Page 2 of Wicked Angel

My head started to throb. “I don’t understand—why are you telling me this?”

“Because I’m tired of everyone in this house protecting you from the truth like the little princess,” she growled at me. “It’s annoying. The sooner you realize the truth, the better. Mom’s gone now, so that means I’m the next lady of the house. What I say goes.”

I ignored her last statement. Whatever she wanted to be—in charge, in control, or whatever—I was not going to even acknowledge it. “You have to be wrong,” I insisted.

“I’m not,” she sneered. “It’s because of who he is. Who we are—the Price Family. Syndicate. Read the papers, or better yet—why don’t you just ask Dad?”

“I will,” I snapped, pushing past her and into the hall.

Imaginemy surprise when it all turned out to be true. The illusion of a normal life, of a normal family with loving parents, came crashing down the day my Mom died—its destruction illustrated by my own sister. It all made sense, then. The rules. The reasons. Dad was a criminal; not just any criminal, though. He was powerful, and that meant that Mom had died because of something he did.

Even if he felt regret, even if he felt sadness, the truth was now in front of my face in a cold casket with a bunch of men in black gathered around. I pinched down my fingers against the outside of my thigh, trying to feel something because everything was quickly growing numb all over again, when a deep voice startled me.

“You shouldn’t do that.” I jumped at the sound of a man and a moment later, the chair next to me creaked under fresh weight. I looked up and up and up some more into a pair of startling blue eyes.

“W-what?”

The man was tall with a straight back, a proud nose, and a sharp jawline. His hair was a sandy blonde, swept away from his face and his eyes were the deepest shade of blue I’d ever seen in my life. I was so mesmerized by them that it was only when he blinked at me that I realized I was staring. He nodded down to my thigh, where my fingers were still lightly rubbing against the sore spot. “Once you start, you won’t be able to stop,” he advised.

I pulled my hand away immediately and faced forward as heat rocketed up my cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied.

The corner of the stranger’s mouth tipped upward, and somehow I found that to be even more intimidating than he was before. However, even with that intimidating air, something told me he wasn’t an enemy. My attention continued to follow him out of the corners of my eyes.

“Then let me just offer my condolences.” He gestured to the casket and I saw the black gun strapped to his chest beneath his suit coat. The sight of it made my insides coil.

I could feel the scowl form on my face. “I don’t want your stupid condolences,” I snapped. “Go talk to my Dad or something. Leave me alone.” I folded my arms across my chest, but beneath one, I turned my hand and sunk my fingernails into the underside of my bicep.

The man didn’t get up immediately though. Instead, he turned fully in his seat and looked down at me. “You’re angry, kid,” he said. “I get that, but anger isn’t going to bring her back.”

“Nothing will bring her back,” I pointed out. “So what else can I do but be angry?” Why the hell hadn’t he left yet?

The man’s eyes roved over my face, but I turned away, forcing my own eyes down to the ground so I wouldn’t meet his. “It’s a rough world.” His voice remained clear and even. I still didn’t look up. “If you’re Raffaello’s daughter, then there will be more where this came from. My advice—”

“I didn’t ask for it!” I finally looked up and immediately regretted it.

His eyes weren’t on me at all. In fact, they were somewhere behind me. It wasn’t that, though, that freaked me out—it was the cold look in them. The icy fire grew as he glared at someone, but when I moved to look back, he stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t,” he warned quietly.

“W-what?” Looking up at him, I spotted a tiny little sliver of a scar coming out of the neckline of his dress shirt, slightly curved. For some reason, I focused on that scar. Curious and also a little afraid. How many more did he have? Where did he get them?

“Take my advice, kid,” he said. “Don’t let one loss kill you. Life is all about fight and vengeance.”

“Vengeance?” I repeated the word with a little hint of confusion. What did he mean by that? Once again, I tried to turn to look over my shoulder and see what it was he was glaring at, but he stopped me.

“Yes,” he replied, this time grabbing hold of my chin and turning my face forward forcefully. A loud car honked in the distance, making me jump as the man’s eyes returned to mine. “Everyone’s lost someone. The best way to move on is to make sure that whoever took them from you pays.”

“But … I’m too young,” I said.

His lips twitched again and his head bobbed up and down in agreement. “Yes.” His voice rumbled deeper. “But I’m not.”

Before I could ask what he meant, someone behind me shouted and his arms closed around me, dragging me into his chest and then down onto the cold ground as a gun went off and a bullet whizzed over our heads. More shouting. Screaming. A woman yelling. My dad … my dad yelling and cursing. Then the man holding me disappeared. Another gunshot rang in my ears, so loud and so close that I had to cover them with my own hands as tears streamed down my cheeks.

Firm hands lifted me up and the man’s face reappeared in front of me. “Hold on, kid.” I didn’t know why he was asking me to hold on, but for some reason, I didn’t question it. I latched on, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as he started running. I was too big to be carried by an adult, but he acted as if it was nothing, with one hand under my legs and the other around my back.

The weight of the man pressed into my much smaller body and with it, the fresh scent of soap and spicy cologne. My nose wrinkled. It was too much, too strong, and too close. As he shifted, something from his chest touched me and I froze. I knew it for what it was, the outline was too distinctive for me not to recognize it; it was the same gun I’d seen before. Now, though, the weight of such a weapon didn’t scare me. It made me feel safe, just like the arms around me.

Pulling away, I looked into the man’s face and asked for the one thing I thought I didn’t want anymore. I asked for the truth. “Did you kill them?” I asked. “Did you kill the person who murdered my mom?”

The man’s steps slowed to a stop and when I took a look around, I realized we were back in the cemetery parking lot and there were loads of other men in black suits carrying guns. “Not yet,” he said. “But I will.”

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