Page 101 of Pitiful Lies

“Mr. Chen. What are you doing here?” I ask, turning to face him.

I hope like hell I am pressing the correct button on my cell phone before I let it slide to the floor.

“Well, I’ve been trying to get the attention of your husband, but the Vipers are tough to get an audience with.”

“Oh, well, I am sorry about that. I can pass along a message for you,” I offer, but the man starts to laugh.

I really don’t like it. He sounds off. Like his laughter comes from a place of madness rather than mirth.

“It’s too late for that, Mrs. Fury.”

“Um, where is Banks?”

“Your driver? I imagine he is traveling across the veil as we speak.”

“Traveling? Oh my God. You killed him?”

I gasp. My heart squeezes. Banks and I weren’t like pals or anything. But I liked him. And Angel must have known him for years.

I hurt for him. For my Angel. Then I close my eyes because it’s the first time I think of him like that.

My Angel.

It doesn’t matter if he claims me or not. I claim him, and that counts, too.

My beautiful avenging Angel.

He will come for me. I know he will. And I tell this asshole that because I believe it with all my heart.

“You understand by doing this you are signing your own death warrant, right?”

“Ah, well, Death comes for us all, I’m afraid. Now, give me the phone you dropped on the side of your seat.”

“I didn’t drop anything.”

But I stop speaking because John Chen is pressing an enormous gun against the side of my head.

I whimper. But I reach for the phone.

“Good,” he says and speaks into the phone.

“Mr. Fury, I have your pretty little wife. I will call you with a location when we can meet and talk. We have a lot to discuss.”

He doesn’t hit end. The man I know as John Chen, but who I think might be that Ghost I’ve heard Angel mention, opens his window and tosses my phone out to be crushed to bits on the road.

“There now, Mrs. Fury,” he says, and that’s when I feel a pinch in my leg.

I look down and see this crazy fuck is holding a syringe. Panic makes me choke on my words, or maybe it’s whatever he gave me. I feel numb and tingly, and all I manage is a gurgling sound before I slump against the seat.

John Chen, or Ghost, or whoever he is, turns to me with that horrible, empty smile on his face.

“Why don’t you just settle in? This is going to take a while.”

I want to run. To scream. To anything.

But I can’t move a muscle, and even though I want to stay awake, I can’t. Fear is still coursing through me, but right before the darkness takes me, I have one thought.

Angel is coming for me.

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