Page 81 of Pitiful Lies

“No, Boss. No problem.”

The king can be a real ass sometimes, but no, I don’t have a problem.

I just need my girl to come with and for the weekend to go smoothly.

Easy fucking peasy.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE-GISELLE

After spending an entire day doing my sisters’ and her asshole boyfriend’s laundry, cleaning the mess they made of the bathroom and common rooms, I finally leave them with a pot of homemade soup and all the over-the-counter medicine I could find.

“Ready, Miss Vega? The boss is waiting for you,” Banks, one of my new plethora of bodyguards asks me as I gather my things.

“Yeah, we can go,” I tell him.

Resa and Dan were inside the bedroom, sick as dogs, so they only saw one of the guys come inside with me.

“Oh my God, are you dating like a politician or a rap star or something?” Resa asked.

Of course, I didn’t explain a thing to her.

What could I say, really?

My boyfriend, who I’m not really sure if he is actually my boyfriend because we don’t use labels even though I am living with him, is involved with one of the most powerful criminal organizations on the eastern seaboard?

No biggie.

I roll my eyes. But I didn’t have to explain. I gave her and Dan some electrolyte infused water and a couple of cold and flu tablets and they fell asleep within minutes.

The cleaning part I did on my own. Just thinking about our parents seeing that mess made me cringe.

They won’t be returning to New Jersey for a couple of months yet, but still. I plan on having a talk with Resa when she is feeling better about all this.

I tuck it away for now.

When I get back to the apartment, I see Angel feeding Buffy a plump mouse, and I have to fight not to shiver.

It’s just nature, and the snake is only doing what snakes do.

“Koukla,” Angel murmurs the nickname he has for me.

He dips his head towards the kitchen, and I follow him inside, where he washes his hands.

“How’s your sister?” he asks.

“Oh, she is sick as a dog, but she’ll be fine,” I tell him, and I’m ridiculously pleased he asked.

He dries his hands. Next, he’s reaching for me, and I go to him willingly.

“Kiss me, Koukla. Make my day better,” he tells me, and I feel so warm all over.

I do as he asks. I kiss him, and I hope he feels even half of what I do.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, dropping another kiss on my lips before leaning back.

“Hungry?”

“A little,” I tell him. “I made a chicken salad with the meat from the soup. We can do sandwiches if you want.”

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