Page 39 of Wild Angel

I’m not idiotic enough to assume that we’re anything approaching acouple.But most nights we fuck, and it’s amazing.

Some mornings too, if he’s still in my bed when I wake up.

He didn’t stay last night. It was also the first night he didn’t give me a report on my sisters. When I asked, he brushed me off with some bullshit change of topic. He was distracted too. Kept checking his watch, like I was holding him up.

Eventually I told him to fuck off because I was on the rag and I didn’t feel like seeing him anymore.

It worked.

I head down to the kitchen, spotting only one cleaning lady en route. She glances at me but doesn’t greet me. That’s usually how they are around me—polite, but distant. If I ask for something, though, I always get it.

Which is why it’s no surprise that I’ve put on weight since I started living here. I blame Savage’s fully stocked fridge and his excellent cooks.

And the fact that I haven’t been outside in days.

Thankfully, though, my bruises have healed. Only the worst ones are still mustard-yellow. The cut on my cheek is pink, but it looks like it might leave a scar.

That was from Sergio’s ring. A big ruby fucker he wears on his middle finger.

I have plans with that ring when I get my hands on him.

Savage made me swear to bury the hatchet. To forget and forgive. Sergio is too powerful for either of us to attempt some kind of vendetta.

But I don’t forget. And I’m pretty sure I’m incapable of forgiveness.

My mother’s been dead for years, and I still haven’t forgiven her. I doubt I ever will.

I grab an apple from the delicate glass bowl in the kitchen and crunch on it as I stroll through the halls. I’ve never been one for television or books—but I’ve always loved exploring. I was hardly ever inside my house when I was a kid. Always climbing trees and riding bikes and snooping where I shouldn’t.

Even went down a manhole once.

That was eye-opening.

I head for the patio, but a smaller hallway off the main one catches my attention. I frown at it. Have I been down there before? I shrug and head for it anyway.

Anything to keep my mind off the fact that it’s now been seven days since my sisters disappeared.

They could be dead.

They probably are.

I keep going back and forth about whether it’s healthier for me to just accept it and try to move on or keep digging—perhaps pointlessly.

Not thatI’mdoing any digging. I think that’s what is frustrating me the most. Savage made it clear that the three men who took them have cartel connections. He’s just struggling to pinpoint them to Bogota...or any other cartel.

The hallway is quite narrow. More a staff portal I think. There are no decorations here, no fancy doorknobs.

Oooh.

I stop at the first door, check left and right, try to open it.

Locked.

Second and third are locked too.

But the fourth opens, and I peek around it before slipping inside.

It opens into a small lounge area with four doors leading off, all closed. The furniture is cheap and mismatched. There’s a dented bar fridge, an electric kettle, and a two-plate electric stove on the counter against one wall. A boxy television set standing on a produce crate.

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