Page 34 of Fallen Angel
Chapter Fifteen
Angel’s stomach twisted in angry, desperate knots. How could this have happened? Despite how hard she had tried to get away from her stepfather, he had managed to ruin her life after all, just like he had ruined her best friend’s life.
Tears stung her eyes.
Just like he had ruined Ethan’s life.
She seized the dough she was supposed to be shaping into bagels and slapped it on the counter as fury and heartbreak tore through her. She could still remember the last time she saw her stepfather. She had been sixteen years old, and she had railed at him, calling him a crook and a cheat. An instant later, the back of his hand slammed the side of her face, sending her tumbling back onto the floor of his office. She stood up, refusing to back down. He hit her again. Mustering all her strength, she stood again, defiant, willing to fight in defense of what was right. And again, he knocked her down with the might of his fist. Once more, she had tried to stand, despite the searing pain coursing through her face and head, but he shoved her chest back down with one of his polished wingtips. With a cruel twist to his lips, he pointed down at her, and snarled, “Some people matter, and some people don’t.”
In that moment, Angel had known her stepfather was right—some people didn’t matter—the ones who put their own selfish gain above the wellbeing of others.
Angel had left home that night…after being beaten, after being rejected by her mother who, when pressed, chose her husband over her daughter. At the time, she was sixteen, broke, terrified, and alone.
And now, after five years of struggling and growing up on her own, she had finally found happiness, love, and security, and she was about to lose it all.
She grabbed the dough and slammed in on the table again, swallowing the scream of rage that barreled up her throat. How was it possible that, in the end, her stepfather wins?
The good guy, the underdog—her, that’s who was supposed to win.
“Angel, what are you doing?”
Angel looked down at the flattened dough. “Sorry, Matty, I got distracted.” She cast her eyes to the flour-speckled floor and tried to steady her breathing.
He reached across the counter and squeezed her hand. “Eric just clocked in. He’s got the register. It’s just us back here. Come on, Angel. Talk to me.”
She swallowed back a wave of tears. She couldn’t talk to Matty. She couldn’t talk to anyone.
She had lied to everyone.
But she only lied to protect herself…and to forget. She had hoped never to hear the name Lockwood ever again.
“Angel Sullivan, look at me,” Matty said, his voice desperate. “You are getting whiter by the minute.”
“Oh God,” she groaned, hearing her false name. She gripped her head between her hands. Her heart raced. What would Ethan do if he found out who she really was? He would hate her if he knew the truth. After all, her stepfather was responsible for his father’s death. The horror of that reality struck her anew. A rush of bile surged up her throat, and she turned and vomited in the trashcan.
“Oh shit! You’re sick?” Matty grimaced, backing up. Then he pointed to the door. “Okay, so you need to go home. I’ll call you a cab.”
She wiped her mouth with her apron, pressing her lips together to keep back her tears.
“Seriously, Angel. I don’t mean to sound like a total asshole, but I have an amazing weekend planned, which does not include worshiping at the porcelain god.” He opened the side door and put the stopper in place. “Unless I have too many margaritas, of course. Come on. Out you go.”
But then something outside stole Matty’s attention away from her.
“Holy shit on me! Damn girl, I don’t care what you have. You’ve got to check out this guy and his red-hot Porsche.”
Angel grabbed her bag and put on her coat. She had to get to the garage. She had to tell Ethan the truth. Better she come clean now, then have him find out by accident.
“Damn,” Matty said again. “Seriously, look at this guy.”
“Listen, Matty, I’m going to head home,” she said as she crossed the backroom to the door. “Tell Suzi I caught a stomach thing and—” She sucked in a sharp breath and dropped her bag when she saw the man standing near the Porsche.
Matty picked up her bag. He looked at her with wide eyes. “Angel, you just went from pale to full-on walking dead.”
Her legs began to shake. “This can’t be happening.” She grabbed the doorframe to keep her balance. “It’s my brother,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Matty raised his brows at her. “But I thought you said you didn’t have any family.”
She took a deep breath and steeled her shoulders. “Just stay here,” she told him as she stormed out the door toward the man who had been a boy the last time she laid eyes on him.
