Page 7 of Angel

“Everything good, Angel? Boss sent me down to check on you.” So, the golden-haired beauty, my angel, is actually named Angel. Ain’t that a bitch.

“Yeah, I was just leaving.” She huffs out a breath, swiftly pivoting on her heel. Her hair whips in the air, hair I’m dying to fist my hand around. “I hope you choke on your food.”

“Oh, but how will you ever find Scorpion then?”

“I thought you said you didn’t know where he was.” She grinds her teeth in frustration, and the side of my mouth lifts in amusement.

“And I thought you said you didn’t believe me?” She grunts in response, then storms off, keeping her head held high and her shoulders back. “I am curious about something though, peach.”

She halts, obviously annoyed by the pet name, but I don’t give a fuck. “Yeah? And what’s that?”

“Why do they call you Angel? Seems you’re anything but.”

She glares at me. “Because not even the devil himself will have me.” With that, she stomps away, shaking her seductive hips as she goes.

The dud they deemed a prospect follows behind, staring at her ass the entire way—which, surprisingly, makes me want to slam his head into the wall.

I don’t know what this woman has to prove, but she has a lot of shit built up inside, and one day it’s going to collapse around her.

The forceful slam of the door crashes like thunder.

I push the tray away as I begin to wonder how long they’re going to keep me chained down here.

Flick. Flick. Flick.

I breathe in, staring at the skull spinning with each turn before glaring at the snake ink twisting up my arm, and get lost in its story. My story. My dark fucking past.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Being here, this is all way too familiar. I steady my nerves, close my eyes, and let my mind picture the ocean. Where it’s open and free.

I start humming, humming the song, but when I open my eyes, I’m still in that place, the one that feels like that home. The home I hate to remember.

THREE

Angel

I whip open the basement door, slamming it with so much force I’m surprised the wall doesn’t cave in. It’s a good thing our prospect got out of the way in time because I almost flattened him.

Venom’s such a bastard. What a ruthless, egotistical, venomous bastard. The way he smirks, and how he speaks with such smugness, it’s begging me to claw his eyes out.

I hate him.

I hate him and his stupid-ass grin.

I hate his snake-like attitude. It’s so infuriating I could punch something right now; but instead, I kick the metal bench.

Our prospect smiles awkwardly, slowly stepping away like he thinks I’m going to take my anger out on him. He practically runs back to the clubhouse with his tail between his legs. Scared of a woman? Good, he should be. At least he takes me seriously.

I was hoping Venom would spill something about where his President is hiding. Anything I could report back to Chain, praying it would get me on his good side again, but all I got was a reminder of why I despise the guy. And his club. I hate feeling like I’m always disappointing Chain. It’s like letting down a parent, and if we’re being honest, he’s more of a father to me than my own ever was.

It doesn’t even seem to faze him, being held prisoner down there. On the other hand, if he did know, why keep it a secret? It doesn’t sound like he cares what happens to his President.

The brisk temperature of the metal bench soaks through my thin yoga pants and onto my ass cheeks, and I shiver from the dampness. I’m reminded of how dark and eerie the pit is when there’s no action going on. Without the fighting, and the crowds, it’s just a cold rundown shack with an empty ring.

I dust away the dirt and traipse inside my club.

My knuckles graze Chain’s door one time, two times, and then three, but still no answer. I know it’s early, but he isn’t one to sleep in.

---