Page 1 of Surrender (Angels Halo MC Next Gen)

prologue

SAMARA

The bassof the beat thumped through my chair as I made an adjustment to the blueprint I was working on. After being in class all day, I’d planned on having a quiet night in while I worked on the new project my professor had assigned, but sometimes the silence was too loud.

Music always helped me concentrate better. Maybe working in a crowded, noisy club wasn’t ideal for some people, but there were times I thrived in multitasking. It kept me from overthinking. Not only about the project, but other things.

Stuff that I had no control over.

Yet.

I needed to stay focused on what I had to accomplish so Icouldcontrol it.

Which meant getting this blueprint perfect.

Tuning out the random flirty giggles, the baritone chuckles, and the snippets of conversations of the VIPs around me, I focused on the finer details of the building I was supposed to be creating as a final project.

Once it was done and got my professor’s stamp of approval, I could finally start my internship.

“You’re going to strain your eyes working in this dim lighting.”

I kept my eyes on what I was drawing, making sure my lines were perfect. “The rest of Iron Hand is dim. But the lighting right here is perfect.”

Mom sat across from me, barely sparing the papers spread across the table a glance. “Couldn’t focus at home?”

“Too quiet.”

“When is this one due?”

Sighing, I finished the extra details and dropped my pencil on the table. My mother didn’t make small talk. Not about my projects. My decision to become an architect had thrown her off from the first time I’d brought it up when I was fifteen.

She thought it was a phase. It wasn’t that she didn’t support my career goals; I knew she would accept whatever made me happy. But she wasn’t exactly ecstatic about them either.

Probably because she suspectedwhyI’d chosen architecture.

“What do you need?” I asked, picking up my beer bottle and taking a drink.

Beer reminded me of him.

Her red-painted lips tilted up in a brief smile. “I can’t have a conversation with my daughter about her college coursework?”

In answer, I lifted a brow, waiting.

Anya Vitucci shifted in her chair, her eyes briefly flickering around us before returning to me. It was a quick, reflexive action. One I made myself. Something she had taught me from an early age. Now it was second nature to both of us. You didn’t live long in our world by not staying vigilant.

“I have a friend who has a situation. They called in a favor.”

“And you’re unable to handle it personally?” I asked skeptically. She might have been close to sixty, but the woman before me had skills that would never fail her.

“It requires a trip abroad,” she said with a shrug.

A ping of pain filled me. I knew all too well why she didn’t want to travel.

Papa.

“I’m busy at the moment. Ask Nova.”

“Nova is good, but you are better,” she argued. “And this requires the best.”

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