Page 19 of Her Dark Angel

Adam whispers something in little blondie’s ear too, likely with the same promise of returning shortly.

Thank fuck.

The two of us sit quietly as our agents leave the room, closing the door softly behind them. My eyes drift toward the off-white walls, reminding me of the walls of my childhood bedroom. Except these walls are bare of any posters and lack cracks in the roof that only come with age.

You’re a loser, Nash.

You’ll never be successful.

My nails dig painfully into my palm as I shift in the chair. Now is not the time for my demons to rear their heads. In fact, I wish they would fuck off altogether, but that’s just wishful thinking.

As silence settles in the room, I regard the woman sitting across from me. Taking in her smooth features, soft, bouncy hair, and eyes that could kill with one look. I’m sure if she wanted me six feet under, all she would have to use is those damn eyes as a weapon.

“So,” she starts slowly, breaking the tension in the air. “I guess Adam was right. It might be a good idea to have a game plan for tomorrow.”

I shrug and reach into my pocket to grab a fresh cigarette. Her eyes are on me as I bring it to my lips and light the end with my black lighter. Inhaling a deep breath, I lean back in my seat. “A game plan? Seriously? All we need to do is turn up, hold hands, and kiss for the camera. That’s it.”

The little devil’s eyes are focused on the cherry between my fingers, and she frowns. “You know those are cancer sticks, right?”

I shrug. “Sure.”

“And you don’t care that it might one day kill you?”

“I hope it does.”

She frowns and tilts her head to the side, contemplating my words. She can think whatever she wants about me, but what I do or ingest in my spare time has nothing to do with her or the contract we signed.

The little devil can’t change me. You can’t fix a broken record.

She sighs and shakes her head. “Nash, we can’t fuck around like this. We need to make this convincing.”

“And we will,” I say, growing tired of this conversation already. “We have six months to convince the world of our relationship. Besides, most women love me, so it won’t take long for you to fall in love with me.” I tug the lip ring between my teeth, biting back a smirk.

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You’re an asshole. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Taking a drag from the cherry, I shrug nonchalantly. Smoke billows out from my nostrils. “You’re the only one I like to hear say it.” I stand from the chair, itching to leave. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere I need to be.”

“You’re so infuriating,” she murmurs as she stands to her feet, her eyes boring into mine from across the room. “Fine. It seems our plan is to hold hands and kiss for the camera like you suggested because you can’t be fucked to take this seriously. But outside of that, if you touch me, I will have no problem punching you in the face.”

I roll my tongue against the inside of my cheek, fighting a smile. “Oh, little devil. Hasn’t anyone told you I like it rough? Don’t tempt me with a good time.”

Kinsley groans and marches toward the closed door without saying another word. I watch the back of her head walk down the corridor until she disappears out of sight. I close my eyes and roll my neck from side to side to relieve the tension building in the muscles.

This is going to be a long fucking six months.

Buzzing greets my ears the moment I walk through the front door of my house. A frown creases my forehead as I drop my car keys on the table by the door and walk further into the foyer. When I reach the living room, the buzzing increases. That’s when I see Hudson lying on his back on the couch with his left arm stretched out over the coffee table. He has no shirt on, which isn’t unusual for him. A woman with dyed blue hair and a nose ring sits on the ground, her dark eyes focused on where the tattoo gun in her hand is going, the needle digging into Hudson’s forearm.

“Fuck, Iris, why you gotta go so damn deep for?” Hudson curses, his face twisted in pain.

Iris, I’m assuming, rolls her eyes and continues to drag the needle through Hudson’s flesh, not changing her grip on the gun after his complaint. “Why do you gotta be a baby for? You asked me to tattoo over the scars there.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think it would hurt this much,” he whines, his eyes focused on his forearm.

I want to laugh at the fact that he’s whining like a baby—nothing new for him—and the fact that nothing my bandmates seem to do will ever surprise me. Walking in on one of them getting a home job tattoo is far from the worst thing I’ve seen in my house.

“Well, maybe you should’ve cut deeper then,” Iris sasses, and that’s all it takes for me to burst out laughing.

Hudson’s eyes snap to where I stand in the doorway, clutching at my stomach as laughter rips through my chest. I’m struggling to breathe when he rolls his eyes and flips me the bird.

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