30. Angel

That wasn't a step I was meant to take. But it was also the first orgasm I had since . . . I am not even sure. Guys didn't ever get me off before, and after – well, memories made it hard for me to do it myself. And there is something about a hot guy – even if he kidnapped me and I hate him – giving you a much needed O that makes your brain go all fuzzy.

He doesn't give me back my shorts as he pulls me up from the floor and leads me into the living room. Neither of us speak as he sets me on the couch and darts into the bathroom. A door squeaks and the water runs for a moment before he reappears with a wet cloth. Good, at least he isn't going to let his come dry up on me again.

"I rather like the way you look covered in me," he smiles.

Of course he fucking would.

"But you might be more comfortable this way."

He kneels down and wipes my face clean, even makes the effort to run his fingers through my hair and wipe up the traces of come he finds there.

"Something is burning," I note.

"Fuck."

Rushing into the kitchen, he opens the oven and grabs a towel before he quickly pulls out the slightly burnt pizza and drops it on the stove. I can't lie. It smells good. And my stomach is threatening to start growling from the idea of food.

"Water," I bark at him.

He nods and pulls down a glass from the cabinet. He fills it in the sink and walks back over to hand it to me. I chug it down in a few gulps and hand the glass back to him.

"More."

That fucking gag caused my entire mouth and throat to dry out. My lips feel sore and cracked. Thankfully, he didn't shove his dick in my mouth. It likely would have resulted in rug burn – tongue burn? – anyways. I drink another glass of water but take it slower on the third glass he hands me. He waits for me to finish before sitting down on the coffee table and running a hand across his chin.

"Can we talk?"

Maybe I am going about this the wrong way. He wants me to like him. But he could be holding me in the meantime until he sends me off to a worse fate than a dog crate. Maybe his need for me to approve of him can work to my advantage. I just have to play nice and hope he doesn't see the ruse.

"About what?" I ask, setting the glass down.

"I just want to understand what happened. Why are you going after those men?"

"What are you some kind of cop?"

A chuckle escapes him before he realizes it. Shifting on the couch, I tuck my feet underneath me so our knees don't touch.

"No, not a cop," he explains. "Never really walked on that side of the law, if you catch my drift."

"Pimp?"

He shakes his head. We eye one another for a moment before he leans back and reaches for a pack of cigarettes behind him. He offers me the pack, but I shake my head. I watch as he pulls out a cigarette and lights it, taking a long drag and eyeing me as he blows the smoke through the corner of his lips.

"How long were you on the streets?" he ask me.

"A while."

"So, you are familiar with the who's who of the city."

I nod.

"I am an assassin for the mob," he admits.

That was not the fucking answer I expected.

"And you were taking out my boss's Disciples. Now, as I said, if they hurt you, I am all for finishing this rodeo. But I can't do anything to keep you safe from my boss unless you tell me why you were after them."

"What mob?" I snap.

"What do you mean?" he shakes his head at me.

"What mob?"

"What do you mean what mob? The fucking mob."

"There are different –"

His fingers press against my lips to hush me as he takes another drag from his cigarette.

"No, there are the petty neighborhood gangs that think they are some hot shit and there is the mob. I work for the latter. As in, my boss has a lot of fucking power and guns not just in Chicago but across the midwest. And right now, his one and only wish is to know who was killing his men and to ensure that person is dead."

A stone sinks to the bottom of my stomach. I thought the men I was after were just a ring of drug dealers. I expected cops to start looking for me but not the whole fucking mafia. Fuck.

"And you are going to hand me over to him," I state.

He shakes his head. "You are my fucking Angel. I am not giving you to anyone."

I don't know if that should make me feel better or worse.

"My sister and I . . ." My chin immediately starts to quiver. This isn't a story I have told anyone that wasn't there when it all happened. I couldn't even get myself to speak about it for months afterwards, even when my sister begged me to give a testament against Mikel.

"We ran away from our last foster home and spent some time just drifting," I explain. "She got into drugs and that led to . . . just other stuff. I didn't want to be involved but I couldn't leave her. I had no one else. Petty thefts to keep us fed just led to more and more things. She started walking the streets and convinced me to do the same a few times but – it was never for me. I wasn't desperate enough."

My eyes drift to the window. I can't look into his eyes right now. It is always the same reaction when you tell people you sold your body for cash. They say it as a defilement. It was something to be ashamed of and brought up any time they wanted you to feel less of a human. But what many people never realized is how some women are left with no other choice. The world isn't kind to us and once you are deemed a street rat the stigma never really leaves.

"She started dealing for Mikel, but she was using it as well. It was just a vicious cycle. So –" I take a deep breath. My fingers dig into my thighs and I can feel the raised scars along my skin. "She was my sister."

My voice finally breaks. I shake my head to try and keep the tears from falling but it doesn't help. "I trusted her."

"It's alright," he says, setting his hand on my knee. His thumb brushes across my skin and it is both comforting and unsettling. I haven't been touched in so long. I haven't wanted to be touched.

"She convinced me –" I can't get the words out.

Each time I try to speak, my voice breaks and I feel like I can't breathe. The tape around my wrists feels like it is getting tighter. The room is too small. He is too close. A gasp escapes me and I try to move away from him.

"Hey, Angel. It is okay," he says soothingly.

I need to get away. Dark. Small. I need to be somewhere safe. The panic gets worse and I grasp at my throat, unable to catch my breath as my chest begins to constrict.

"Angel."

I just shake my head. The ability to speak is gone. All I can remember are the bright lights. The smell of different colognes. The sting of the blade across my skin. River was screaming. I was screaming. But I couldn't do anything to stop them. When I try to stand, I stumble and Messiah reaches out to steady me. As soon as his hands touch me, I scream and he jumps back, stumbling into the table.

"Air," I gasp.

My hands are still around my throat. Am I choking myself? I can't breathe. He goes to the window and opens it, then pulls me across the room to be near the cold city air. I can smell the streets outside. Exhaust. Garbage. The faint hint of a fresh breeze high above the buildings. The air is cool enough to help a little, but I can't take a breath.

"What do you need?" he asks. I can see the panic rising on his face now.

It only makes me more panicked. I just shake my head and fall to my knees.