Angel:I can't.
Why?
Angel:Because if I come over there, I'm going to break every rule I made. And probably some laws. And definitely some promises.
Good.
Angel:Not good. Catastrophic.
Everything about us is catastrophic.
She takes another step. Another. I can see her internal war—every muscle tense, ready to run (those fucking running shoes), but moving toward me anyway like she's fighting gravity.
She sits across from me, and I catch her scent—sanitizer and sin, copper and clean, something medical under something sweet.
"Hi," she says, and her voice in person is everything. Soft, tired, with that accent that makes me want to learn Spanish just to hear her use it. But there's also guilt. So much guilt it's practically bleeding from her.
"Hi,” I breathe the words out.
She takes me in, raking her eyes from my head to my feet. "You're bigger than I expected."
I smirk. "You're exactly what I expected."
"Disappointing?"
I shake my head. "Perfect."
She laughs, nervous, and her hands fidget with the saltshaker. They're shaking—adrenaline, not fear.
"No touching," she reminds me.
"Your rules," I agree, even though every cell in my body is screaming to reach across the table.
"One hour." She eyes me, gesturing to the seat beside her.
"Your timeline."
"No real names."
I chuckle. "Diablo and Angel it is."
She looks at me then, really looks. "This is insane."
"The insanest."
"Still not a word."
"Still don't care."
She smiles, really smiles, and I know I'm completely, irreversibly fucked.
And somewhere in this city, someone's going to want me dead for this.
Worth it.
Worth every dangerous second of it.
Chapter thirteen
