Page 135 of Trapped Truth

Westend Deli is as workaday as it sounds. Of all the places to hold this reunion, it feels a little surreal. But the big, shuttered windows and quiet industrial surroundings do tick all the boxes. I have a direct line of sight inside the closed-up shop where two figures occupy a single vinyl booth.

My fingers flex on the cool metal of my gun. Breathing becomes increasingly difficult with the leaden weight settling on top of my panting lungs. From here, a feminine physique with elegantly styled hair is visible.

“You can do this.” Ember stands resolute at my side.

“What if she thinks I’m like him? She must hate me.”

“I don’t think Angela would agree to meet if she hated you. Hold your head high, Blaine. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

“Did you imprison her?” She hits me with stormy, blue-grey eyes that flare with raw conviction.

“No, of course not. I would’ve gotten her out years ago if I’d known she was alive.”

“Then go in there and do exactly what you came to do. Have a little faith.”

At the steadying look on her face, I nod tersely then push open the door for us to enter as a duo. In an instant, the towering male in the booth rises, a weapon drawn at the ready to unload into us. Ember unholsters her gun while I spread my hands wide.

“We’re only here to talk.”

“Blaine Madden.” He gives us a tight nod. “You came.”

“Mind lowering the weapon?”

“Tell your guard dog to do the same, and I will.”

“My partner doesn’t take well to name calling,” I caution coolly. “I’d tread carefully if I were you.”

With her back still turned, the woman sitting at the table reaches out a hand to touch her counterpart. He glances down at her, his mouth sealed in a displeased line.

“It’s okay, Azrael. Stand down.”

Alarm trickles through me at the familiar name. Surely not. Even in my circles, rumours about the ghastly Angel of Death are few and far between. Most consider the infamous mercenary to be a ghost story rather than a real person.

He complies, lip curled in disagreement. “Fine.”

At my side, Ember follows the same path, tucking her weapon back into place. I feel her warmth shuffle closer to my side as the woman stands, exiting the booth to fully face us from across the shop floor.

Here goes nothing.

As soon as her features grow discernible, I completely forget how to breathe. Endless raven pits flecked with undulating blue waves peer back at me. The same eyes I meet in the mirror each morning, only slightly rounder and framed with lavish lashes.

She’s tall. Willowy. Light, chestnut-brown hair is pulled back from her narrow features and sweeping jawline in a neat updo. I don’t know what I was expecting, but simple black trousers and a neat chiffon blouse with billowing sleeves wasn’t quite it.

“Blaine.” She intones my name slowly, individually testing each syllable. “That’s what he called you?”

I unglue my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “Last I checked.”

“Right… Thank you for coming.”

Head slanted, Angela takes her time looking over me, near-black gaze searing like corrosive acid. Her evaluation feels like being stripped bare. Not wholly unpleasant, but far more exposing than I’d usually tolerate.

“Will you sit?” She eventually motions to the table.

“Is it just the two of you?”

“Yes, no one else knows we’re here.”