by Celia Aaron
“I know.” She sighed and shook her head.
I got out and held out my hand for her. She took it, her warmth like a ray of light in my palm.
Whisking her inside, I kept her close and surveyed the room we’d entered. Rows and rows of white dresses covered in plastic lined what had to be two-dozen racks. Angel’s dark hair flowed in a shiny wave down her back, and I had to force my gaze away from her. I had a job to do. But her scent and nearness wasn’t making it easy.
“I’m Carmen, your assistant for the day. This way, please.” The short-haired woman struck off at a quick pace through the maze of racks.
“Who else is here?” I kept Angel in front of me, ready to push her to safety if anything went down.
“We’re closed on Sundays, so it’s just me and my manager, Mr. DeWalt.”
“The doors locked?” I scoped the warehouse for any more entrances, but I only saw the door we came through and one truck bay that looked sealed up tight.
“Everything is locked. There’s no entry except through the front doors, the back, or the receiving dock.” Her tone was clipped, and I appreciated her all-business manner. “You aren’t the first specialty client we’ve had. Trust me.”
I didn’t trust anyone.
We exited into a large showroom, mirrors on most surfaces and dresses hanging on racks here and there. The white carpet was pristine, and it seemed everything was a shade of white. This area was blocked off from the glass windows. No sniper would have a shot. I didn’t relax, exactly, but I let Angel walk a few steps ahead.
“We already have a room for you.” Carmen moved with ease on her stiletto heels and stopped at a white door only a few yards from the main floor. Swinging the door open, she revealed a room full of dresses with wide, puffy skirts. The wall was packed with materials overflowing, all the designs somehow enormous on the bottom. “Mr. Blanco was very clear on what sort of dresses you preferred.”
“Ballgowns.” Angel’s shoulders slumped a little more. “Of course.”
“Shall we get started?” Carmen either didn’t notice or ignored Angel’s lack of enthusiasm. I suspected the latter.
“Sure.” Angel walked into the room, and Carmen closed the door.
Jorge appeared from the front and spoke with an older man in an almost too-tight light gray suit. Must be Mr. DeWalt, the manager.
“Secure?” I asked, though I didn’t trust his answer. I’d have to check the front doors myself.
“Yeah.” Jorge plopped down on a white couch. “I’ll have a champagne.” He waved at Mr. DeWalt, who to his credit, swallowed whatever disdain he may have felt and rushed away.
I didn’t like leaving Angel, but I had to do a quick security check. Once I’d inspected the front doors and returned to the main show floor, she was standing in front of the wide mirrors, the gown she was wearing swallowing her whole.
“What do you think?” Carmen puffed the skirt even more. The top was overdone with sparkling crystals and too much fabric on her arms and down the back. And the skirt was an explosion of some fluffy material.
“It’ll do.” Angel shrugged.
Jorge downed his champagne and handed the glass to Mr. DeWalt for a refill. “Does that mean we’re done?”
“Mr. Blanco made it clear she needed to try on at least the ten dresses he picked.” Carmen’s nose wrinkled as she stared at the mess of white surrounding Angel. “And I think we can find something a bit more fitting than this one.”
“Fine.” Jorge drained his second champagne glass, then leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Wake me when you’re done.”
Mr. DeWalt took the empty glass. “If it’s all right, I have some alteration work that needs doing on a few dresses. Yards of lace on a custom piece from the trunk show.” He sighed. “May I?”
I waved him away. “No problem.”
He tipped his head in my direction and disappeared into the white maze at the side of the store. The low whir of what must have been a sewing machine started up, the rhythmic stab of the needle oddly calming.
Angel stepped down from the little modeling pedestal and walked back to her room. Head down, eyes dead. Just seeing her like this—complacent and broken—caused something to roar inside me. Pain and longing and a million more emotions I didn’t want to feel.
I turned away from her, no matter how much I needed to take her in my arms, and walked into the warehouse to check the back doors again. Walking down the row, I let my gaze fall to the dresses lined up. I didn’t know two fucks about fashion, so I kept going and checked the doors. On the way back, I stopped in the aisle. One dress was slightly askew on the rack. I reached for it and pulled it out.
White lace. At least, I think it was lace. The top was some shimmery material with the lacy stuff that outlined the upper chest and covered the bodice part, then flowed down to a narrow skirt of more solid material. I turned it over, the bag crinkling in my palm. The back was open, but circled with that lace and shimmery material that ended in the solid skirt. Closing my eyes, I could see Angel in this dress, the way it would hug her curves. No princess skirt and overdone bullshit, just understated beauty. But again, what did I know about fashion?
I almost put it back. Hesitated. Then thought fuck it and stomped down the aisle toward her dressing room. Jorge was already snoring on the couch as I passed the dress through the crack in the door, Carmen’s red-nailed fingers grasping it.
“And this is?” She peered at me.
“Another one from the boss. Try it.” For the first time in a long, long time, color rose in my cheeks. What the fuck was I doing?
Carmen narrowed her eyes, but pulled the dress the rest of the way in and closed the door in my face.
15
Angel
The next ballgown I donned looked like the snow queen vomited all over the bodice and skirt. So sparkly, so overdone, and so not me. But this wasn’t about me. It was about Hector. So I let Carmen pin the back closed and send me out to the wide mirrors.
Somewhere deep in the store a sewing machine hummed. Jorge snored lightly on the couch. Good. I didn’t need his ridicule.
David leaned against a wall next to a tiara display. His gaze followed me, but he didn’t give any indication of his opinion on the dress I wore. Then again, I supposed that was indication enough.
“This one is …” Carmen tapped a finger against her lips.
“It’ll do.” I was over it. This wedding was a farce, and I didn’t care how I looked.
“Not the one.” Carmen offered her hand and helped me down.
I didn’t look at David. Even though this should have been one of the happiest days of my life—shopping for a wedding dress with no limit on price—it felt like just another huge step toward my doom. Out from the frying pan of Hector and into the fire of Lorenzo. Why didn’t you come for me, David?
Carmen hustled me back into the changing room and stripped the fluff ball off me. She hesitated for a moment, then grabbed a dress on the end of the rack.
For the first time since I’d walked in, I actually looked at what she offered. This dress had me reaching out and running my fingers down its plastic covering. Lace bodice, sweetheart cut-out, and a fitted skirt.
Carmen freed it from its plastic prison and shook it out. When she turned it around, I bit my lip. The back was gorgeous and open, ringed with the fine lace and tapering to the skirt. Had Hector picked this for me? I shot a glance at the rest of the gowns. None of them were like this one.
“Step into it.” Carmen held it for me, and I slipped both feet inside the material. She pulled it up and helped me with the sleeves, then pinned the lower part of the bodice together.
I stared at my reflection even as my eyes began to water. This dress was meant for a woman, not a princess. It was beautiful on me, suited to my tastes. Classic.
Carmen beamed. “I know that look.”
I shook my head. “Are you sure Hector picked this for me?”
She shrugged but didn’t meet m
y eye. “The large man outside said so when he handed it in.”
“David gave you this dress?” I spun so I could see the back.
“If David is the giant outside, then yes.” She peered hard at the mirror. “This one could be tailored to fit you in time if you buy it off the rack. But let’s see it in the big mirror before we make any decisions.” Opening the door to the main salon, she ushered me out.
I pulled up the skirt and walked barefoot along the white carpet.
A strangled sound pulled my gaze to David. He’d stopped leaning on the wall and stood straight up, his eyes fastened to me. God, the look on his face. Any woman would kill for it—surprise mixed with amazement and tinged with a dash of lust.
I may have pranced a bit on my way to the small stage in front of the wide mirrors, and my cheeks definitely burned as I stepped up and Carmen arranged the train for me.
She stepped back and inspected every bit of the dress, her shrewd eyes making a circuit. I couldn’t look away, mesmerized by the bride in the mirror. I pushed down the bitterness, the hatred for Hector and Lorenzo, and simply basked in this one perfect moment where I could pretend I wanted a wedding, wanted this future, belonged in this beautiful gown.
Carmen finally nodded. “You look—”
“Stunning.” David’s low voice washed over me like a warm wave.
He moved toward me, his eyes still sparkling with wonder. How could he melt me with one look? All the anger at him abandoning me seemed inconsequential when he stared at me like that—like I was precious, special, a waking dream.
“This is the one.” Carmen pinched the fabric a little more at my waist. “We need to pull it in here, and maybe let it out just a little at the hip.” She’d already switched to alterations mode. “We could get the sewing done in a couple of weeks. We’re backed up at the moment. Our best seamstress is on maternity leave, though Mr. DeWalt is jumping in to help.”
David stopped behind me, but his face began to harden again. “Mr. DeWalt.” His eyes began to scan the room.
“Yes.” Carmen fussed with the train a little more. “He’s a highly skilled tailor. Worked in alterations before his promotion to manag—”
“Shh.” David moved closer until he stood right behind me.
Carmen stilled. “What?” she whispered.
“The sewing machine stopped.” He grabbed me and fell backward right when the mirror in front of me shattered with the unmistakable sound of a gunshot.
16
Angel
My ears rang as everything seemed to happen at once. Jorge yelled and dropped down on the couch. David cradled me and took the impact of his back to the floor as more shots came in rapid succession, shattering glass and dropping Carmen to her knees, her hand grasping a spreading red bloom on her shirt sleeve.
“Down, woman!” David barked at her.
David rolled until he was on top of me, then pulled both guns from his holsters. The shots he unleashed had me instinctively covering my ears.
Jorge cowered behind the couch.
“Cover us. I’m getting her out of here,” David yelled over the gunfire.
Jorge gave him a wide-eyed look. “I’m not staying behind!”
David’s jaw hardened as pieces of the walls exploded, more glass shattered, and it seemed as if an entire team of assassins were just beyond my sight. Acid pooled in my stomach, and I couldn’t seem to focus on any one thing. Too much. It was all too much.
“We’re going. Now.” David fired toward the front and side of the store until his guns only clicked, then grabbed me and pulled me toward the back door. “Run if you want to live,” he gritted out to Carmen as we passed her. She was just as dazed as I was.
“Carmen!” I shouted.
She snapped her head up as I passed.
“Run. Now!” I couldn’t save us, but at least I could try. Leaving her bleeding on the floor was a certain death sentence.
“I …” She shook her head as if to straighten out the shitstorm around us. “Yes.” Rising, she followed us into the warehouse area, Jorge right behind her. He slammed the door.
David reloaded, then grabbed my hand. “Keep your head down.” He eased out into the sea of white dresses. His grip on me never faltered, and despite the danger, I felt a calming wave of certainty: he would protect me. I doubted everything in my life, but that was one touchstone I couldn’t toss aside. He was here with me now, and he’d promised me he wouldn’t let anything happen to me.
Shots erupted from our right, and the delivery bay was wide open. David returned fire and pulled me along the row toward the door we’d entered. It was still shut tight. David tugged me harder, but it was hard to run in the fitted dress that was meant for standing and gliding, not sprinting for my life.
David stopped abruptly and fired a shot right in front of us. I couldn’t see anything beyond his wide back, but his satisfied grunt sent an ominous shiver through me.
He swept his arm around my waist and lifted me over the man lying on the floor. He was still alive, but bleeding from a wound in his stomach. I glanced behind us, but Carmen was gone—perhaps hidden among the racks, and Jorge was halfway down the row.
David shoved the back door open and peered around the alley.
Our car was only a few paces away.
He scooped me up with one arm around my waist and darted across the pavement, ripped the back door open, and shoved me inside. More gunshots pelted the car, the thunk of slugs on metal making an ugly symphony in the quiet morning.
“Down!” He shoved me into the floorboard, and I looked up to see our driver slumped over, half his head missing. A scream lodged in my lungs, but I couldn’t let it go, couldn’t be weak. After all, I was still alive. Useless and cowering, but alive.
David slammed my door, and everything went quiet for a moment. Then the back of the SUV opened and a loud thump and a groan filled the cab. More shots, some of them from close by, some from elsewhere.
“Back the fuck away,” David growled.
“The hell you say?” Jorge’s voice. “You aren’t—” The conversation cut off when the trunk closed, and then David opened the front and yanked the driver out.
He started the car as Jorge beat on my window and tried the door. When David gunned it down the alleyway, Jorge’s yell of rage caused a smile to bloom along my lips. Fuck you, Jorge.
The gunshots stopped, but the sound of sirens took their place. A shootout in downtown Philly wouldn’t go unnoticed for long.
“We’re clear.” David blew through a red light, then another.
I sat up and pulled myself into the back seat. Doing my best not to look at the gore along the center console, I stared out the front window. My hands shook. Hell, my entire body shook. But David had been true to his word. I was unharmed, and he was the reason why.
“Why did you leave Jorge?” I hurried to add, “Not that I care. I hate that guy. I was just curious.”
He glanced at me in the rearview. “No one should have known we were at that shop today. Blanco has been infiltrated. We can’t trust his men. Jorge included.”
“Oh.” Made sense.
Another groan from the trunk had me spinning in my seat.
“What?” I stared at the man David had shot on our way out the back door. Blood coated his hands as he applied pressure to the wound in his stomach. “Why?”
“I have a few questions for him.” David grinned. There was no warmth in it. No spark. Depraved and dark, he finally showed me why he’d gotten his particular nickname.
“What happened to you?” It was the question on repeat in my mind, the one I’d already asked. But I needed to know.
He cracked his neck and guided the SUV onto the highway out of downtown. “A lot.”
“Tell me.” I leaned forward between the seats, getting as close to the driver’s blood spatter as I dared. “Tell me why you never looked for me.”
“Does it matter now?”
“Yes!” I wanted to bust through the coldness
in his voice, destroy the high wall he’d built around himself. “It fucking matters!”
He sighed, the sound like a heavy blanket pulled over the face of a dead man. “That night.” His throat closed up. He swallowed and started again. “That night when you and I …” He looked at me for just a moment, and I could see the boy again. The one who’d sent me soaring. “Anyway, after I left, I went back to my foster father’s house. He’d hurt Peter.”
“Your brother, right?”
“Yes.” His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Hurt him so bad that he was in the hospital for a week after.”
I took a chance and rested my hand on his solid shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
The man groaned again. We ignored him.
“That wouldn’t have kept me from you.”
“Then what did?”
“When I got to the house, I beat the old man almost to death with my bare hands.”
“Oh.” I didn’t have another response, simply because I could imagine David doing exactly what he’d described. He’d exact vengeance for himself, for his brother, and I knew he’d do it for me, too.
“Beat him so badly he had to take his meals through a straw for the rest of his life and live in a constant-care nursing home.” We hurtled down the highway, the speed limit not a concern for David. “And when I got arrested, I had zero remorse. The system had zero care for me, a violent thug who grew up in one bad home after another.” He shrugged. “So I got lit up. Sent to prison.”
I squeezed his shoulder as everything fell into place. “That’s why you never came. You couldn’t. You were—”
“In jail, no bail. Then prison. I only just got out a few days ago.”
I digested the information. All this time, I’d hated him and longed for him. But there was finally a reason why he never came. One that made sense. It was a balm on my heart, the old wound finally trying to heal itself.
