Page 182 of Awakened by Sin

Valets and guests turned to stare. Mickey stepped back, and she climbed into her car. She threw her clutch in the passenger seat and slammed her foot on the gas. She narrowly missed running over a pedestrian who dashed across the street without looking. Her tires screeched as she slammed on the brakes and screamed at the top of her lungs. She navigated through traffic, even riding the sidewalk at one point because she didn’t have the patience to wait for the fucking light to change. She ignored the blare of horns as she drove.

Civilized. The word knocked around in her brain. No, she wasn’t civilized. She was a daughter of the underworld. She was taught to take what was hers and defend at all costs. She didn’t fight fire with fire. She fought fire with explosives that would leave craters in her wake. After Steven Vega, she wouldn’t hesitate to shoot first and ask questions later. They lived in an uncivilized world, so a certain level of savage was necessary to survive.

The restlessness she had been trying to ignore reared its ugly head. She wanted to race, to tear something apart with her bare hands. Needs tumbled around in her chest and whispered dark temptations in her ear.

She stopped at a light. She opened her mouth to scream, to let her emotions go, but nothing emerged. The scream was internal and full of a sorrow so deep that if she released it, she would never recover. Loneliness and misery flooded her. The thought of going back to his house was unbearable.

Angel’s words drifted through her mind.I recognize another restless soul when I see one.

The urge to throw herself into the deep end, to clash with someone who was as primitive and raw as she was drummed through her. If anyone could match her dark recklessness, it was Angel Roman. One wild, dark soul recognized another.

Even as her conscience told her this was a bad idea, she slammed her foot on the gas. She and Marcus were just friends. He made that abundantly clear. It was time to move on.

She pulled up to Angel’s property and pressed the buzzer at the gate. There were at least ten cars in the front drive. Mickey pulled up behind her and flashed his lights. She was impressed he’d been able to keep up. The video monitor lit up, and Eli Stark stared at her with his cop gaze.

“What are you doing here?” Eli asked brusquely.

“I’m looking for Angel.”

“How do you know where he lives?”

“He brought me here before.”

Eli stared at her for a long minute. She wasn’t in the mood to wait around.

“Is he here or not?” she snapped.

The video cut out, and a moment later, the gate began to swing open.

“Hallelujah,” she said and pulled up beside the fountain.

Mickey pulled up behind her and was at her door before she could close it. He had his gun out and reached for her arm but stopped when she gave him that look.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

Eli opened the front door, and Mickey cursed.

“Carmen,” he said in a low voice, but she ignored him.

She walked toward the front door and would have sailed past Eli, but he pulled her to a stop.

“How well do you know Angel?” Eli asked.

“What do you mean?”

“How. Well,” he bit out.

She scowled. “Better than most. Why?”

Eli released her. “I hope you know what to do.”

She was too deep in her own drama to decipher his meaning. The mansion was no less breathtaking at night. The grand chandeliers gave off a soft, welcoming glow. She glanced at herself in one of the mirrors in the grand entryway and was relieved to see that her inner turmoil didn’t show on her face.

She followed Eli between the double curving staircases to the massive living area, which was filled with men. Something was wrong with the massive backlit waterfall, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She registered the silence and a small army of silent guards before she spotted a naked man pinned to the wall by two swords through his abdomen. His body was coated with blood, which trickled across the floor to the pool, which explained the salmon-colored waterfall. She thought he was dead until a dagger embedded into his pelvis. He screamed and jerked against the swords. The nauseating sound of wet flesh tearing as he tried to get free.

Angel stood about ten feet away holding eight knives that were each about a foot long. He was back to being badass James Dean in black jeans and T-shirt. He shook his hands, which were dripping red. His gaze was on Eli, and he didn’t look happy.

“Didn’t the police academy teach you how to guard a door?” Angel asked.

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