Page 62 of Angel

I fucking understand her. Me. I’m the one who gets her. I want to tell her that. Tell her I get it, because she gets me too. I don’t know who made her this way, but I want to put a bullet between their eyes. I read her like an open book. Her flirtatious smile vanishes as soon as the bartender is gone. The familiar, sad, real-life anguish in her eyes returns.

My attention moves to the two fuckers in the back. I’ve been keeping close watch on them from the mirror behind the bar. They’ve been eyeing us since we walked in. They have cuts on, and I’m thinking they belong to the club who owns this joint.

“You think they’ll come over and say hi?”

I pause, holding my beer an inch from my mouth. This woman surprises me on a daily basis. I didn’t think she would notice, but she sure as fuck did. I straighten in place when they rise from their chairs. “I’d say that would be a yes.”

Angel smiles, and the two dudes walk over and stand directly behind us. If they want to try to intimidate us, good luck with that. We’re not the type to easily shake in our boots.

“You two lost?” The guy’s deep, gravelly voice turns my stomach. The taste of beer hits my tongue as it slides down my throat. I’m not giving him the satisfaction of turning around and neither is Angel.

“And what gave you that impression? Because we’re just sitting here, enjoying the taste of your stale beer and watching those has-been, fake-titted, strung-out dancers grind their way on the pole.” Angel smiles, and I roll my eyes. Jesus Christ, her mouth is going to get us in deep shit.

“You think you’re being cute?” The one standing directly behind her spins her chair around, and she leans back casually, like it doesn’t even faze her. I calmly set down my beer. Angel doesn’t flinch when he leans toward her, resting his hands on each side. “Answer the question.”

Her breathing increases slightly and she tilts her head back, pretending to not be bothered. But this dude is in her space, and it does unnerve her. If I learned anything about this woman, it’s that feeling threatened or weaker than someone affects her.

“Your boss invited us,” I interject, and when I stand up, I don’t miss how their eyes widen. I match him: his height, his build, the intimidation. But you see, the way he’s threatening my angel, that doesn’t fucking sit well with me.

The other guy stands behind his buddy, not saying a word. But the first fucker looks at her one last time, before backing away and challenging me. He doesn’t want to challenge me.

He takes a step forward, and I’m ready, fists stiffened at my sides. And just as the son of a bitch goes to cock his arm back, my own hands every bit as ready to grab and crush his knuckles, Angel flies up from her seat.

“Hold on.” She crams herself between us, and I almost lose it. What is she doing? She doesn’t need to protect me. Her back is flush with my chest, and her hair brushes against my cheek. Forgetting I’m in the middle of getting ready to punch this fucker’s face in, I inhale her fruity, dick-twitching scent and her lavender shampoo. “Now, what would your Prez say if he knew you were treating his invited guests so poorly in his strip club?”

His gaze drops from me to her. With a tug to his cut and a shrug of his shoulders, he steps back, pointing a finger. “Don’t be causing any trouble in our club.”

“Seems like you’re the one who’s causing the trouble.” Angel crosses her arms over her chest. And the guy’s nostrils flare. Fucking Christ, woman.

He studies her, mulling over her words before smacking his buddy on the shoulder, signaling to him that they’re done here. I watch in a heated rage as they stalk back to where they were seated before. We’re out of dangerous waters, and the threat is gone, so why don’t either of us move away from each other?

I breathe her in, letting her course through my body. Through my veins. And her breath catches as she turns her head. Last night was only a sample taste of what I want to do to her, and it left me wanting more.

“Don’t ever do that again,” I whisper, but the demand in my voice has her nodding. There’s such heat between us it’d be impossible not to notice. We hate each other, yet we don’t. And I want her with everything I have. I want to possess her body with mine, breathe in every inch of her.

She spins slowly, her elbows grazing me as she makes her way around to face me, her gaze locking with mine. “Guess this calls for another drink.” Her eyes are so sublime it hurts all the way to my soul. I watch as she leaves me and sits back down, but it takes a second to peel my glare from her.

Twenty minutes later, and we’re still waiting for this trade to be fucking over. I guess he’s not in any type of hurry. I want this done with, so I can get Angel out of this dangerous cesspool. We sit in silence, as the mental exhaustion has finally hit us. I have this urge to talk to her about my past. Let her in. So, I do.

Flick. Flick. Flick. “He was my foster father,” I tell her.

Her eyes slowly meet mine. “What?”

“The man I killed as a kid. He was my foster father.” I look for a reason to stop talking. Hell, I never told anyone this before—ever. But she’s not giving me sympathy. She just listens, wants me to continue. “My parents died in a car crash when I was six. It was icy and snowing one night coming home, and my dad lost control of the car. He slammed right into a tree, killing them both.” I take a sip of beer. “I had no other family, so they put me in a foster program. A couple with no kids took me in. The first day I was there, they locked me inside this closet under the stairs. Like Harry-fucking-Potter.” I clear my throat. “Then, about a month later, they moved me down to the basement. Chained me up like a fucking dog. No socks. No shoes. They let me stay in the same clothes for weeks. Some nights I would shiver until my body ached.” I sigh. “I still remember how it smelled.”

“Venom—”

Without looking at her, I say, “You gotta let me finish or I won’t be able to.” I’m not used to talking about my feelings. With her, it’s different. But if I lose my courage, I might stop. “It went on until I was thirteen.” She gasps. “Being down there, it’ll fuck with someone’s mind. I thought about taking my own life more than once.” I laugh. “A child—thinking about taking his own life.” Sighing, I swallow more beer and keep going. “One day, he used me as his personal punching bag. Throwing hit after hit, the pain, the blood. I can still remember what every single blow felt like. To almost die by the hands of that man. So, I grabbed the knife from the ground, the one he brought with him, which was stupid on his part. And I sliced his fucking throat without a second thought. I watched him bleed out on the ground. He’d unchained me before trying to kill me, so I got up and ran. I ran so fucking fast. But I had no idea where I was going. I just needed to get away. I ended up at the Steel Valley Skulls’ clubhouse. Different President at the time. A good fucking man. Keeled over and died from a heart attack. Anyway… he took me in, and here I am.” I finish my beer and slam it down. “I told you… I’m a monster.”

I make the mistake of glancing at her, just in time to see her swipe a fallen tear from her cheek. No, she can’t cry for me. I don’t want the sympathy. I quickly look away. Because I can’t handle it—her tears.

“You’re not a monster.” She places her delicate hand on my forearm, soothing me, and I stare down at it. “He was the monster, not you, Deacon.”

My brows furrow, and I look directly into her eyes. The sound of my given name rolling off her tongue has my heart beating a little faster. It’s like a warm, sunny day. “How did you know my name?”

“The back of the picture from your bedroom. Was that them?”

The pain in my chest stabs me dead center. Hook, line, and sinker. “Yeah, that was them.”

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