Page 70 of Cruel Lies

His hand appeared in my line of sight, a smirk attached to the other end. "Come on, lazy ass. No time to sit around. We have a man to meet. And as much as I don’t think it’s smart to meet him with you in tow, I think I’d rather have you in sight than have you waiting nearby and something go wrong."

He almost convinced me that he really cared.Almost.

And then he opened his mouth again and ruined the illusion.

"Rowan would kick my ass if you ended up hurt on my watch."

Of course he was only worried about his relationship with his brother.

I didn’t know why that hurt more than it should.

Sure, I slaked a thirst with Rowan. And okay, so I’d always been a little in love with broken Nash from the beginning. But Angel had always been this untouchable god, a man out of reach even in my prime. Even with black hair and that nerdy pair of glasses he’d obviously ditched somewhere along the way, he’d always been a fucking stunner, like a character straight out of a manga novel.

In comparison, I could spend two hours getting ready and still look like a fucking joke at the end of the day.

As I pulled my helmet off, I felt my hair cling to the insides, then plaster itself to my face as it fell around me.

Fuckinghell.

Where the fuck evenwerewe?

"Who the hell lives out here that you’d have to pay a visit to?" I asked warily, eyeing the few scattered buildings along the fucking open highway. The run-down motel had that cringe seventies vibe that advertised it as a drug den and fucking day motel for shady affairs. The kind of place you didn’t want to postup at long unless you had no other choice. "The fuck is this place?"

"Welcome to the home of your sperm donor, Harper. Fitting, really. Like father, like daughter. Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

"I’m not living in a drug den motel," I whined, remembering the little apartment in the less amazing, affordable side of town that occasionally had some noticeable drawbacks. "I don’t have anywhere near as many cockroaches as this place probably does."

"Oh, my apologies, dear lady. I forgot your elegant shack is above reproach."

"Why are we after my father? Isn’t ityourfather who wants me dead?"

Angel shrugged, shooting me a sideways glance. "Apparently, our old buddy here dabbles in information. And we think he’s the reason my father knows you’re alive."

I marched behind him in a foul mood as he led the way to the front desk, where a twenty and a few threats loosened the tongue of the desk attendant enough to find out which one of the long-term rooms my father was holed up in. I realized now why Angel had donned super-sized shades before walking in. There was no doubt he would be recognized easily if someone caught sight of those eyes of his. This allowed him to be forgettable, as much as was a man as gorgeous as him.

And of course, Angel dragged me along to a place like this. He probably got a kick out of seeing me so uncomfortable in this atmosphere.

I think he’d forgotten I’d been living a life on the run for years now. Seven of them, to be exact. I hadn’t been living it up as a socialite that whole time.

As a matter of fact, I’d been the opposite.

And I was not in a mood to put up with his shit today. Or anyone’s, for that matter.

"Shouldn’t I have a weapon before I go in there?"

Angel’s brow quirked, and he smiled at me patronizingly. "Arm you so you can, what? Turn the blade on me and steal my bike?"

"What if that asshole has a weapon?"

"A good point," he admitted, scratching the side of his arm absently. "Just stay behind me. Problem solved."

"Oh, yeah, like that’s totally manageable in this tiny ass place." If I spent much more time with Angel, I’d strain my eyes with all the rolling they did.

When he knocked politely, the door went unanswered, but a more insistent banging brought a man I didn’t recognize to the door. His profile—or what I could see of it around the side of my gallant protector—was a mess.

His hair looked unwashed, matted in spots, clinging to the side of his sweaty face. His eyes had bags under them that reminded me of a domesticated raccoon, they were so dark, and there was still a fucking tourniquet tied around his arm. Thankfully, I didn’t see a needle sticking out of his arm, but there was no telling what hid just behind the door.

This man was ruined by life, and if I didn’t know for a fact that he was another of the woman-beating, cheating, lying scumbags who preyed on my mother, I might’ve felt sympathy for his plight.

---