“Who said you could you use my kitchen?” his deep guttural growl washes over my neck. I jump in surprise, plashing pasta sauce all over my tattered winter dress.
“Look what you made me do!” I snap, hiding my fear with fire.
“That dress is already a mess,” he notes.
“It’s not like you’ve left me anything else to wear,” I point out.
Angel’s eyes leave the tomato stains to scan the bubbling laboratory I’ve turned his kitchen into. “Maybe I’ll get you an apron...” he mumbles.
“How about some real clothes?” I reply.
Angel doesn’t smile, but I can tell he wants to from the flickering muscles in the space around his dimples. “I’d rather see you in just an apron.”
“Perv.”
Angel ignores my accusation, brushing by me to the boiling pot of pasta sauce. He grabs a messy ladle from the counter and takes a taste.
His eyes wide with pleasure when the sauce hits his tongue. It takes all of my will power not to clap with glee. I love it when people like my cooking, though I doubt Angel’s going to give me anything more than a subtle reaction.
“Already getting ready to be my house wife, huh?” he teases, the faintest glint of his dimples appearing under his sharp cheekbones.
“As if I’d ever marry you,” I retort, wanting him to have more of my sauce. I worked hard over this food, and part of the satisfaction of cooking a big meal is always feeding a bunch of other hungry bellies.
“As if I’d give you the choice,” Angel cuts, taking another sip of my sauce.
I let myself laugh, hoping I put enough derision behind it that Angel doesn’t catch on to the satisfaction I’m getting from seeing him enjoy something I made.
“What?” he asks, raising one of his dark eyebrows.
I quickly try to play my little slice of joy off with something more sinister. “How do you know it’s not poisoned?”
Angel’s intense gaze doesn’t leave mine as he takes another sip. “I don’t,” he says, going back for more. “But it’s worth it.”
My heart jumps at the compliment, but my brain pulls it back down, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“You’re not a bad cook,” Angel mumbles, placing the sauce stained ladle back down on the counter. His eyes wander over my ripped and stained dress. I feel like a guttersnipe taken in by the local slum lord. What does that sparkle in his eyes mean? “... I hope you don’t expect me to eat with you; I’m busy.”
Before I can even process what he’s said, the muscular brute has left the kitchen. He marches down the hall to his bedroom and I’m left to stand, utterly confused, in the smoke and the fire of my own creations.
A few minutes later, Angel’s back, changed out of his smart business suit and into his brutal biker outfit. He doesn’t stop to say goodbye. Instead, he just marches right past me and my meals, opening the front door without another word and slamming it shut behind him.
13
Angel
The small pistol fills my pocket like a black hole. I can still smell the intoxicating scents of Catalina’s home cooked meal as I jump on my bike and roar off into the darkness.
The warmth of that teasing slice of domestic bliss is too dangerous to keep right now. I’m about to do something very cold, and I can’t be held back by any snug sentiments.
Harsh gusts lash against my face as I turn into the warehouse district. The worn-down buildings and cracked pavement remind me of what I’ve had to come from to get where I am. Warmth has never been my friend, it’s the cold that has forged me. Icy bars clasp my heart in a cage of indifference. Only one thing matters: work—it’s the only thing that can matter, if I want to survive.
“They’re in there?”
Juan waits for me outside a particularly dilapidated storeroom tucked away between two abandoned factories. “Yes, sir.”
I crack my knuckles and stretch my neck. I’ll have two choices when I get inside: fight or kill. There will be no mercy.
A few hours ago, Juan made his calls to all the newspapers we have under our thumb. Most agreed to write my fluff pieces... but there were two hold-outs. The editors of Cali’s third and fourth biggest news agencies said they weren’t going to write about my generous charitable donations until they were able to thoroughly investigate another lead first. Apparently, several anonymous sources had recently tipped them off about a possible nefarious and criminal past.