by Stacy Gail
Young lady, I know this will be difficult for you to believe, but you have to know that you are in DANGER. The man you are with, Oliver Santiago, is nothing more than a violent animal with a criminal record. Every word he says is a lie. You cannot trust him, you cannot believe in him, and if you cross him there is no telling what a savage like Santiago will do to an innocent little thing like you. Please, I beg you, get away from him before it’s too late. From, your guardian angel.
It was as if a dense black cloud had raced across Angel’s world to choke out the sun and chase away all the warmth that the day had started out with. The first thing she had done was contact the property manager to ask if there was any footage of someone snooping around her place within the last forty-eight hours. Since she was told it would take a few hours to check with their security company, she and Twist then drove to her parents’ place as planned, and she did her best to hurry through the packing of all the bookshelves that lined one wall, and a filing cabinet in the corner, leaving just the desk to be cleared and cleaned out tomorrow.
But as she worked, doing her best to list the contents of each box, placing the listed inventory within and taping the box up, she couldn’t get her mind off the anonymous letter.
Oliver Santiago is nothing more than a violent animal.
Every word he says is a lie.
You are in DANGER.
The alarm that had first been sparked by this obvious invasion of her personal space by a stranger had been devoured by a slow-boiling anger, and it was enough to burn away the numbing fog that had encapsulated her brain.
Oliver.
She’d known Twist for four freaking years and she hadn’t learned his given name in all that time. True, they hadn’t exactly been the closest of pals during that period, but she knew better than to think his legal name was anything but a well-kept secret.
Whoever had targeted her mailbox with this poisoned letter, though, knew his given name. Yet she had been referred to as “young lady” when the rest of her mail in the box had clearly displayed her full name. To her mind, that meant she wasn’t known to the person who’d written the note.
But since she’d left her delivered mail in the box from yesterday, it was possible her name was known now.
Terrific.
She shoved that thought to the back of her mind before it could wig her out too much, and focused on the letter itself. Aside from his legal name, Twist’s background was also known to her mysterious pen pal. From the sound of it, whoever wrote the letter knew of Twist’s history far better than she did. That was unsettling too. But the reason it unsettled her was that someone was trying to use this lack of knowledge as a wedge to hammer between them. But that wedge would only work if she and Twist allowed it to. Whoever this letter-writing jerk was, he or she wasn’t in charge of whether or not this separated them.
They were.
“Hey.”
Angel looked up from the blank stare she’d been giving the packing tape in her hands, and when he paused in the office doorway as if he wasn’t sure of his welcome, she made a quick decision. Dropping the tape, she flew across the distance yawning between them to fling herself into him. Her arms wrapped around his neck just as he caught her up and held her hard against him, her feet dangling several inches above the floor.
“Here’s the thing,” she said against his ear, because she wasn’t sure he would let her get the words out if she didn’t say them quickly. “Somewhere along the way between the moment some asshole crashed my head against the side of my car and now, you and I stopped being a you and an I. We became a team. And the only way a team can work properly is if we believe in each other. I promise this is what you’ll always get from me, because you deserve it like the good man you are. I just need to know if I’ve got that same promise from you.”
“You know it, little girl.” For a long moment his arms squeezed her so hard she swore her rib cage groaned loud enough to be heard. Then he gently set her down, cupped both hands at the back of her head and rested his brow against hers. “I’ll admit it, babe. That piece of shit’s rattled my cage.”
She wasn’t sure whether he referred to the letter or its writer, then in the end decided it didn’t matter. “If you think about it, nothing’s changed. I’m here with you because I want to be, and you’re here with me. I didn’t learn anything from that stupid piece of paper except that you have an enemy somewhere out there that’s so cowardly he can only take potshots at you while hiding. The world still spins and we’re still a team, and nothing can shake that up unless we’re stupid enough to let it. So nothing’s changed, right?”
“He knows where you live, Angel. He went right up to your fucking door and put the motherfucking letter in your fucking mailbox—”
“If that’s the worst he can do, then he’s a piss-poor enemy as well as a coward. So what?”
Once again his arms contracted almost painfully. “You’re not taking this seriously enough.”
“Only because you’re taking it seriously enough for the both of us.”
“Goddamn it, Angel—”
“Am I safe with you?” When he pulled back a fraction in what seemed to be the beginnings of a first-class snit, she framed his face with her hands and looked into his turbulent eyes. “Is anyone or anything in this world ever going to get through you to get to me? Am I safe with you?”
For a moment those stormy eyes closed before he once again rested his brow against hers and looked at her with such ferocity she couldn’t stifle a shiver. “As long as I’m breathing, the world is a safe place for you. I swear it.”
“Exactly.” With the beginnings of a smile that she hoped would calm him, she touched her mouth to his. “Are we good?”
“Yeah.” He kissed her, but before it could get nice and deep the way she liked it, he pulled away. “No. I want to talk about that letter.”
“Okay.” She waited, determined to go at his pace, but when he didn’t say anything more, she tilted her head. “Just keep in mind that I agree with you—that letter’s a piece of shit.”
“Yeah. But there was one truth in it. You know I have a criminal record.”
“Yes, I do.” She waited, and again he didn’t take up the conversation ball and run with it. Obviously he had something to say, but just as obviously the words didn’t want to come out. They needed to, because they clearly weighed him down, and he needed to know he was just as safe with her as she was with him. “Did you know that when you were first hired by Payne, everyone whispered about you having a record, so I straight-up asked Payne about it. I wanted to know if we had anything to worry about. He told me that he never would have hired you if he didn’t trust you completely. He said he believed that you were a good man and that you were safe to have around both his employees and his clientele. That was good enough for me then, and it’s good enough for me now. If you need to get anything off your chest I’ll listen, but only because you need to do it, not because I need to hear it. I know you. That means I believe in you.”
“You really are something, you know that?” A smile started in his eyes before it found its way to his mouth, and with one last kiss he let her go. “The fact is, I am a convicted felon. I pled guilty to the charge of assault with intent to commit great bodily harm, which is a legal way of saying that short of murder, I deliberately hunted down a guy and fucked him up real good with my bare hands. For this crime, the judge saw fit to sentence me to five years, and I’m grateful now that he didn’t go all out and give me the maximum of ten. I did four years inside and the last year on probation—another reason why I kept away from you, since one of the parole requirements was that I was gainfully employed. If I had messed with you back then the way I wanted to—and God, you’ll never know how much I wanted to—I probably would have been fired and maybe even thrown back in prison to finish out my sentence. So it’s true that I have a criminal record, and it’s true that what I did was an act of violence. At the risk of making this look even worse, you also need to
know that if I had to do it all over again I wouldn’t change a fucking thing, and I sure as hell won’t apologize for it. Not even to you. Not even to make me a better man for a princess like you.”
Angel listened with her hands neatly folded in front of her. It was the only outward indication she gave that she was restraining herself from springing a thousand questions on him. Questions like whom he’d assaulted and why. Questions like why he’d pled out and not gone to trial to fight for his freedom, and the biggest of all, why he was so fervent in his assertion that what he had done was something he’d do all over again—a clear indication that there was no regret, and certainly no remorse. She’d once run a red light when she’d been late for work and had felt guilty about it for days.
Obviously her tolerance of guilt and his were set on different levels.
For that reason—and the fact that she couldn’t get the image of Twist pausing in the doorway with that uncharacteristic uncertainty clouding his expression—she tabled the questions for a later date. This letter had done what she thought was the impossible, and undermined Twist’s seemingly unshakable confidence. Right now—even though she doubted he knew this himself—he needed not questions from her, but support.
She could give him support, and throwing questions at him wasn’t the way to do it. That would have to wait for a time when he wasn’t feeling so raw, and they sure as hell could wait for a time when asking about his past wouldn’t be perceived as questions about him and the man he was. The last thing she wanted him to think was that she doubted him. She didn’t. Not for a second.
Now more than ever, he needed to know that.
“I’m not a princess, and you’re so much more than that ex-con label you keep throwing out at me like a roadblock. It doesn’t stop me from getting close to you, and I sure as hell won’t let it stop you from getting closer to me. That’s all I have to say about that particular subject. Now.” She looked around the room, keeping her hands so tightly locked together she’d cut off the circulation to her now-icy fingertips. “It took six boxes to clear the bookshelves, four to clear out the filing cabinet, but at least those big items are done. It’ll probably take another three boxes to get the desk and its contents all packed up and ready for the movers on Monday, but—”
“Angel.”
“—but that shouldn’t take any more than a couple of hours tomorrow morning. Once that’s done the house will be officially packed and ready to go. How are we on time?”
He didn’t bother to look at his watch. “We need to hit the road. Is that really all you’re going to say?”
She kept her gaze level. “What else is there?”
“What the fuck, Angel.” He came to stand before her, crowding her space. She didn’t blink or back away, determined to let him see everything that was going on inside her. “Are you kidding me? Don’t you have any questions for me?”
“Of course I do, but they’re not the highest things on my list of priorities right now.”
“Then what is?”
“You.”
He couldn’t have looked more stunned if she’d told him her most important priority was to get a sudden growth spurt so she could play professional basketball. “Me?”
“Exactly. All I really care about right now is whether or not you’re still upset over that ridiculous letter. Because it’s not worth it, my beautiful man. Once we see what the building’s security can find out, we’re going to contact the police, because as far as I know tampering with someone’s mailbox is a felony. So we’ll let them worry about it, okay? I don’t want you to waste another second’s thought about it.” She took her phone out of her back pocket and grimaced at the time, while he continued to stare at her as if he’d never seen her before. “We’d better get going if you don’t want to be late for work. As crazy as it sounds, I’m actually looking forward to seeing the House again.”
Chapter Eighteen
Angel wasn’t sure what she’d feel walking into House Of Payne’s spacious, well-lit reception area, but the purity of happiness that welled up from inside came as a surprise. Just looking at the floor-to-ceiling windows displaying the busy downtown streets of Chicago’s Loop made her smile. The modern V-shaped reception desk was as busy as ever with people either checking in for appointments, paying for appointments already finished, or browsing through six computer touchscreens embedded into the counter itself. Currently all screens were occupied with customers looking through the countless designs the House had. In other tattoo parlors, this sort of “shopping” for a tattoo was done by sifting through three-ring binder-style catalogs that had been thumbed through a thousand times over, or by perusing artwork that had been tacked up without any discernible order on the walls.
None of that was present at House Of Payne. The House was the penultimate temple built to worship the world of ink. The reason it resembled an upscale gallery was because that was exactly what it was. At House Of Payne, however, masterpieces were displayed primarily on flesh, with each one arguably more breathtaking than the last.
“Angel. Geez, girly-girl, how the hell are ya?” As stocky and solid as a fire hydrant, with almost no neck, thick shoulders and salt-and-pepper hair cut in a modified high-and-tight, Rochelle “Rocket” Hagemeier looked up from giving a client a receipt. Quickly saying her goodbyes to her customer, the forty-something woman marched around the counter to haul Angel up into a bone-cracking hug as if she and Angel had been separated for decades by a wicked stepmother. “It’s so good to see you! I haven’t had anyone to talk to during break except Tao, Twist and Scout, and the guys are idiots and Scout’s the boss man’s ears around this place. I’ve been so desperate for company I’ve had to call my old man three times just to have someone to talk to while eating lunch. When’re you coming back? I need my lunch buddy like, immediately.”
“Uh, well, I know I’m back on Monday afternoon shift.” After all, she had promised to clear her months-long waiting list so she wouldn’t leave anyone in the lurch. And then…
She’d be gone.
A wave of sorrow hit her, so strong it felt like grief. Something of it must have shown in her expression, because Twist slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in close, his lips landing gently on the crown of her head. She leaned into him, and as her arms came to wrap around his waist, a tiny, remarkably girlish squeak sounded from Rocket.
“Hot damn, you guys are finally together now, right? I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, you’re sure as hell right about that,” Twist answered before Angel could get her mouth open.
“Awesome.” Rocket beamed at them as if they’d invented the concept of becoming a couple. “About frigging time the two of you got your shit together and figured out you’re a perfect match.”
That made Angel blink. “I would think most people would say we’re polar opposites.”
Rocket waved a hand. “Pfft, no way. Even if I didn’t know the two of you as well as I do, anyone can see it in your art.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing “Our art?”
“Twist is all dark and Goth and you’re all sweetness and light. You balance each other out more than any two people I know. You always have. Can’t believe it’s taken you this long to figure it out.”
While Angel chewed on that mind-blowing concept, Payne rounded the reception desk, attention locked on her and looking unsurprised at finding her in Twist’s arms.
“Angel, I want to see you in my office.”
Considering she’d quit and there was nothing Payne could do to make her life miserable, she nevertheless suffered a twang of anxiety. Then she got a quick kiss and encouraging squeeze from Twist before she followed Payne up the stairs, her mouth unaccountably dry. She’d never made enough trouble at school to earn herself a trip to the headmaster’s, but she had a feeling it would’ve felt a lot like being called into Payne’s office.
“I’m not going to waste your time by beating around the bush,” Payne announced as they en
tered his spacious office with its floor-to-ceiling windows, massive glass and steel executive desk, conference table and black leather furniture. His art, recognizable by anyone in the business, hung framed over a low-slung sofa in a casual conversation area off to the far side of the room. It was as familiar as her own home, but for the first time she was now merely a visitor there. “I need to know what it’ll take to keep you on at House Of Payne, so go ahead and take a load off. I think we’re going to be here a while.”
She blinked before obediently planting herself on the sofa he’d indicated, while he took the overstuffed chair next to her.
“I kind of thought my leaving was already decided, Payne.”
“By you and by Scout, but I haven’t had a chance to weigh in yet. And before you give me any grief about not taking you or your resignation seriously, don’t,” he added when she opened her mouth to do just that. “You’re probably right in saying that no one else on the fucking planet has this much trouble quitting, but that’s only because no one else on the planet is as genuinely irreplaceable as you. So suck it up. Being hassled about quitting is what you gotta deal with when you’re a for-real, I-can’t-afford-to-lose-you special snowflake.”
A wealth of gratitude bloomed inside her. “Thanks, Payne.”
“Thanks?” For a long moment he looked at her with those shrewd hazel eyes of his before he shook his head and loosed what sounded like a sad sigh. “Geez, look at you. You’re actually surprised I said that.”
She really needed to work on her poker face. “Well… kinda.”
“You shouldn’t be. Your Biker Fairy Tale Princess line was the first internationally famous tattoo line that came out of the House. You helped build this place up to be what it is, so I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you go like the mere thought of it doesn’t gut me. Because it does, Angel. I’m sitting here right now, fucking gutted, because your desperation to get out tells me that I didn’t keep this place good and solid and safe for you.”
