Page 15 of Where Angels Fall

Leaving that look of pity in his hard eyes seared into my brain. It takes me a few minutes to finally stand; the sound of the city hits me as soon as I step out of the door.

The city moves around me in fast-forward. Cars honk, people rush, and the wind gusts. But I feel frozen. My only options are to avoid him and pray he loses his sick interest in me.

A text sounding pulls me out of my head, and I pull my phone out.

Unknown: I hope they were polite to you, Angel. I’d hate to have to fire anyone.

My stomach turns as I glare down at the message, reading it and rereading it until it’s burnt into my mind. The police were never going to help me. Not when Ash Vargas owns them.

The pedestrian light flashes red, forcing me to stop at the edge of the road. Cars rush past in a blur of metal and noise, the wind tugging at my hair, whipping it across my face.

And then I feel it.

That prickle between my shoulder blades, like spiders running down my spine.

The unmistakable sensation of being watched.

My eyes lift... and widen.

Across the busy street, half shadowed beneath the soaring glass skyscrapers, a black Harley idles like a predator at rest. Leaning against it is a man I’ve definitely seen before. Leather vest stretched tight across his chest, dark arms covered in black swirls crossed.

He isn’t looking at a phone. Isn’t scanning the street. His dark eyes are on me. Watching me, unblinking. When I spot him, he doesn’t bother to look away, eyes locking together.

Not Ash Vargas, but one of his unnerving members. The one with the identical twin.

The light changes and people surge forward, but I don’t move. My heart pounds so hard I swear it’s visible beneath my blouse.

So, I’m being stalked now. Great, that’s just great.

Anger snaps through me, clean and hot, slicing straight through my fear. After the meeting I just had with the deputy, the sinister text I just received and now this. My jaw tightens as I curl my hands into fists.

I refuse to be hunted. After all I have survived, this man will not get the best of me.

Stepping off the curb, I weave through the crowd of bodies, eyes never leaving his dark ones. With every step, the fury builds, fed by humiliation, helplessness, and frustration.

I don’t stop until I’m standing right in front of him.

Up close, he’s even more terrifying. Tall and broad, his body is built of pure muscle. His presence presses in on me without him moving an inch. Dark, empty eyes meet mine with zero feeling.

No curiosity, no anger, no interest.

Just observation.

“What do you want?” I snap, voice shaky with my growl. “What does he want from me?”

The street noise continues around us, but he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t blink or shift. Just stares at me with those black, soulless eyes.

My anger falters, unease slithering in its place.

“Stop following me,” I demand, heat trembling beneath my words. “Whatever game you think this is, I’m not playing it.”

Still nothing. Not a word. Not a reaction. Only the low rumble of the Harley, vibrating through the air. His eyes are like bottomless pits of night, so dark I can’t differentiate his pupil from his iris.

He could be a statue if it weren’t for the slight rise and fall of his chest. Overwhelmed by the intensity, I drop my eyes. They fall to his ink-covered arms, so full of tattoos I can barely see any of his dark olive skin. Something else catches my attention. Hundreds of small, raised circles covering his arms, hidden by the ink. They look like tiny scars, littering his skin.

For the first time since I spotted him, he moves, uncrossing his arms and folding them behind his back, hiding them from my view. My brow furrows as I look up at him again, but his eyes reveal nothing. My eyes flick between his, trying to get my mind to remember what I came up to him to say, but it’s slipped away.

“Just...” I start with a defeated sigh. “Tell him to leave me alone.”