Page 42 of Never Fall for an Angel

“I’ve got to get out of here,” I whisper to myself, wincing in pain when I throw the covers off me and scoot to the edge of the bed. Either he spent the night using me as a punching bag after he injected me with whatever the hell was in that syringe, or I fell harder than I thought on the pavement.

My heart bottoms out in my chest when I stand, and the bed creaks under my weight. I listen for any sounds of footsteps, but none come. In front of me, a railing overlooks what has to be thefirst story of the cottage, and warmth radiates from below with the cackle of a fireplace.

I listen for any sign that he could be near, but I’m met with nothing but silence. My bag sits in the corner and I silently tiptoe over to it, lowering to grab my shoes off top. I slip them on my feet, gritting my teeth at the pain radiating through my shoulder. When I’m done, I sling the bag over my shoulder and start towards the stairs.

Only something stops me.

Shaky visions of the other night dance through my head. Opening the door to the one man I thought I’d never see again, standing outside my motel room.

Him injecting me with whatever he used to knock me out.

Waking up here, surrounded by his scent, but him being nowhere in sight.

It’s a trap.

He wouldn’t go through all the trouble of finding me just to let me run out in the dead of night after a nap.

Carefully, I drop my bag to the floor, backing away from the door. Kicking off my shoes, I sink back to the old mattress.

Will he kill me?

I shot him. I shot him and ran, and he swore he’d find me if it were the last thing he did.

“Welcome to the land of the living.”

I jump, letting out a scream at the voice that sounds right behind me. I whirl so fast my hair slaps me in the face, a tangled mess of knots from sleeping on it for God only knows how long.

None other than Christian Cross sits in the chair beside the bed. Conveniently, the one area of the room I didn’t glance at before I got up.

Seeing him now, in the flesh, is like seeing a ghost, and I can’t describe the pain in my chest from the wicked gleam in his eyes.

Like he wants to hurt me.

“You.”

“Hello, little devil. Miss me?” He cocks his head, his gaze traveling over me with a dark glint in his deep blue eyes. It’s been six months of running since I last saw him. Six months of wondering if he was alive and if the bullet I’d used to shoot him had killed him on that rooftop.

Tears sting in the backs of my eyes at the visions of that night on the hospital rooftop. Watching him lay there, helpless after I shot him and knowing there was nothing I could do to stop it.

He stands to his full height, a force to be reckoned with in the small cottage. Rippling muscles under a black T-shirt. Harsh jawline. Beautifully devastating eyes that shine in the glow of the bedside lamp. He’s just as handsome as he’s always been.

Only now, he’s going to make me pay for what I did.

I stumble back, holding my hands out in front of me as a panic I’ve never experienced takes hold.

“Stay away from me,” I warn, backing into the dresser and making it rattle from the impact. My voice is scratchy from how long I slept, and my mind is foggy like I’m just waking up from a year-long coma.

Hell, maybe I am, and I just don’t know it. It would explain how sore my back is.

Christian chuckles, stepping towards me, and I back up, gripping the dresser for support because my legs threaten to give out on me.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” He takes another step forward, and I realize I have nowhere left to run. “No gun to stop me this time?”

“Christian,” I warn, pressing myself flat against the walls. Tears burn in my eyes, and in the dim lighting of the bedroom, he looks like a demon stalking towards me. “Please, just let me go.”

He chuckles darkly, his eyes flashing with a caustic violence I’m not accustomed to. Not from him.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mila.”

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