Page 4 of As Angels Sin

She nods. So does he.

“When they arrive, you’ll send them off.” It’s a simple task. Not necessarily an easy one, but we don’t have time to discuss intricacies.

“How?” he asks, turning his head in the corridor’s direction.

“You’ll figure it out.” I show him my gun again. A reminder. A warning. “Put your big boy pants on and get it done.”

I remove myself and the woman from view, blanketing us in the cloth that’s hanging over us. Even from where we’re hidden, I have a somewhat decent angle on the opening though, where Lorenzo’s men emerge to speak with my new captive.

“Did you see anyone come down here, Chang?” a burly Italian asks, his voice as smooth as a fine red wine.

“No, no one down here.” Chang’s head shakes violently, and he stutters the words out.

It pisses me off. It shouldn’t, and I can’t let it, but it does. The black spot may be alpha and omega, but I am death’s hand. I need icy control, trained savagery, ruthlessness and cunning to slip away from this mess. To deter Chang from making another mistake, I drive the barrel of the .38 into the woman’s spine. She whimpers softly, but it’s enough to make the man’s ears prick.

No more slip-ups, especially like the one I made with Fiametta.

It wasn’t a slip-up. You were a coward. Admit it.

The voice, so similar to my own, yet a complete stranger at the same time, coos softly in my mind. It’s getting a kick out of this. Now isn’t the time to rationalize how a voice can be smug, when it shouldn’t have feelings at all. When it shouldn’t exist at all.

“Are you sure?” The Italian doesn’t look inside the tent. He has no reason not to believe what he is told.

“No one in or out for hours now. The smack heads are too dosed to walk, and we locked up at midnight,” Chang answers, this time with more confidence than his first lie.

Good. I won’t have to paint him with Mrs. Chang’s right lung.

“Okay. If you do see anyone, let me know. ASAP. There’s a dangerous man on the loose and...” I let the sound of his voice trail off. I have no need to listen to him jabbering anymore.

I stay in my hiding place with Mrs. Chang until I’m sure Lorenzo’s men are gone, and then I wait another forty minutes or so. Chang tries to speak to me, to ask me questions and offersolutions for my escape, but none of them matter to me. Time is my only friend. When I finally believe enough time has passed, I release Mrs. Chang. She tumbles into her husband’s arms, clawing into him for a hug, with tears in her eyes.

“I know you’re going to tell them what happened. I won’t blame you.” I kick the table forward and step out of the tent. “But you’d be smarter to hold your tongues.”

Offering advice in a time like this? Always the altruist.

My shadow is right. Giving advice isn’t my forte, but it’s different this time. I don’t care if they die. Their lives are inconsequential. However, sharing a tidbit of wisdom that will keep them alive might do exactly the same for me.

“Those men don’t give a shit about you. If you squeal that I was here and that you didn’t say anything, they’ll kill you where you stand. It’s best you go on with your lives, and pretend I never crossed your paths. Someday soon, you’ll start believing I didn’t.”

And then I’m gone. Into the night and out of New York.

Where I’m headed is anybody’s guess, as long as it’s far away from here.

Chapter Two

FIAMETTA

Iwaketo the sound of early morning birds chirping in the distance. The first bright rays of sunshine are pouring in through the top of the thick curtains that block all other light from passing. Chilly air from the aircon, hanging above my head, soothes my feverish skin. I smell a fruity, familiar scent that I can’t quite place in my confusion about where I am. Then, disgusting nausea churns my stomach over and threatens to make me spew last night’s dinner across the bed. A splitting headache makes me tense in pain, and the nausea worsens it, creating a vicious cycle.

Most importantly, above all the good and bad of this morning’s start,I wake.

I should be dead, shouldn’t I? Unless, of course, this is somehow heaven I find myself in. My nausea and headache tells me it can’t be, however beautiful the thought was for a moment.

The last thing I remember is being overwhelmingly happy. Crue and I had just finished making love. We were lying in bed, clinging to each other as lovers do.

As much as I want to believe that’s genuinely the last thing I recall, I can’t lie to myself. Because the place on my neck, where his needle pricked my skin, still stings from whatever he emptied into my bloodstream. It’s a slow, pulsating throb that intensifies in painful severity, every time I move my head or swallow.

It’s a reminder that I wasn’t supposed to wake up today.

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