Page 61 of As Angels Sin

“He sure is.” I sound as stunned as I feel.

This crazy man of mine.

This crazy love of my life.

Epilogue

CRUE

Five Years Later

“How’s it going, big buddy?” Jenson Holly delivers a solid pat on my back, just shy of the exit wound scar that Matteo Baronne’s gun immortalized on my body.

I don’t know how I survived that day. I learned later that the bullet had missed the important bits slushing around inside of me, but I do recall the kiss of death that was placed squarely on my brow. Everything else is a blur.

I’ve deluded myself into believing is that my shadow didn't guide me to death. Instead, it pulled me from the driver’s seat and took control. It willed my expired corpse to make it out ofMatteo’s villa and all the way to the hospital where it handed the reins over to the doctors who saved me.

It’s a pretty little fantasy, isn’t it?

It’s the same one I would tell anyone who knew my sordid past. Because when you’re like me, more monster than man, why not have a fantastic story to go with it?

“Where’d you go there, buddy?” Another pat, this time lower.

The gesture makes me itch uncomfortably. It’s not the kind I can scratch. It’s deeper than that. Way down, behind the muscle fibers... or maybe I’m not the one made uncomfortable by his show of fatherly affection. The black spot in the back of my mind is irritated by the itch. It is roused from slumber once more, ravenous and not for the burger meat I’m flipping over the barbecue.

“Grub should be ready in a couple of minutes,” I answer, listening to sizzle of meat juice spraying over the hot coals. My head turns to the children playing in the distance.

“Crazy, isn’t it?” he asks.

“What is?” Me? Playing pretend in a garden full of people? Most of them are parents, some of them are second wives or husbands playing their own roles as devoted affection givers. One of them is a nanny, maybe only ten years’ older than the child she’s meant to be watching. She is not watching it though. Instead, she’s lazing on a sunbed in front of my pool, scrolling through her phone and twirling strands of her blonde hair. There’s probably no need for a nanny with all these parents around. Their ears prick up at every child’s cry, and they check the group of fourteen to see if comes from one of theirs.

No harm will come to them here. Not with eagle-eyed hens on guard duty.

“How quickly time passes,” Jenson sighs. “I remember the day Jeremy was born as if it was yesterday. Now he’s running, talking and...”

“Making a mess of my hydrangeas.” They’re not mine, but Jenson’s stroll into the past isn’t something I want to deal with. I’ve given him the plastered-on, politician smile, and welcomed him over. I’ve offered beer and burgers. What more does he want from me?

“Oh, shoot. Sorry about that Crue. Let me go grab the little troublemaker,” he says and does his bestdad power walkover to his son. I must say, he’s rather good at it, too. He makes it look as if he’s storming forward, while in reality he’s trudging at a snail’s pace.

At least my ploy to get him away worked. Now I can focus on making lunch. The children would tear me apart if I served overcooked food. Without societal conditioning battered into them, their innate violence shines through at the smallest of annoyances. I’ve grown to respect tiny humans a lot more, having gotten to know them.

“It happened again,” one of the mothers says at my side. I don’t remember her name, and I won’t bother learning it. She’s whispering, as if to remain inconspicuous, but it comes out so loud she may as well have screamed the words at the top of her lungs.

Three little words that make me sweat in the best way. That make my heart thump and my head spin. Fuck, if I’m not careful, my cock’s going to slither out of the bottom of my shorts.

“You can’t be serious,” another says, clutching invisible pearls around her neck.

I lean closer, eavesdropping eagerly.

I’m sure many men have been in this position, listening to a group of women talking about them. Though, I don’t believe their intentions are the same as mine. I’d rather go without, than pursue a sexual relationship with any of these women. They don’t fit my idea of afuckablepiece of meat. Hell, the juicy burger patties are a more tantalizing offer.

But I’m aching, and throbbing as her lips part.

“He’s killed again.”

Ah, fuck, there it is. Her delivery was poor, and held none of the same sense of whimsy and mysticism that some of the mothers use to convey the message. But it stiffens me like a rock, none-the-less.

“No...” Another waves her hand through the air, appalled.

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