Page 139 of Never Fall for an Angel

I can’t do it.

Maybe because deep down, I know what he’s saying is true.

Christian would rather die than hurt me . . . and I would rather live with the pain than let it all go.

The moment our worlds collided, there was a part of me that knew I would follow Christian Cross to hell if it meant I could spend eternity in his darkness.

Now, I’m finding his darkness is my light.

I stumble back with the weight of the gun out of my hand, slipping on the side of the bank.

In a flash, Christian grabs me, one hand on my waist to haul me back towards safety, the other around my throat, his fingers tightening over my racing pulse. A shiver of fear rolls through me, and even though I know he won’t hurt me, the look in his eyes is fucking terrifying.

Cold, dark clarity. Like a man who’s just realized his favorite toy is broken and now he has to throw it away.

“Why am I here, Christian?” My voice breaks when his fingers constrict, stealing what little air I have left.

“I let you go once, little devil,” he murmurs, his voice dripping in venom. His other hand comes up, brushing the wet curl off my forehead, covering my scar. His eyes burst with something akin to annihilation. Like I’ve awoken a sleeping demon, and now it’s come to collect my soul. “I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

His dark gaze burns into mine. My breath catches in my throat when he leans forward, pressing his forehead into mine, his breathing as ragged as my own from the adrenaline coursing through us.

“I hate you,” I whisper because even if I don’t actually hate him. I want to.

I want to hate him for making me . . . feel like this. This desperation. The desire to lose myself in a man like him. This need.

“And I’ve been fucking dreaming of you,” he grits, his fingers gripping my hip with bruising strength.

And then, the barricades holding back months of anger collapse.

Tears sting in my eyes, and I shake my head. As if fighting them will make them stop. I almost laugh bitterly. I’ve cried so much over Christian Cross that it’s a wonder I can cry at all.

I should be numb to it, but even now, hearing him say those words, my heart flutters painfully in my chest.

“You left. No word on where you’d gone. You just . . . vanished. And now you show up here expecting the same girl you knew before.”

“You’restillthat girl.”

I shake my head, a bitter laugh slipping past my lips.

“I’m sorry to burst whatever perfect bubble you’re living in, but that girl is clearly gone.” Even saying it, I want to break down. Tears clog my voice, the rush of adrenaline making my head spin. “Same with any feelings I had left for you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

Howdarehe.

“Bullshit,” he repeats, eyes flashing menacingly. “You can’t fucking hide from me, Mila. Iknowyou.” He reaches up, brushing his knuckles down the side of my face, and a quiet whimper slips from my lips. I close my eyes as a tear breaks free, slipping down my cheek.

In a surge of anger, I hit him in the chest with everything I have. I may as well be beating up a brick wall. He doesn’t even try to stop me.

Still . . . it feels so damned good, I do it again. And then, again. He takes my anger like it’s nothing more than a lover’s caress.

“I hate you!” I screech at him, and my legs wobble beneath me, threatening to give out as the sobs rip from my throat.

I hate this place. I hate him. I hate myself.

—I think I hate myself the most.

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