Page 51 of Angel

Disbelief. Maybe even disgust.

“Answer my fucking question, Angel.”

“Fuck you!” I stomp away to my car, whipping out my keys, but my hands shake so badly I drop them onto the pavement. “Damn it.”

I tense when Venom places his hands on my upper arms, but I don’t turn to face him. I’m too ashamed. I take in a relaxing breath, because his touch is what I crave. It’s soothing. Comforting. We stay like this until my body stops trembling.

“Angel, answer me. Are you a goddamn prostitute?” His tone is destructive, terrifying, yet welcoming. Why is he so affected by this anyway? His warm breath captures me where I stand. “Angel… Are. You. A. Fucking. Prostitute? I’m not going to ask you again.”

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. I will not cry. I take a deep breath, releasing it slowly before letting my body go limp against his chest. What am I doing?

“Yes.” It comes out as a whisper, barely audible. This is it. My secret is out. And he’s the only one who knows. Just when I thought I could escape him, escape my feelings, he holds the biggest power over me. And that’s knowing my most shameful truth.

He lets me go and backs away, like I’m contagious. I don’t turn to look at him, because his opinion of me matters more than I thought it would. I’m embarrassed. I don’t want him to judge me, but how can he not?

He lets out a loud, dangerous growl, and I hear him kick the dusty gravel beneath him. “Fuck!” He stomps back over. And this time, I’m forced to meet his eyes as he spins me around. “You’re fucking better than this! Do you hear me?”

My heart flutters. Better than this? He’s not going to call me a whore? A lowlife piece of scum for sleeping with strangers for money.

“You know nothing about me.” My defense shield kicks into place. “You don’t know the first thing about who I am. So, you can’t stand there and pretend like you know anything about my life.”

He glides his hands through his messy hair. “I fucking know enough. I know more than you realize, and this…” He waves a hand in the air. “This is not who you are. Over my dead fucking body will you be whoring yourself off to men. Not fucking happening.”

I stare at him, my expression blank. His body’s tense, and his rage elicits an involuntary shiver. “Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do? You don’t own me.” But he looks at me like he does. Like he owns me. In this moment, his eyes lock me into place, and that fucking terrifies me. Terrifies me, and at the same time, my body has never been more affected.

The tingling sensation.

The need.

The lust.

The want.

It’s all there. But, before I welcome it, I grab my keys from the pavement, unlock my car, and open my door to slide inside. However, he slams it shut and cages me in, his hands resting on each side of me. His fists grind into the roof of my car. I have to hold on to my Camaro for stability, because the suffocating heat is unbearable, and it’s taking every bit of me not to relax into this familiar sensation.

Him, being this close to me, I feel… I feel almost safe. But that can’t be right, because I have never felt that way. Ever. In my life. Maybe when I’m with my brothers, but this is different.

He tugs gently on my hair, tilting my head back and to the side, and the ache between my thighs intensifies. His hot, minty breath tickles my ear. “I will not let you be this person. Trust me on that, because I will slaughter every man who goes near that precious cunt of yours. And believe me, Angel, you have my word on that.”

My heart beats a mile a minute in response to such a promise. A promise he can’t keep. A promise he doesn’t mean.

I slowly turn; his arms are plastered to the metal roof, incapacitating me. “Why do you care so much?” The seconds tick by without an answer. I wait, hoping maybe he will profess some sort of feelings for me. His real feelings. But then I realize it’s sick and twisted of me to even hope… “You don’t get to pick my life for me. I pick my life. Me.” I shove away from him, get inside my car, and lock the doors. I can’t help but glance at him one last time before driving away. His eyes are on fire.

But none of this will matter, because when Victor Galiente finds out what happened tonight, I’m as good as dead.

Venom

I watch as her tires screech out of the parking lot. Fury. Confusion. Violence. All burning within me. She’s a prostitute? A fucking prostitute?

I find the closest thing to me. And punch it. The dumpster caves in with an imprint of my knuckles, and the pain throbs up my arm. But I don’t care. I don’t give a fuck. These unwanted emotions swirl in the pit of my stomach.

Jealousy.

Possessiveness.

Determination.

No fucking way am I going to let her be this person. I’ll kill every motherfucker who even tries to slide his dick inside her. I’ll bury them, and whoever she’s afraid of—because I can see it in her eyes—I’ll fucking bury them too. Why? Because learning she’s been whoring herself out makes me want to kill.

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