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"Let me guess.. Family?"

I nod.

"What did they say?"

I don't want to repeat it. I don't want to give those words any more power than they already have. But Angel is looking at me with so much concern and patience that I need to tell him.

"My father says if I don't come back by tomorrow morning, I'm cut off. No money, no family, nothing." My voice breaks again. "And my stepmother… She said my mother would be ashamed of me."

Angel's expression goes cold. Not angry, colder than that. Deadly.

"Your mother?" he asks.

"She died giving birth to me. I never knew her. And my stepmother, Victoria, knows that, she knows I—" I stop, swallowing hard. "She knows exactly how to hurt me."

Angel's jaw is so tight I can see the muscle jumping. "What's your father's name?"

"Why?"

"Because I want to know who I'm dealing with when I tell him to fuck off and leave you alone."

The words are so blunt, so protective, that I almost start crying again.

"You can't—"

"Yeah, I can." His hands slide from my shoulders to cup my face, thumbs brushing away the tears on my cheeks. "I told you. You're wearing my cut. That makes you mine. And nobody, fucking nobody, gets to make you cry like this. Not your father, not your stepmother, not anyone."

"Angel…"

"You're not going back," he says, and it's not a question. "Right?"

"No," I whisper. "I'm not going back."

"Good." He holds my gaze. "Then fuck them. They don't get a say anymore."

"But what if he's right? What if I can't do this on my own? What if—"

"You're not on your own." His voice is firm. "You've got me. You've got the club. You've got a job starting tomorrow. You've got a place to stay. You're not alone, Bree."

"I barely know you," I say, even though I don't want to. Even though part of me wants to just accept what he's offering and not question it.

"I know."

"And you're already… You're doing all this for me, and I don't understand why."

Angel's thumbs brush across my cheekbones again. "Because the second I saw you at O'Malley's, something in me recognized something in you. And I don't know what this is yet, but I know it matters. So yeah, I'm doing all this. And I'm gonna keep doing it. You gonna let me?"

I stare at him, and for the first time since I turned on my phone, I feel like I can breathe.

"Yeah," I whisper.

"Good," he repeats.

He pulls me back against his chest, and I let him. I wrap my arms around his waist and hold on, and he rests his chin on top of my head.

"Have you eaten since those pancakes?" he asks after a moment.

"Granola bars."