As soon as my hands are on my head, I hear another cop shout, “Get down on your knees.”
Taking my time, I do as they say, but in my head, I’m killing them each slowly. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be able to put those thoughts into action.
As soon as I’m on the ground, the cocky cop comes barreling toward me, knocking me over so my face is squished into the pavement. Yup. This asshole is going to die a slow, and very painful death at my hands.
“Don’t fucking move! You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of—,”
“Stop! Don’t hurt him,” I hear over the cop reading me my Miranda rights. Shit, I forgot about the girl. The whole reason I’m in this fucking mess to begin with, but for the life of me, I can’t be angry. At least, not with her. I’m glad I was able to save her tonight.
Turning my head to the sound of her voice, I look up into what has to be the face of an angel. She has long blonde hair and piercing, angelic eyes. Her face, even though it’s bruised and wet from tears, is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. How did I not notice this before now? She was right in front of me this whole fucking time.
“Please, Officer. It’s not his fault. He saved me,” she pleads to the cop who has his knee digging into my back. He doesn’t know that I could easily overpower him, but I won’t. Not while I’m trying to take in all the beauty in front of me. I could care less about anything else in this moment.
“Ms. Hock? Is that you?” one of the cop’s questions with disbelief and worry clear in his voice.
I don’t know who this girl is, but I’m going to find out. Then I’m going to take her to bed.
Chapter Three
Angelica
I watch as the police officer roughly pulls the man who saved my life to his feet. One side of his face is scratched all to heck from being forced to the ground with more force than was probably necessary. Even though it’s not bleeding that much, it still looks bad in my opinion. I want to rush over to him to make sure he’s all right, but I can’t move. Not out of fear or shock. No, that’s not what stops me. It’s the eyes that are staring back at me.
His eyes are intense. You would think after what he just did to the man that tried to hurt me, that they would shine with some murderous rage, yet I don’t see any of that in his deep, dark depths.
I see concern, awe, and something else I can’t quite name. And, of course, there’s a little irritation, but I think that’s more from the cops than the situation.
The officer pushes him so his head snaps to the side, breaking our stare, and brings me back to what’s happening. I need to tell them it wasn’t his fault and that he did nothing wrong. I can’t allow this man to get in trouble for what he did for me.
“Where are you taking him?” I ask, pulling on the arm of the officer that recognized me before. Andrews, I think is his name. He’s at least five years older than me, but I’m sure he knew who I was because of my father.
“Ms. Hock, please, don’t worry. We’ll be taking him down to the station. You’re safe now.”
“But he didn’t do anything wrong. He saved me,” I yell, trying to get that through to them. Sure, he hurt the bad man, but it was out of self-defense. Well, not his self-defense, but mine. That has to count for something in their eyes, right?
Before I can get another word in, the man who saved my life is already behind a closed door in the police cruiser that is speeding away. His eyes stay locked on mine and I see regret. Does he wish he never stepped in?
“Ma’am, I know you’ve been through a lot, but we’ll need you to come with us to give us your statement so we can put both these men behind bars. They won’t be hurting you or anyone else for a long time,” Officer Andrews says with pity thick in his voice.
Turning back around, remembering the other man he mentioned, I see him being carted off in an ambulance I didn’t even notice was here. Is it wrong that I hope they take their time getting to the hospital so he suffers more?
Facing the officer again, I nod. I don’t know what else to say. What I do know is that I will not let that man rot in a jail cell for saving me. I’ll do whatever I have to do to make sure that doesn’t happen.
***
Since arriving at the police station, I’ve been sitting in a small office, waiting for the Chief of Police to come in and question me. It’s been almost an hour, and I haven’t seen or heard anything from anyone. I can’t stop thinking about my savior, fearing what he may be going through right now, all because of me.
Finally having enough of the waiting game, I get up with angry movements and head toward the door to light a fire under someone’s behind, but before I can take two steps, the door opens.
A tall and bulky man walks into the room with a file in his hands. He’s got what looks like jelly on the belly of his shirt, and when he goes to wipe the sweat from his forehead, I see stains under his arms too. Looks like this man had one too many donuts in his career.
“Sorry to have kept you waiting, Ms. Hock,” he says as he plops down into his chair, sounding completely out of breath. He looks and sounds like he just got done running a marathon, but he doesn’t even look like he’d make it around the block without falling over from fatigue.
I know I sound judgmental. I just don’t care right now. I want to know what they’re going to do about the man that tried to hurt me, and about the man that stopped it from happening.
“What’s going on?” I ask in a voice I hope isn’t as bitchy as it sounds. I don’t need him getting angry and not telling me anything, but I can’t help that this situation is making me upset. And I don’t mean the fact that something bad almost happened to me tonight. I’m talking about knowing a man who is innocent is potentially being charged for committing an act of bravery and heroism.
“Why don’t you start by telling me what happened, Ms. Hock. We weren’t able to get anything out of Dominic Veralli, and Jordan Black is currently unconscious due to the stab wound he suffered at the hands of Mr. Veralli,” he informs me as he leans back in the chair. He places his elbows on the armrests with his hands steepled in front of his lips.
Dominic. Now I have a name to go with the face of my hero, and I must say, it fits him. I like it. A lot more than I probably should.
Then his words sink in. The man who tried to hurt me—Jordan—is in the hospital being treated, as if he was an innocent bystander?
It makes me angry and scared at the same time, but not for myself. For Dominic. They know—or they think they know—he stabbed him and they’ll put him in jail, regardless of the reason.
No, that’s not going to happen.
Without thinking it through, I say, “Mr. Veralli didn’t stab that man. I did.”
It’s too late to take it back. I don’t want to anyway.
The knife! I have no idea where it’s at, or if it was even Dominic’s. What if the police have it and they find it doesn’t have my prints on it, but his? Well, I guess I’ll cross that bridge when it comes. For now, I’m going to run with my story and do everything I can to make the chief and everyone else believe me.
He doesn’t respond for a few minutes as he looks at me, stunned. Then his look shifts into disbelief. “You stabbed Mr. Black?”
“Yes,” I say simply.
Looking down at my hands, he seems to be searching for something. Blood? I want to fidget and hide them behind my back or sit on them, but that will make me look guilty of lying.
Finally looking up at me, he asks, “Why did you stab him, Ms. Hock? And where did you get the knife?”
Not giving myself time to think about it too much, I reply, “The knife was his. It was in his back pocket, and when he grabbed me I took it. I was afraid for my life and did whatever I needed to do to protect myself.”
I look him right in the eyes as I speak, hoping my expression doesn’t
betray me.
“And where’s the knife now?”
“I don’t know. I dropped it after I stabbed him, but then there was a struggle. He tried to hit me again, and that’s when Mr. Veralli stepped in.”
I can tell he doesn’t believe me, but I now know they don’t have any evidence to disprove my story. Not yet, anyway.
Blowing out a long, exasperated breath, he picks something up off the messy desk. “All right, Ms. Hock. I’ll need you to fill out a statement. Then, once we gather all the evidence, we’ll be in contact with you.”
He stands, leaving me to write down what I just told him to make it official. I reach out and grab his arm as he passes me. “What’s going to happen to Mr. Veralli?” I ask, needing to know he won’t be charged with anything. I don’t make a habit of lying, but I would do it in a heartbeat again in a situation like this. I just need to know it wasn’t for nothing.
“Well, since you say you were the one to stab Mr. Black, and not Mr. Veralli, we don’t have anything concrete to hold him. He’ll be released as soon as the paperwork is filed.”
“And Mr. Black? What about him?”
His eyes soften this time, and I hear real sincerity in his voice when he says, “After he regains consciousness—if he regains consciousness—he’ll too be questioned and charged with assault. Unfortunately, since we don’t know what his intentions were, we can’t charge him with anything until we get his version of the events, but if you feel more comfortable, we can file a restraining order so he won’t be allowed anywhere near you again.”
I want to laugh at this. I’ve never understood restraining orders. I mean, it’s not like a piece of paper has any power or hold on anyone. Having one doesn’t guarantee that you’ll be safe.
“No, that won’t be necessary. I think it was a random act of violence. He doesn’t know who I am so he won’t know where to find me. But thank you.” No reason to sound ungrateful.
Nodding his head, he turns on his heels and walks out of the office, leaving me to the task of writing my statement. I just hope that when they question Dominic, he’ll collaborate my story. I find that highly doubtful though.
It takes me a little over thirty minutes to finish with my statement. I didn’t want to leave anything out about the truth and how I came across being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I also had to elaborate on the story I fed the chief. I had to think about the, and try to make it sound as real as possible without going off into wonderland too much. I had to make it sound like it actually happened that way.
Finally satisfied with what I’ve written, I make my way out of the office and down the hall to where I saw a bunch of officers sitting at cubicles when I first walked in. I have no idea who I’m supposed to give this to, or if I need to stay for anything else, but I’m suddenly so tired. I just want to go home and fall into my fluffy bed and sleep. I don’t want to think about what I’d been through tonight, or what could have happened if things didn’t go the way they did.
Passing my statement to one of the officers, he tells me they will keep in touch with any updates about charges pressed against Mr. Black, and that I was free to leave.
I don’t know how I’m going to get home, and I’m not calling my parents. No way in Hades am I telling them about this, though by the feel of my face, I may have to make something up. Maybe I’ll tell them I ran into the bathroom door in the middle of the night. Yeah, that could work. Not like they’d care anyway.
I’m just about to walk out the door when I hear the chief speak with disdain. “I don’t know how you got someone as sweet and innocent as the preacher’s daughter to lie for someone like you, but I will find what I need to lock you up for a very long time.”
At that very moment, Dominic looks over in my direction, and his gaze lands on me.
Embarrassed, I push through the front doors, needing the fresh night air to cool my face.
Looking both ways, I can’t decide which way to go. If I go left, it will save me the embarrassment of facing Dominic, but I’ll be forced to go around the block. That’s not something I really want to do, especially after what happened tonight. It’s after midnight now. I don’t know what could be out there waiting for me.
Before I can make the decision, I hear the door to the station open. Holding my breath, I wait—for what feels like forever—for him to either walk right past me or talk to me. I don’t know what I want more at this point.
Neither of those things happen. It’s completely silent, like he’s not even there anymore.
Turning around slowly, I see him right behind me. Gasping and jumping back out of shock—and maybe a little fear—I almost scream, but stop myself at the last second.
He just stares at me, like he can’t believe his eyes. It makes me want to fidget or slap him, though I’d probably never do the latter. I’ve never wanted to slap anyone before in my whole life, not even my parents. Yell, scream, and cry? Yes. But never hit someone. So why do I want to slap him? For scaring me or for something else?
Needing to break the silence and this awkward standoff we have going on, I clear my throat. “Um…T—Thank you for what you did for me tonight.” I stutter at first, but strengthen my voice at the end. There’s no reason to be scared. This man saved me. If he wanted to hurt me, he would have let the Jordan Black do it, or joined in to help him.
He doesn’t say anything, but in an instant, his features change. It’s like I’m looking at a completely different person. Before, he was looking at me in wonder, and maybe a little appreciation. Now, it’s like I disgust him.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I open my mouth to say something, but have no idea what there is to say. I’ve already thanked him. There’s nothing left to do but leave.
Dropping my head, I start to turn, but his rough voice stops me. “What you did in there was the worst mistake of your life, little girl.”
What does he mean it was a mistake? I saved his butt in there!
“Saving your ungrateful behind is a mistake? Maybe I should go back in there and tell them the truth then, huh?” I say with attitude. I start to walk past him to head back inside, but with no real intention of recanting my story, I don’t make it very far before I’m being grabbed by my arm and whipped around to face him.
It’s almost the same move that happened hours earlier, from a different man, but I know this is different. I’m not afraid, or not as afraid I was the first time it happened. I know this man means me no harm, especially not in front of the police station.
“What do you want from me? A thank you?” he asks through a cocky smile that has me practically drooling. “Or are you wanting somethin’ more? Maybe a ride on my bike? No, I know. You want a ride on my cock.”
His comment stuns me, but also has me feeling hot all over. From embarrassment or arousal, I don’t know.
Stepping closer to me, his breath fans across my face like a sensual caress.
“Yeah, that’s what you want, baby, isn’t it? And I can give it to you,” he says, his voice raw and sexy.
His hand comes up and runs from my temple—being careful of my hurt face—down my neck, and stops just before reaching my breast. It leaves me wanting. I want him to keep going, to touch me where no one has touched me before, but he doesn’t. His hand moves away, making me feel a loss that makes me want to cry.
“I could fuck you till you couldn’t even remember your name. I’d leave you wanting more, but it wouldn’t change what you are,” he says with loathing and hatred. “You’re just daddy’s little angel, lookin’ to take a ride on the wild side. You’re the preacher’s daughter,” he spits, then turns around and walks away.
A tear rolls down my face. I hate that he’s made me feel lustful. I hate he’s made me feel loathing for myself and my parents. I hate him for making me feel all of that, and I hate my parents even more than I thought possible for what they’ve made me. An
d I hate myself for allowing it to happen in the first place when I knew it wasn’t who I was on the inside.
“Angelica!” my mother yells out from somewhere behind me. You’d think she’d sound distraught and concerned for why she’s here, worried about what had happened to me, but no. She sounds angry and annoyed. Turning around, I see both my parents, looking at me with disgust. What is it with that look?
In that moment, I decide to rid myself of them for good. I’m leaving tonight and never looking back. I will never be judged again by who my parents are, or by them, again. I will never do anything to make someone else happy. From here on out, I’m living for me.
I listen to my parents berate me and tell me that what happened tonight is the exact reason they aren’t allowing me to make my own decisions when it comes to college. That this is the reason they won’t allow me to live on my own. They can’t trust me. Because no potential husband would want a wildcat for a wife. As if I was going out tonight to search for trouble. But it goes in one ear and out the other. I don’t care what they think or what they say. Nothing matters anymore.
I’m no longer Angelica Hock, daughter of Pastor Hock. I’m no longer the good girl who never breaks the rules. She died tonight in that alley when she found a new life waiting for her just around the corner. I’m glad she’s dead. She was weak and had no spark. But now, the spark is so hot and shines so bright, no one can see or touch me. I’m alive for the first time in eighteen years.
Once we’re home, I lock myself in my bedroom. I can hear them talking about how to keep this quiet so no one finds out. I block them out. I have work to do.
Packing up everything I can fit into my suitcase and school bag, I wait until I know they’re asleep. Once I’m positive they won’t hear me, I sneak into their room to grab her purse and his wallet. I don’t have any money, not even a savings. They wouldn’t even let me get a job, thinking I wouldn’t need it since they were the ones controlling my life.
The Preacher's Daughter Page 3
