Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 106003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“So… what’s going on between you two really?” Road swallows a piece of the apple he’s cut with a hunting knife. He then casually rests his arm on Clyde’s shoulders, by now used to showing his husband affection. I’m so damn envious, and since for once I have someone at my side, someone who doesn’t flinch at my touch, my arm tingles with the need to rest against my boy’s warm skin.
I want to be close to him. To claim him the way Road and Clyde claim one another. To make sure he knows I adore him to the very tips of his toes. But each time I think about making my move, a sense of awkwardness settles in, so I give up for now and stuff my face with the salad.
Angel chuckles, and his blue eyes briefly meet mine. “We don’t really need to define it.”
A perfectly normal, reasonable, and not at all hurtful answer. So why does it feel like a stab in the gut? Of course he doesn’t want to have a leech like me attached to his lovely skin permanently. Still, dark clouds settle over my shoulders as I chew in silence. Guess my answer isn’t needed, because Angel has said everything there is to be said.
But what are we then? Friends who fuck? Are we friends? It would seem reasonable to assume that after all we shared with each other yesterday. Then again, maybe I misread the whole thing? Maybe Angel is friendly with everyone? Wouldn’t be the first time social cues flew right over my head.
I’ve suddenly lost my appetite, but I still eat the salad like a dog would take its medicine.
At least no one prods further when Howler comes to the table with his tray. He’s stocky, has shaggy, dry hair, and he’s wearing one of his beloved howling wolf T-shirts.
“Angel, you got those hairdressing tools back I see.” Howler points at my head. “My ol’ lady was wondering if you could swing by our house first thing after breakfast?”
Angel’s face lights up, and he swallows his food hurriedly to answer. “Of course. She has such thick hair. I can’t wait to work on it.”
I try not to be a downer, since everyone else is in such great moods, but I can’t forget the way Angel refused to admit we’re together. The way he said it, voice light as if the topic didn’t even matter, keeps passing through my head in a torture wheel of memories. It’s fortunate I’m known for my silence, so no one’s bothered when I don’t contribute much to the ever-changing conversation at the table.
All I can think about is that once the meal is over, I’ll have to be normal around Angel, so he doesn’t notice my disappointment, and right now that feels borderline impossible. I’m relieved when Prophet glances at his phone, and his brows go up in alarm.
I really shouldn’t be happy about there being an emergency, but right now I’ll take almost anything that can keep me away from Angel for long enough that I get to lick my wounds.
Just like I expected, Prophet gets up and makes a gesture with his hand for all of us to do the same. “We need to go deal with shit,” is a message we all know well.
I’m not usually bloodthirsty, killing is simply a part of the life I chose, but right now, I do wish the job will involve future vulture feed. The gentle touch on my thigh makes me freeze and turn my head so slowly I expect it to creak like a rusty cog. Angel’s eyes are deep, lustrous like the bottoms of glass bottles seen in the bright sun, and I can’t look away despite wanting to.
“Is everything all right?” he asks, but Prophet comes to my aid and says something about there being unexpected business. Easy. Noncommittal, just like Angel’s answer about the nature of our relationship.
I still enjoy the way Angel squeezes my hand when we part. More than I probably should.
Chapter 18
Angel
I’ve always been good at obtaining information, but whenever I work on people’s hair, skin, and nails, the relaxation of it unlocks something deep inside them. All of a sudden, I’m their therapist, friend, closest confidant. The things I’ve been told include everything from shameful family secrets to sexual history and drugs of choice. And yet, none of the women I’ve had around today made a peep about anything related to the motorcycle club. Well, with the exception of Mia, who let it slip that she “gathers fungi in the caves”, before telling me to forget she ever said that, then repeating that same sentence when she left me a large tip. On her way out, she flashed me the patches of one of those Property of vests I’ve seen around Vulture Hollow on a few of the women.