Page 18 of Ticket to the Stars: Part One

“What’s wrong withme?” she asked, breathless. “What’s wrong with you? You don’t do that to someone who’s sleeping!” For someone who’d just woken out of a deep sleep, she seemed awfully wide-awake and alert now.

My jaw ached. She’d hit it pretty damn hard for a girl. I glared at her, unable to stop myself. I had a few other choice things to say, but right then Priest came running down the hall—shirtless, of course, every single tattoo on his chest and arms on full display—asking, “What’s going on?” His gaze flicked between me and the girl, and he relaxed. “Oh, it’s just you, Deacon.”

Behind him, Bishop was stumbling down the hall, half asleep. “What’s…” At least he was fully clothed, unlike Priest, who was only wearing dark sweatpants.

And probably nothing under them, because it was Priest.

“It’s just Deacon,” Priest repeated, yawning. “I’m going back to bed.” He saluted us and then turned on his heels and started back down the hall, though he did pause to call out to Angel, “Unless you want to come with me? The offer’s there and the door is wide open—”

Angel groaned. “Go to bed, Priest.” It seemed that, even though she’d just met him a few hours ago, she was already tired of his shit.

Priest vanished down the hall, but Bishop lingered. He ran a hand through his brown hair, looking like he didn’t know what to do. He split his time between glancing at me and Angel. He decided to address her, “Do you want me to stay up with you?”

She bit the inside of her cheek, thinking for a moment, and then she shook her head. “No, go back to bed. I’m okay. He just startled me.”Istartledher, and shepunchedme. What would she have done if I’d outright scared her? Pulled a knife out from somewhere and stabbed me?

Bishop took his time in walking away. I didn’t understand why he cared about being a white knight to this chick. He didn’t know her. None of us did. She was a stranger Ramona had pushed on us while telling us she’d solve all of our problems.

A fucking lie was what it was.

I turned my back to her, returning to the kitchen just as the microwave was beeping, my Hot Pocket done. I pulled it out of the microwave and dropped it onto my plate. I was literally in the process of turning toward the island when, out of the fucking blue, she appeared beside me, her nose in the air.

“That smells good,” she whispered. Now that she stood in front of me and wasn’t hiding beneath a blanket, I could see how tall she was—which was to say, not very. Five foot three at the most, maybe? Give or take an inch. And that put her about eight inches shorter than me. Her white hair was a little messy, her blue eyes zeroed in on my Hot Pocket like she thought I’d give it to her.

After she punched me? No. Fuck that.

“Make your own,” I told her, sitting down at the island and giving my back to her. It was too hot to start eating right away, so I had to wait for it to cool.

Which sucked, because I heard her making herself one, following my lead. She got a plate out after searching through the cabinets, and then found the box of Hot Pockets in the freezer and pulled one out for herself.

Once it was in the microwave, she slipped onto the stool beside me. “I’m sorry about hitting you.” To her credit, she actually did sound sorry, but too bad for her, I didn’t give a shit.

“You didn’t hit me, you punched me,” I clarified, shooting her a glare. “But whatever. It’s not like it hurt, anyway.” That was a lie, because it had hurt a little bit, but I’d be damned if I told her that.

“You must be Deacon,” she said.

“I guess I must be.” I took a bite from the Hot Pocket.

“I’m—” It sounded like she was going to introduce herself, maybe use her real name, but she stopped herself short. “Angel, I guess.” Enthusiastic she was not, and that made two of us.

All I said between mouthfuls was “Yeah.” I could feel her staring at me, but I refused to turn my head to meet that blue-eyed stare. If she thought she could smooth things over by laying on her charm nice and thick, she had another thing coming.

What the girl did say, however, was something I wasn’t expecting: “I hope you don’t think I’m here to take your brother’s place. I can tell this was a brotherhood. I… I know you probably won’t ever like me, but I promise I won’t be here forever. Just until my contract with Ramona is up, and then it’ll be like I was never here.”

The microwave beeped, telling her the Hot Pocket was done, and she slipped off the stool to grab it.

So the girl didn’t want this. You’d think that would make me feel better about all of this, but it had the opposite effect. It made me more furious. Who was this girl to take Pope’s place and not even want it?

I scarfed down the rest of my food and left my plate on the island, going straight to my room without so much as saying another word. If I said anything… well, let’s just say things would escalate.

So that was our newest member, huh? I didn’t like her at all.

Chapter Ten – Angel

Ramona sent me some homework—to listen to Black Sacrament’s old albums so I’d get familiar with the songs. I guess knowing more about Black Sacrament’s songs and singles wouldn’t be a bad thing, especially since it sounded like I’d have to perform them.

It gave me an easy excuse to stay in my room, away from the guys. After meeting the third and final member of the band… let’s just say my nerves weren’t assuaged. Deacon was a bit of an ass.

I mean, sure, I’d hit him, but it wasn’t my fault. He shouldn’t have been leaning over me like that while I was sleeping, for goodness sakes. Talk about creepy.

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