Page 2 of Lips of an Angel

“That’s part of my charm.”

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“Oh, darling,” I said, twirling a lock of his golden hair around my finger, "you say the sweetest things.”

Angel smacked my hand away and shot to his feet. Was he blushing? “Time for work.”

I waited until his bedroom door shut, then I looked down at my phone again.Why yes, I certainly would like to see you tonight. I could sneak away from work by midnight, surely.

I converted my mental reply into a text and sent it. Only once it was delivered did I realize that I should have been showered and dressed for my shift already. Angel came rushing out of his bedroom, hands signing at me.

“I expect you downstairs in ten minutes.”

“Yes, daddy.”

He froze in the doorway, head turning slowly over his shoulder. He pinned me with a look that could kill—and my mouth widened into a full smile. I lived to wind him up. I always had.

As he often did, Angel chose not to address me, pulling the door shut behind him. I rose from the couch to take the quickest shower of my life.

Our modest, two-bedroom apartment wasn’t much, but it was home for us. Angel and I didn’t needmuch—only each other. The apartment above the bar was nothing more than somewhere for us to shower and sleep, but we’d still figured out a way to make it ours.

Our tastes were quite different compared to most of our friends, but that’s what made us unique. In a world full of Kardashians, we dared to be Addams because who the hell wanted to be normal? That shit was boring. From the shower curtain to the satin sheets on my bed, black was the primary color. I’d bought one of those bathroom mats that looked like blood when it got wet. It was badass—and bonus, it freaked out Angel’s boyfriend.

I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a fluffy towel around my waist, grabbing another to scrub at my hair. Back in my bedroom, I tossed both towels aside then picked out a pair of designer black jeans and a T-shirt and pulled them on, reluctantly adding a blazer over the top. I hated the damn jacket, but Angel was hell-bent on maintaining a professional image, and apparently our tattoos “sent the wrong message.” Never mind thathewas covered head to toe in them. We owned a Halloween-themed bar for Christ’s sake; we could bend the rules a little. Passing the mirror, I only stopped long enough to make sure my dark, shaggy hair was somewhat neat.

I descended the stairs, pushing through the door that separated our apartment from the Devil’s Hopyard.

Angel and I had always dreamed of owning a business together, and with the help of his parents, we’d bought this building five years ago, several blocks from the heart of Las Vegas. It had always been a bar, just not a very successful one. While few people had much faith in two twenty-five-year-olds from the sticks, we had worked our asses off to turn it into one of the most successful bars outside of the Strip.

After locking the door behind me, I made my way down the long, dim hallway decorated by framed mugshots of famous serial killers throughout history. Angel hated them, but he loved me, so they stayed. The office was empty, so I continued to the end of the hall and emerged into the front room of the bar.

I scanned the space while I brushed the long strands of bloody, shredded tissue from my shoulders.

The front of house had three bars: one to either side of the room, and the biggest one stretching across the back. They were made from a stunning ebony wood with antique gold accents, both distressed to match the satanic theme of the place. The wood was scratched to hell and the gold looked like it’d never been polished. I’d spentagesgetting it to look like that.

The building was a goth’s paradise, a place where Halloween never ended. Faux spiderwebs stretched in the corners, fake blood dripped down the walls, and roughed-up wallpaper gave the illusion of peeled paint. The rustic wooden chairs were still upturned across the tables, and the overhead lights were bright. Skeletons, bats, and spiders—oh my—hung from the ceilings, though at a height that wouldn’t bother most customers. At 6’ 4”,Ihad to duck under a skeleton rattling in an iron cage to join Angel at the main bar. Jack, one of our bartenders, was behind it, dressed in too-short denim cutoffs and a purple mesh crop top that left little to the imagination.

Jack and Ryder were the two who’d been with us since the beginning. Ryder was our star. He went viral on social media, and customers flocked to the bar just for him. Jack was quieter, though that didn’t mean he wasn’t trouble. He was the kind of cute that meant he got whatever he wanted. Tall, he was lithe with mousy brown hair and eyeliner-rimmed green eyes that could get him out of whatever situation his mouth got himinto. He was a damn good bartender, but he was stubborn as a bull and didn’t always make the best decisions.

Such as now.

“The Tanqueray cases arereallyheavy,” he whined. “At least I remembered to sign for it this time. Don’t I get some credit for that?”

I flipped one of the barstools to the floor and sat down, watching their exchange. Angel’s hands flew and Jack stopped watching, looking at me over Angel’s shoulder and rolling his eyes.

“If you want some credit,” I growled, “then stop ignoring your boss when he’s talking to you.”

Paling, Jack rooted his attention back on Angel, who continued to sign with frustrated, sharp hand movements.

“Sorry,” he finally said, hanging his head. His contrition was mostly for show, but it was better than his earlier attitude. “It’s out back, but it’s a lot. I’m going to need some help.” At Angel’s skeptical look, Jack swallowed and added, “Please.”

Angel threw me a “help me” look—the very one I could never turn down when it came from him.

“Come on, Jack,” I said, sliding off the barstool. “I can help you out.”

Angel caught my arm as I walked past him, but I knew what he was going to say before his fingers so much as twitched. “Don’t worry, I’ll call the vendor.”

He didn’t have to thank me—his bright eyes said it all. They always did, yet I seemed to be the only person who could read them.

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