Flawed Angel (The Fall Book 1)

by J. J. Dean

  He’s staring at me now, like he’s trying to work me out, as though he was expecting something else when he first spoke to me, maybe? I don’t know, but it’ll take a lot longer than a brief meeting at a cemetery to work out even the smallest bit of everything that is me, and I’m in no mood to be spending the rest of my day hanging out where the dead are buried, letting some guy put the pieces of a complicated puzzle that is my life together.

  I’m about to turn away when he stops me with another attempt to talk. “You sure do cuss a lot.”

  I stare at him for a few moments before bluntly responding, my face deadpan. “Sure as shit, I do.” After a few minutes of silence, I decide it really is time for me to leave and I blurt, "Well, Asher Ryan, this has been a grand ol’ time, but I've got coffee to drink and books to read so... In a while, crocodile."

  I give him a random salute with a quick smile and then I'm twisting around and marching my way out of the cemetery.

  “Whoa, wait! You didn’t even give me your name!” his deep, warm voice calls after me.

  I turn around so I’m walking backwards before calling back, “Sure as shit, I didn’t!” and then I’m twisting back around and leaving him standing there staring after me. I start to navigate my way back to Frenchie's, not once looking back.

  Fine! I looked back twice.

  ***

  "Francis! Francis, I need the biggest coffee you can give me and all the cookies. It's one of those days!" I yell across the room as soon as I make it to my favorite place on Earth and the door closes.

  I receive a few distasteful looks from the customers already enjoying their hot beverages and engaging in conversation, but I pay them no mind and walk straight to the counter. Ms. Frenchie is already busy making my drink when I reach the counter. She's such a sweetheart.

  "Where've you been, Loony Toon? It's half past twelve. You're normally in your chair by five past nine, a drink in one hand and a book in another."

  She's right. I'm normally here at no later than five past nine, no exceptions. Except today just wasn't meant to be my day, regardless of the hottie I essentially stalked earlier. I take a deep cleansing breath before spilling my tale of how today sucks balls.

  "So, I woke up hella early, like always, and the shop wasn't open yet, so I watched a movie and then went to Starbucks for a coffee. I saw something out of the corner of my eye and stalked it. Turns out it was a dude that had been trying to shake me when he realized I was following him. I accidentally stalked a guy, Francis. I ended up in a cemetery in fuck-knows-whereville, had a weird interaction with my stalkee and then had to try and navigate my way home. Only I didn't have my phone for GPS, so I was literally lost. Took me three wrong buses and an hour walk to get back to my apartment to pick up my stupid phone. In between waiting for buses, I also spilled my fresh coffee over my shirt, but thankfully it's black, so no stains." I take a quick breath once I'm done catching Ms. Frenchie up on today’s antics.

  "What happened to the spare key I gave you for the shop?" she asks, perplexed. The key? Oh, for Hell’s sake. She gave me a key last month because I kept calling her to let me in early when I got bored at home. Typical.

  "Ugh. I forgot you gave me that," I groan and thump my head on the counter. "I've had a morning from Hell all for nothing."

  The old lady pats my head, seeming a little too patronizing for my state of mind right now, but is quickly forgiven as she slides a plate of cookies under my nose when I raise it to glare at her.

  "You're an angel, thank you," I offer sweetly, shooting her a grateful grin.

  "Go sit in your chair. I'll bring your coffee over." She smiles softly.

  I blow her a kiss before I shimmy my way through the tables to reach my corner. I drop my purse on the floor near my chair and place the cookies on the table, and then head to the plethora of books Ms. Frenchie has displayed on the entire wall. Would you believe she has more in storage? She's as much of a book nerd as I am. Our friendship really was meant to be. It was written in the stars or some shit.

  I pick up a book called Reviving Kendall - one I've read too many times to count but can never get enough of - and hug it to my chest before shuffling to my corner and plonking my ass down into my heavenly chair.

  The rest of my day goes by without any other mishaps. It’s spent slurping down as much coffee as my slim body can handle and reading my favorite books, happy that Ms. Frenchie keeps them on her shelves. The sky is already dark by the time closing time comes around, so I pack up my things, help Ms. Frenchie out with closing shop and walk to my car once everything is cleared away.

  As I'm walking the short distance to my car, I get a niggling thought at the back of my mind about the guy I'd met earlier in the day. I can't place my finger on it, but something felt eerily familiar.

  I ponder on it as I walk to my car, as I'm driving home, and mull over it some more as I'm walking the steps to my apartment. What is it that felt familiar? I run over the events in my head, not picking up on anything out of the ordinary...other than the flash of color in his eyes when his hand shook mine. That was weird. I mean, my eyes flash...My thoughts trail off as sudden realization hits me harder than an oncoming train.

  My eyes are the only ones that flash.

  Angel eyes are the only eyes that flash.

  Fuck me running.

  The bastard’s an Angel.

  Asher

  I'm still left reeling after the encounter I had with a certain sassy, purple haired woman when I stride into the motel room Elijah and I are renting for however long we're here in this shithole. There’re a few things I didn't expect when we got here, one of those things being: I did not expect to find the Fallen so fast. Talk about chance encounter. I was actually on my way to scout out her normal haunts, get a feel for her routine, when low and behold, the little spitfire stalks the shit out of me. I didn't realize she was who we were here for until she got a little too close when I was trying to shake her off and I felt a little tug in my chest, indicating that one of my own was near. Given that I knew where Elijah was, that only left the woman, our purple headed Fallen Angel.

  It was then that I started walking us in circles to check if she'd follow behind me the entire time. Luck must have been on my side when she did exactly that. She lost me amongst the graveyard when I snuck around the worn-down mausoleum and watched her stunning face morph into a look of confusion. Something that got worse the second she saw the statue He had made of her and left to rot in the cemetery.

  Yep, even He has His moments. Think of it as Him having a little tantrum, creating something that looked like His prized possession and then left it to wither away. He felt like His star Angel had died when she chose to Fall, and so He only saw fit to put a replica of her in a cemetery. Dramatic, I know. But that's God for you.

  The second thing I wasn't prepared for? The way she fucking looked.

  Holy shit.

  The Angel we've been sent to sway to Hell's corner looks like that's exactly where she belongs, and I mean that in the best way possible. The woman is slim but has curves in all the right places, something easy to display in those skin-tight black jeans and half of a shirt she was wearing. She had a body that was made for nothing but sin. And don't think I missed the little sneak peek of the tattoos covering her shoulders through the cut outs of her shirt and the right side of her waist where her skin was on display between her shirt and her jeans.

  Though she looked like she was on the damned track to Hell, she kind of looked like she was on the righteous path to Heaven, too. Her face was sharp, but her smile was soft. Her mouth drew up in a wicked smirk just before she left me standing in a cemetery like a dunce, but her eyes gave away the warmth and compassion she has tucked inside her lean frame. A weird combination if I've ever seen one, but damn did she make it look fucking good.

  I scrub my hands over my face roughly, a second before Eli struts out of the bathroom in nothing but low hanging jeans.

  "What's up with you, bro?" he questions
with a raised eyebrow when he catches me still standing by the door like a moron.

  I scrub a little harder, trying to get my thoughts off the damn Angel, before turning to face the man I call a brother. Although not by blood, he's my brother in every way that counts. We stood by each other when the Reckoning took place, both choosing to side with Lucifer, even though he's a total dick. We felt like it was the better option, having our freedom to do as we please, no rules or commandments. Do I regret it? Sometimes. Only when the Dick himself decides to call upon one of us to do his dirty work. Asshole.

  "Found the Angel," comes my gruff response as I make my way to the crappy single bed and sit down. His eyebrows almost hit his red tinged hairline with my declaration, and it almost makes me smile. Almost.

  "That was fast. How did you manage that?" he asks in awe, scratching his five o'clock shadow around his chin and jaw.

  "Complete accident. Thought she was just a rando following me. Ran around in circles for just shy of an hour and ditched her at the cemetery some blocks over. Watched her for a little bit and thought she was harmless enough, so I went and introduced myself. Shook the girl’s hand and her eyes lit up like a damn Christmas tree...literally. It's her, man," I reply, only relaying the important facts he actually needs to know. Call me a selfish brute, but I want to keep her to myself if just for a little while. The second my brother’s’ eyes land on her, he'll be all over her like a god-damned rash.

  "Well, shit. We might be home sooner than we thought." He chuckles with his playful grin that has me almost smiling again. You've probably guessed it by now, but I'm not a smiler. I'm not one to do the whole grinning playful shit that Eli has perfected. I'm a brooding bastard through and through. Smirking at the Fallen Angel, whose name I still don't know, was an anomaly I'm sure won't happen again. The closest I've come to smiling was when Eli bought the stupid demon hound puppy that torched his entire wardrobe one day when Eli didn't give him more food. Now that was certainly worthy of a smile.

  "Uh, yeah, maybe." I cough, nodding my head non-committedly. I’m sure, if it were any other chick we were here for, we’d be home a few hours after meeting her. But, from this woman's back bone and fire... Let’s just say I have a feeling we’ll have our work cut out for us.

  “Okaaay,” he drags out, looking at me warily. I don’t look back at him, instead focusing on pulling my phone out of my jacket pocket and Googling local hangouts in the area. I can feel Eli’s eyes burning a hole into my skull, but I don’t acknowledge it.

  “Spill it. What are you hiding?” he finally blurts after a few minutes of silence, grabbing a rickety chair from under the grimy desk and dragging it over to sit directly in front of me.

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” I respond, still avoiding his face.

  He stares at me a little longer, leaning his elbows on his knees. He only moves from the position to shift himself forward an inch on the chair, moving closer and closer until his nose is almost touching mine. Have I mentioned he can irritate the shit out of anyone for answers?

  “Fuck! Fine. We might not be going home so soon,” I start. “The woman, Angel, isn’t exactly a delicate flower, okay? Damn near bit my head off for standing in the same cemetery as she was. It’s going to be one hell of a challenge to convince this one to come back to Hell with us.”

  His mouth stretches into a wide grin, never one to back down from a challenge. It’s like the fucker thrives on that shit.

  "Okay, so what's the plan?" Eli asks, excitement lacing his words.

  He's always been playful and easy going. It's a wonder we're as close as we are, given the fact that we're polar opposites. Where I'm a moody bastard on the best of days, Eli will always find something to smile about, whether it be small or big. While I'd rather sit silently in a room, Eli always finds a way to strike up conversation. If you were to compare us, he'd be pure light and I'd be suffocating darkness. It works for us, though. For Millennia, standing side by side has formed the closest brotherly bond I've ever witnessed.

  I roll my eyes before responding. "The plan is, we need to scout the place. Check the area out before your gig at that little coffee shop next week. We'll need to keep an eye on the woman, too. Get a feel for her routine, get to know the places she hangs out at, that sort of thing. Normal recon for the week. We'll approach her the night of the gig," I plan out for him, already one step ahead of him now that I've met the Angel.

  A strange sense of excitement forms in my chest at the thought of seeing her again. It's not a feeling I understand at all given the fact that we've had one brief encounter, one where she had zero filter, shocked me with her knockout looks, and wiped her hand off after shaking mine. She's got me thoroughly intrigued by a twenty-minute meeting, and I have no idea how she did it.

  ***

  We’ve spent the entire week trailing our Angel, who I managed to find out calls herself Luna, watching her every move. We watch her every move and have her routine memorized; we know every single store the frequents and found out that the coffee shop Elijah has his little gig at is the same store we found our Angel visiting more than her own apartment. His gig that happens to be tonight.

  “I need her car, bro. Like, really bad. Have you seen that beauty?” Eli drools, staring at the seriously badass looking Dodge that I’ve eyed at the corner of my eye more times than I can count.

  I give him a swift smack of my palm upside his head before my reprimand. “Can you focus for two minutes, please?”

  We’ve been standing in the ally just to the side of the store, waiting for the sun to settle before heading inside the coffee shop. Eli insisted on going inside first, but I have the upper hand seeing as though I’ve met her already, something I’d been lowkey smug about.

  The plan is to go in, have a conversation, and get to know more about her. The more we know about our Angel, the more we have to use to sway her to our side of the spectrum. Something Eli was all too eager to get on with.

  Eli had taken one look at the woman and laughed. “Bro, she already looks like she’ll fit right in at home.”

  “You’re telling me,” I gruffly reply.

  He’d bitten his fist at watching her curvy ass sway temptingly as she walked every day, drooled at her choices of outfits that mainly consisted of short flowing dresses or the tightest damn jeans I’ve ever seen, and stared wantonly at her tattooed flesh that we quickly came to find she is not shy in flashing. In short, he was fucked, and I knew he would be the second his eyes landed on her. I’m man enough to admit I’m not faring any different, but unlike my brother, I can hide it a lot better. But now, I have a weird sense of nervousness creeping into my stomach at the prospect of having another unusual conversation with the unfiltered woman.

  Unfortunately for Elijah, however, he drew the short straw and has to wait in the cold while I go inside and strike up a conversation with our Angel until I text him the all clear to come inside with the band. A band full of humans he only met an hour after landing on Earth. I don’t even know how he got the gig or where he met the guys, but I’m not complaining, seeing as though they were unwittingly helping us out.

  “Okay, you ready?” I ask Eli, checking the time on my phone to see that it’s now a quarter past seven. Our Angel should already be inside with a book in hand like she is most days. Time to move.

  “Yep. Just text me and I’ll call the other guys to meet me here,” he responds, nodding and reaching for his phone so he has it at the ready.

  With a quick final nod, I push away from the wall I’d been leaning on and turn the corner. I make my way into the shop, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and something deliciously baked permeating the air and spot the purple headed spitfire instantly. She’s sitting in the corner, relaxed in an armchair and her nose practically enveloped by the book. Her long, lithe legs are crossed, and her purple dress has risen up to flash more tattoo covered thigh than I would have expected to see. Fucking hell.

  I shake off the sudden pang of arousal and
make my way towards her, pushing my way through the tables littered around the room.

  Guess it’s showtime.

  Luna

  The week has flown by. I’ve gone about my normal routine, mainly hanging out with Ms. Frenchie, or ‘bugging the shit out of Ms. Frenchie’ as she so kindly put it. All week I’ve felt like someone is watching me, the same feeling I had before last week when I was setting up for the band, but I’ve opted to ignore it and decided that Angels can, in fact, go crazy.

  I'm at Frenchie’s at five to seven in the evening, five minutes early per the time requested of me. I'm in my chair with a book in hand by the time seven comes around. I spot Ms. Frenchie behind the counter and blow her a kiss that she pretends to catch and puts it in her cable knit cardigan. I softly laugh before focusing on my book, opting to get lost in a world of magic and intrigue.

  I'm jolted out of my little book bubble when a stranger drops down in the chair directly opposite my own. My book is only a few inches away from my face, so I don't see the bubble popper, but I can feel my intruder’s presence. Plus, their leg brushed mine before the stranger sat down.

  A low clearing of someone's throat sounds from in front of my book, where the stranger sits, but I pay it no mind. My book is calling to me, and the band should be playing shortly. I need to get as much of my book fix in as I can before I must abandon my cause and help Ms. Frenchie for the night. Another throat clearing makes that an impossibility, however. With an over exaggerated huff, I pull my book down away from my face and my jaw goes slack. What in the unholy Hell is he doing here?

  Asher Ryan sits comfortably in his chair, his legs resting apart casually with his fingers intertwined on his stomach. He's in a pair of dark Levi's, a black torso hugging shirt, but sans the leather jacket he was sporting when we first met. His jacketless state gives me an eyeful of beautiful black and gray tattoos that line his left arm and crawl up under his shirt. He's a prime piece of perfection. Scary perfection, but I'm not one to judge. I mean, he's the only guy to actually sit this close to me in here.