Page 64 of His Angel

“We lost George based on his performance, or lack thereof, and Emmerson went at the challenge last week. I don’t know what else is coming, but they keep turning up in the house,” I say, falling back into line. “They’re moving things quickly.”

“I bet they are,” he muses, taking a sip of his drink.

I can almost picture the look on his face, the smell of the expensive scotch he drinks, and see the leather coaster it lives on.

I hadn’t realised just how much I’d relaxed being here, how much his influence had pushed me into a corner, until I was out—until now. I wouldn’t have even considered not giving him a straight answer and a detailed explanation before this, before them.

And I know, deep in my soul, any one of the men in that house would have my back without question, we all did when someone threatened Stephanie, but they’re not the only ones at play here.

“I think I’ve identified the right players,” I admit, the words like sandpaper on my tongue because they’re more than that. More than just pieces on a board to be moved and adjusted at will.

“Good, keep them close,” he says.

I wait at the edge of the driveway, hidden in the trees as Oliver’s car barrels past me, pulling around the house to the garage.

“Watch those Angels, pick your partner carefully, and keep your fucking nose clean.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lives are depending on this, and not just the ones in that house, do you understand?”

Dex. Blaise.

“I understand,” I clip, attempting to hold back the threats I’d like to give instead.

“Good.”

He ends the call, the single word clipped out through gritted teeth and I release a breath. Navigating the line between both worlds is trickier than it used to be.

I’m here for a reason. To do a job.

There isn’t time to play around with indecision. It’s time to make a move.

EIGHTEEN

IVY

“Honestly,” I say, rifling through the back of the kitchen cupboard. “I thought there’d at least be a stash of cookies back here or something.”

“I can’t believe we don’t even have ice cream, just sorbet,” Tamsin replies, her disgust real. “What kind of ridiculous healthy shit is this?”

“Right, we’re going out to find cake,” I decide, climbing down from the chair.

“And we need a serious conversation with whoever is ordering the food in this place, because this just will not do,” she continues. “Sometimes you need ice cream and chocolate, and damn, just some kind of cake.”

“That coffee shop had tasty treats,” I offer.Finally, a glimmer of hope.

“Let’s do it,” Tamsin agrees. “Does anyone else want to come?”

“I’m good.” Aimee waves us off, engrossed in some crime thriller drama show.

“I’m going to see Olly in a bit,” Stephanie says. “He offere to help me with this paper. Hopefully, he’ll have a clue.”

The door closes as we grab our purses, but it’s not Charlotte coming in, instead, Liselle strides down the corridor, turning the two of us around as her security follows behind.

“We’ve been requested. Get your masks.” Gone is the silly smiling face she’s usually wearing, instead, a seriousness that has concern swarming in my gut. “And get Charlotte and Penelope’s too, please. They’ll be meeting us there.”

“What masks?” Aimee asks, her confusion clear.

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