeah, brother.” I wince. The piece of shit is not my brother.

“Yo, man, where you at?”

I check the time: six forty-five a.m. “I’m at my house, since the birds aren’t even the fuck awake yet, why?”

“We’re having a party tonight, at the clubhouse. Bring your chick.”

“You called me at almost the ass crack of dawn to tell me there’s a party tonight. At my club?” I’m sure to stress my claim. The fucker doesn’t believe it yet, but he will.

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