8. Messiah

The shitty thing to do is show up at the job of a woman that doesn't want to talk to me. She is just an enigma though, and figuring out the mysterious Angel is much more interesting to me than figuring out who is offing Charles's Disciples. I have been racking my brain to make connections or get an idea of where the killer is going to hit next. I had to get out of my house. Plus, I couldn't get Angel's eyes out of my head. They were fucking beautiful. Even in the dim sunlight, they were this vibrant greenish-gray with a golden ring around her iris. Her halo. I chuckle to myself thinking about that.

I change tables this time so she is more likely to cross my path. I am closer to the exit door that she likes to hover near. What is my Angel trying to run away from? It is busier than the other times I have visited. A girl is dancing on stage and there is an audience of men sitting around hooting at the performance. It takes nearly twenty minutes for me to find her. She isn't wearing the blonde wig tonight. Her hair is that same fiery shade of red as earlier. Is that a wig as well? She has her eyes lined with black and there is glitter at the top of her cheeks. I can see the glint of her lip gloss in the speckled blue lights around the stage. Her bodysuit is a bright green that glows in the scattered blacklights around the room. She stands out like a beacon in the sea of dark clad men.

I watch as she goes to a few tables and takes orders or picks up empty glasses. One guy reaches for her ass as she walks away, but she manages to move out of reach just before he touches her. Downing the rest of my drink, I fight not to get up and punch out his eye. It is a strip club. Guys get handsy. I am sure after one too many, I have reached for multiple asses in this joint. But they don't need to touch her.

She avoids my table as she works and then disappears from the floor. It is hard to keep myself in one spot and not bust my way into the back rooms to find her. It is too early for her to be off work. She hadn't retreated through the doorway that led to the private dance rooms, so I know she isn't occupied with someone else. Then again, my Angel doesn't give private dances. Oh, but how I would pay out the ass to have her dance for me. Only me. These other fuckers can go with Toothy-Timber.

"Up next, Angel."

The announcement makes my back tense. My head snaps toward the stage as the lights fade and a slow song begins to play through the speakers. I have never seen her dance before. My dick jerks to attention as her silhouette appears behind the sparkly curtain. The men go quiet for a moment but begin their raucous calling as soon as the lights turn on. If the lights weren't so low on my end of the room, I am certain there would be many witnesses to the rod of steel pushing against my zipper.

She is still wearing her body suit. Unlike the other dancers, she doesn't smile at the men close to the stage. They call for her to start taking off clothes, and I want to scream at her to leave it all on. I shouldn't be possessive of this woman. Even if she thinks I am the scum of the earth, I don't want anyone else looking at her.

She twirls around the pole in the center of the stage then slinks down onto the floor as she begins to flex her legs into different poses. At one point she is on her hands and knees, face down as she arches her ass up and slides along the stage floor. Fuck. I love that position. It would be the perfect pose for me to watch as I bury my cock inside her while she moans and writhes beneath me.

Bills flutter down around her as she sits up on her knees, reaching for the zipper on the front of her bodysuit. The moment her fingers touch the metal the men get louder. Tilting her head back, she lets that bright red hair trail down her back as she slides the zipper down. Just as the curve of her breasts come into view, she pulls it back up, turning her body away from the men howling in displeasure.

Filthy Little Angel. Yeah, this woman is mine.

She takes a turn around the pole, ignoring the men calling out and waving bills at her. Those halo eyes stay down most of the time. The lights on the stage make the glitter on her face glow but also shows off the hollowness in her cheeks.

Toward the end of the dance, she kneels again, sliding the zipper on her suit all the way down. The concave gap between her ribs shows and she slides the suit down to show off flower petal nipple covers. They are covered in silver glitter, but the men don't seem to take notice. Standing, she shimmies her hips as she teases them. Fingers hook into the fabric of her clothes, she tugs her shorts down enough to show the top line of her G-string. Just when the men think they are about to get a show, the music comes to an end.

She doesn't even look back at them as she turns to walk off stage.

"Tell me about Angel."

I stand in Kevin's office door, arms crossed over my chest as he looks over his glasses at me. Kevin and I aren't exactly friends, but we are familiar with one another. I am at the club a lot and he has placed bets on some of the underground boxing matches or cock fights that some of Charles's Disciples organized.

"Don't fuck with her," he points a finger at me. "I mean it, Messiah."

"I was just curious is all." I step into the office and flop down in the worn linoleum chair across from him. "She is just . . . different from the other girls."

"I know," he sighs.

He takes his glasses off and drops them next to his computer before leaning back in his chair. The bolts beneath him squeak as he rocks his solid girth a few times, eyeing me cautiously.

"The girls don't seem to like her," I note.

"Why are you so fucking interested?"

Shrugging my shoulders, I tap my finger against my thigh. "Just curious."

"I mean it," he threatens again. "Leave her alone."

"Well, everyone is ready to leave her alone with that attitude she has."

"Look," he says, crossing his arms and leaning against the desk between us. "I hired her as a favor to her sister."

"So, Angel works here and you get into the sister's pants?"

"She was buried in a dress," he snarks.

"Damn. Sorry."

Nodding, he rubs his meaty fingers across his brow. "They didn't grow up in a good place. Her sister was all she had left but . . ." He taps his finger against the desk as he tries to keep himself composed. "Her sister overdosed about a year ago. Angel . . . she has had a rough time. She has only been out of the hospital for a few months and there isn't anyone else around to look out for her."

I could look out for her. I don't tell him this. And based on how fast she pulled out that kubaton, I was sure she wouldn't be thrilled about it either. But I know what it means to have a sister out in this fucked up world and not being able to control what happened to her.

I get a text from Mark that prompts my conversation with Kevin to end. Unlike Mikel and Diego, Holden didn't appear to have anyone nearby to take care of his house. Luckily, Mark was able to locate the place and I only have a short time to get there and look into things before the landlord starts unhauling Holden's possessions.

I can't get the image of Angel down on all fours out of my head as I drive to the apartment. My dick is throbbing, and I have to give myself a moment to cool down before even getting out of the car.

Holden's place is a basic one-bedroom in a worn down complex. No one takes notice of me as I walk up the steps to the front door that overlooks a dingy courtyard and common area. There are a few kids sitting around and one older woman across the way gives me the stink eye as I creep toward the door. It doesn't matter. Breaking into places is second nature to me at this point. I am able to shimmy the lock and open the door in a matter of seconds. Once inside, I groan at the smell of stale – and possibly – wet garbage that permeates the place.

There is a box on the coffee table sitting open with all of his unsold drugs in clear view. Fucking dumbass. I pull out my gloves and start moving around the place looking for anything that might be of interest. There is a laptop sitting on his bed that I grab and there is a burner phone sitting on his kitchen counter. Other than these items, there isn't anything unusual about the place. At least, I think that until I start opening closets.

The hall closet's door is crooked, and it is hard to open it with its bent hinges. Inside, instead of the usual shit people toss into closets, I see a sturdy metal bar that has been reinforced into the wall studs. Pulling out my phone, I turn on the flashlight and look around the space. The walls facing the door are covered in old smears of blood. The floor is stained from blood that wasn't cleaned properly. I take a picture of the space and then double check the other rooms.

In the bedroom, there is a metal ring attached to the wall near the bed. Some digging reveals a box of ropes and metal leashes. Another box tucked in the corner of the bedroom closet contains a video camera and small box of SD cards. Holden apparently was into some freaking shit. That, or he paid women – he better have fucking paid them – to make home videos. His laptop will tell me whether or not I am correct. I am going to have to wear gloves every time I touch the fucking thing though.

I take pictures of the suspicious things around the place then make my way out of the apartment. At least now I might have a fucking lead.