Page 47 of Where Angels Fall

She nods, her eyes flicking up at me. It’s been months since I’ve come up here, maybe even years. The title of being president of the club is taking my sole purpose. But there was a time when I’d be up here nightly. A time when I needed the silence, the perspective. A dark time.

It feels different being here with her.

The lookout is more of a little alcove, a barely travelled path. Just a split in an old road, where the trees don’t block what’s hidden below. I found it when I stole my dad’s bike when I was twelve, and rode as far as I could, with the intent of never coming back. More like, this place found me.

I’d stopped right here, doubled over, air wheezing in and out of my chest, staring down at the city that harbours so much cruelty and death. Even then, even as a kid, something had clicked into place.

From here, it looked manageable. The city that I feared seemed so small, so weak. I knew in that moment that I would conquer it. Control it. I’d be the fucking cruelty.

Standing here now, all those years later, with the angel beside me, that same thought settles heavy in my gut.

She leans forward, eyes tracing the lights below, completely unaware of the monstrous thoughts I think when I look at the same view. She sees life down there; movement, possibility. I see something else. Something sick.

“Almost as good as your penthouse view,” I mock, bitterness creeping into my voice as my hands slide into my pockets.

Her throat bobs as she swallows, her eyes skimming over the moving stars below.

“Better,” she breathes.

That answer throws me. Better? With drawn brows, I watch her, heaviness settling on my chest. We stand side by side in silence, the wind whipping at our clothes. While she stares out at the city, my eyes settle on the brightest thing I’ve ever seen.

Chapter 18

Ash

She finally tears her eyes off the lights, her head turning up to face me. A line forms between her brows, her face turning hesitant. I wait.

“What happened to Kai’s hands?” She finally asks.

A heavy breath heaves out of me. Not many things make me feel sad, but that story does. I don’t have it in me to repeat my brother’s trauma.

“Growing up in this life isn’t kind, Angel,” I grunt.

She looks haunted, eyes shimmering with grief for someone she barely knows. For a Devil.

“The Devil’s did that?” She finally asks, her voice but a whisper.

“No,” my voice is gravelly. “My dad, he found them wandering the streets. They were ten. The damage was already done; their souls already blackened.”

My head shakes slightly, trying to dispel the memory. Dead-faced kids, dirty and starving. Ribs sticking out. Blood covered them, head to toe, most of it not theirs...

My dad saw something in them, of course. Saw the weapons he could manipulate them into. And as much as I love my brothers, I often wonder if it would have been better if they were left to die on the dark streets that night. Because my dad offered them nothing but cruelty. Just a different form of the cruelty that they’d fled from.

My stomach roils at the thought, and my hands curl into fists.

Tears form in her eyes; her compassion and empathy coming in spades. And it reminds me...

“Why were you crying today, Angel?”

The question has been plaguing my mind.

Her eyes drop instantly and she shakes her head. She seems embarrassed, and we can’t have that. I grip her chin, forcing her to face me.

“Tell me,” I demand, growing impatient.

“It’s nothing,” she mutters, shaking her head.

I glare down at her. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll find out. I’ll trace every step you took this morning until I figure out who upset you.”