Page 8 of Where Angels Fall

I still don’t know why I did. I loved watching the way the angel reacted when he scared her. But after she left, I just couldn’t help myself. And it felt good to split some knuckles on his thick head.

The air is still crisp as I straddle my bike, a low-rider Harley Davidson, and kick it to life, the familiar rumble feeling like home. The asshole tied up in the sheds can wait.

I have an angel to watch.

Chapter 4

Maddison

“You’re absolutely right, Malcolm. Noone blames the women in these kinds of situations,” Conrad chimes in, and my eyes beg me to let them roll up into my skull. I would be worried that someone was overhearing the loud, unashamed, misogynistic conversation happening at our table, but in a place like Aurum 14, I’m sure this is the tamest topic of conversation happening.

These guys fit right in, though, while I sit here and offer quiet chuckles to their jokes and bat my lashes at their compliments, which seem to ooze out tonight. Conrad has mentioned how good my black dress looks and obviously feels compelled to touch it, as his hand keeps finding its way onto my thigh.

Malcolm hasn’t shied away either, brazenly commenting on how well I fill it out…in front of my father, who only laughs and throws back amber liquid. My smile falters at that one, until his identical hazel eyes flicked to mine, hardening to stone.

So I fix it, pulling my lips into something pleasant as Conrad continues to palm my flesh and Malcolm’s polished shoe connects with my ankle, slowly sliding up.

Bringing my wineglass to my lips, I take a big sip, trying to drown out the overpowering scent of sweet sandalwood. The expensive sprays clogging my nose and making me dizzy. Not to mention the hairspray scent wafting off Conrad. The combination makes my stomach turn; the dim room oozing with overpriced scents and suits.

“You know,” Malcolm drawls, swirling his scotch in his glass as if he isn’t just a raging alcoholic. “I’ve always said winning over the public is just like winning over a woman. Give her some attention, whisper some sweet things to her, and it will reward you.” He winks at me, tapping my foot with his again under the table.

Conrad barks out a raucous laugh that makes the server glance over to us, though only for a second. Nobody lingers too much in a place like this.

“I’d say you're right,” Conrad adds, his voice too loud, too smug. His hand squeezes my thigh again like punctuation. “Though sometimes, you don’t need to give much attention at all. Some things are just begging for it.”

My eyes flick to my father’s, his own mask in place. The one where he finds his clients and business partners absolutely hilarious and their behaviour adequate. They don’t realise that he doesn’t have the capacity to like people, that every laugh, every clink of his scotch glass against theirs is a strategic plan. A plan where he always comes out on top. The people around him are just too stupid and egotistical to realise.

I don’t even bother searching his face for help or remorse, because I know I won’t find it. As far as he is concerned, it is my duty to take whatever these men want to give me, as well as anyone else he works with. And that thought doesn’t scare me; in fact, I don’t feel anything as Conrad slides his hand even higher, gathering the material of my dress under his palm.

My phone's chiming distracts me from the uninspiring conversation happening in front of me.

Unknown: Angel, I’m going to need you to leave that bar right now.

My brow furrows as I read and reread the words on my phone. It’s the same number from earlier, and it makes my stomach turn. I was confused when I received his first text, the one where he told me he knew my name, but now I’m nervous. A guy like that knowing anything about me, let alone how to contact me, is not what I need. I’m confused and immediately frustrated, imagining that blue eyed man standing in front of me, telling me what to do. My nails pick at the skin on my fingers, as all other voices fade out.

I know I should block him, but colour me intrigued…or just stupid.

I type back.

Maddison: Who are you to tell me what to do?

Oh yeah, stupid is a great word to describe me.

I blame this monotonous conversation that I swear I’ve heard at least a thousand times. Welcome to the corporate world. It’s great here.

Unknown: Who am I?

Unknown: Oh, my sweet, stupid Angel.

My teeth clench, and I look up, feeling eyes on my face. My fathers. He narrows his eyes, assessing my reaction, and I school my features back to neutral. I didn’t realise I was scowling at my phone.

“Well, I assure you, Malcolm, my lovely daughter will do whatever she needs to make sure the public see only the best,” my father says curtly, his eyes locked on mine.

While Conrad’s hand continues to grip my thigh, Malcolm's joins in, sliding his hand on my other leg, and I find myself slipping to that quiet place. The one where my breaths slow and my body feels tingly, the hands gripping at me a distant sensation.

I see where tonight is going, one way or another, and would rather get it done sooner rather than later. Exhaustion weighs heavily on my shoulders, and it’s getting late. Somehow these meetings run for hours.

Malcolm’s eyes travel up and down my body, obviously not satisfied from our meeting not even a week ago. The one that sent me to a criminal establishment that I nearly didn’t walk out of.