Page 4 of The One

Fuck me. She has a broad range of emotions, and they also stir my own.

“He scared you.”

“PTSD.” She waves her hand like her screaming fit is nothing to worry about. I almost had a goddamn heart attack. I fight a growl and want to rip into whatever the fuck has given her PTSD, but from digging into the people closest to her, I have a feeling I know the source already. “Kitty?” Angel calls, trying to open the door again. "Okay, this is getting old." She lets out an adorable huff.

“Come on.” I pluck her out of her seat and over to mine, opening the door for her. I put her on her feet.

“Where are we?”

“Home.”

“Like you live here.” She scrunches up her button nose.

“It’s better inside.” Why do I sound defensive? Probably because I want her to like my space and be comfortable in my—our—home.

I know she comes from money, but I have more money than her father ever will. There's a reason why parts of this place appear to be inhospitable.

“Oh, I just assumed it was a company or something. It’s a warehouse,” she points out. True. I am likely the only person who lives in this area. During the day, some of the other warehouses around come to life, but when the sun sets, the streets are vacant.

“It’s a converted warehouse. You’ll see.” I grab her hand and continue to walk. She doesn’t resist; instead, she wraps her fingers around mine. The thought of holding someone's hand has never crossed my mind. Well, not in this manner anyway. But I like the way her soft delicate hand feels in my big one.

“What about the kitty?” She peers back over her shoulder.

“Trust me. He’s coming.” We make our way across the entryway of the inside of the warehouse to the stairs that lead up to where I crash. I have a handful of places. You never know when or where you might need to escape. I stay here the most because it’s convenient and only a few people know about it.

Since I took over the property, only a handful of people have entered this warehouse and were allowed to walk out.

I put my hand on the scanner. The door slides open. “Oh, fancy.” Angel leans forward like she’s only going to peek inside.

The cat comes running right between her legs, sliding past her to get inside. “Kitty!” I release Angel’s hand, letting her enter of her own free will.

I follow after her, the door sliding shut behind me, the locks engaging.

Further sealing her fate.

4

ANGEL

“You really haven’t named him?” I sit on the floor, flicking the mouse on a stick back and forth. He’s the most adorable black fluffball.

My parents would never let me get an animal. I wanted one so badly, but I knew continuing to ask wouldn’t get me anywhere. After a while, I stopped asking. To be honest, I started to worry about having a pet around my brother. I knew he would somehow use it against me. He tended to do creepy things. The more intense he got, the more erratic he became. I could see the anger inside of him, always trying to get out. I'm unsure of the origin of this anger, whether he was born with this disposition or if something happened to him. I’ll never know. He doesn’t open up to me. Even when we were little, he was closed off, making it impossible to be close to him. We’ve never had that twin connection that everyone else raves about.

“Calling him Cat.” I glance over at the man who has been watching me since I stepped into his luxurious loft. I’m not sure what to call this place. It’s pretty freaking cool. I haven't done afull-on snoop-around mission yet. The fluffy ball has caught my attention.

“You know what?” I laugh. “I don’t even know your name.” I’ve known him for an hour. With everything that has happened, you would have thought it was longer. I turn my head to fully face him. Even sitting, the man is imposing. He stands out in the space, not because he’s a giant, but because everything is clean lines and modern. Everything has a place.

He is gruffer with thick black combat boots, jeans, and a black shirt that molds to his muscled body, but not like one of those body builders. No, he’s more barrel-chested. He doesn’t spend hours in the gym—okay, maybe he does—but I picture him ripping logs in half with his bare hands and bending solid metal beams.

“Do you not have one?” I let out another laugh. “It’s like pulling teeth with you.”

“You have no idea.” He abruptly stands.

“I’m sorry.” I put my attention back on the kitten. Did I push too hard? Me and all my questions. I thought knowing his name might be fine, but I guess he’s deep undercover for whatever it is he does for my father. The idea of him working with my father leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but maybe it’s the government side. With all the high-tech electronics in this place, I’m going to lean toward the government. That makes it safe. At least compared to some of the people I’ve spotted my father with.

“They call me Church,” he finally answers.

“Church?” Interesting. I bet it's a cool code name. I wonder what he did to get it. He runs his hand across the top of his head, like he’s frustrated. His hair is dark but buzzed down. Bet it feelsgood against the palm of your hand. Where the heck did that thought come from?

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