As much as I don’t want to admit it, Azrael is one of the most attractive men I’ve ever met.
Realizing I’ve just been kneeling in front of him and staring up at him wordlessly, my cheeks heat. I scramble to my feet, almost bumping into him in the process.
When I’m standing, I back up until I hit my bike, needing some distance between us. “Well, I don’t have any silicone grease. Guess I’ll just grab some from Charlie and Coop.”
Azrael lets out a bone-chilling growl and clenches his fists at his side so hard his knuckles turn white. He glares down at me. “Who are Charlie and Coop?”
I attempt to back away from the clearly angry and very dangerous man in front of me, forgetting I’m already pressed against my ZX-6R. All I do is almost topple my bike and fall onto my ass. Luckily, Azrael steps into my space and steadies my Ninja for me.
“They’re my best friends,” I croak, hating myself for how I’m shrinking back from him. I’m supposed to be the new, improved Lark who isn’t scared of anyone or anything. But something about Azrael equally terrifies and intrigues me.
He squeezes his eyes tightly and grinds his teeth for a long moment. Then he snaps open his neon-gold eyes and stares me down. “I’ll take you to get it. Get your gear.”
I raise a brow at him and gesture at my Ninja’s parts strewn over the ground. “In case you haven’t noticed, my bike’s currently in pieces. I can’t ride it to an auto parts store, or anywhere, right now.”
He gives me a look like I’m being purposely dense. “You can ride on the back of my bike.”
My eyes widen in surprise. “Oh, um, I’m good. I’ll just drive over or get Coop or Charlie to pick me up.”
Azrael takes a menacing step forward and pins me against the bike, his hips flush against my stomach. His large hands land on my waist, and he leans down until we’re practically nose to nose. “Stop arguing with me and do as you’re told.”
I can feel my people pleasing rearing its ugly head. The force of Azrael’s displeasure is an almost visceral thing, and it feels like a losing battle trying to say no to him.
Don’t do it, Lark. Don’t you fucking do it.
“Okay,” I whisper.
Gah!Why? Why am I like this?
I mean, I know why, but I still hate it.
Azrael’s lips tip up into an infuriating smirk. He steps back to let me go get my gear, and I have a strong urge to throat punch him. Not that I will, because I’m, well, me, but I wish I could.
I grind my teeth as I brush past him and march angrily to my apartment. I’m not angry at Azrael as much as I am angry at myself. I’m fucking stronger than this. Or, at least, I want to be, and I hate that I’m not.
Wren would’ve given Azrael a piece of her mind. She would’ve put him in his place with the savagery that came so easily to her. There’s no way she would’ve rolled over and done as he ordered.
We were both raised in the same environment. Why did she turn out fierce, strong, and independent, while I turned out meek, timid, and with a pathological need to avoid upsetting anyone?
If one of us had to end up with Marcus, it should’ve been me. I have no fire he could’ve destroyed, and the world wouldn’t be missing much without me.
But that’s not how it worked out.
So I just have to keep trying to be more like Wren, and maybe one of these days, it’ll take. Maybe one of these days, I’ll make her proud. Maybe one of these days, I’ll actually like who I am instead of hating every part of me.
Today’s apparently not that day, so I throw on my gear and try to breathe through my fury at Azrael for pushing me around. I can already tell that being pissy toward him won’t end well for me, so I pack away as much of my frustration as I can before I stomp back out to him.
I’m not able to completely stuff it down, so I still give him a withering glare as I approach him, making my displeasure known.
The bastard just grins at me in response, seeming to enjoy my defiance. “So, the little bird does have talons after all.”
And there goes all the calm I was trying to hold on to.
“I’m polite, not weak, you Easy Bake Oven,” I growl under my breath.
Azrael barks out a laugh that’s rough, as though he doesn’t do it often. “What does that even mean?”
I give him a sickeningly sweet smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
