didn’t want you to get me fired. I really want this job.”
“I wouldn’t let her fire you.”
“Maybe… but she won’t like us together.”
“I don’t care.”
“But I do… I’ve done so much work. It’s my art, Deacon.” Her voice is soft, eyes round. “Please.”
Her thumbs make small circles against my inner thighs, and it’s melting my annoyance.
I place my forearms on my knees, threading my fingers in her hair. “You won her over with your talent. That portrait is amazing.”
Her cute little nose wrinkles. “She criticizes me nonstop.”
“She bragged about you all through dinner… The brilliant young artist she discovered.”
That makes her laugh. “Thanks.”
“If I’d known it was you, I could’ve agreed… You’re so talented.”
Lifting her hands, she places them over mine. “Let me finish before we blow it all up. I want this for my portfolio, for the Arthaus application.”
I don’t like it, but I can’t make her sad. “Okay.”
Rising onto her knees, she kisses me. Our lips part, tongues sliding together, and her fingers fumble to my shoulders. My hands slide lower, pulling her waist closer to me, threading my fingers under her shirt to her soft skin.
We move faster, her fingers rise to my neck. She exhales a soft noise, and heat fills my stomach.
“I want to taste you.” It’s a rough whisper, and she stands slowly, looking down as a curl slips over her shoulder.
My hands are on her waist, fumbling with the button on her jeans. Her fingers are in my hair, and I kiss the skin below her navel. “Deacon…” she sighs in a tone I love.
“What the fuck?” A sharp voice rips through our moment.
Angel is jerked back, and Beto stands in front of me, seething. “What the fuck are you doing in my house?”
“Beto, you’re hurting me!” Angel’s face contorts with pain, and I’m on my feet.
“Let her go.”
“What did I tell you?” He reaches behind him, pulling out a black handgun. “The next time I saw you with her?”
“Beto!” Angel screams, jerking her arm against his grip. “No!”
Her brother doesn’t move. His eyes flash, and he’s holding the weapon in my stomach.
“Put it down before you hurt someone.” My voice is low. I don’t want to taunt him. I don’t know how far he’ll go.
“Get the fuck out of my house.” He takes a step closer, still gripping Angel by the arm.
She’s no longer struggling. Her eyes are fixed on the gun.
“Beto, please.” Her voice trembles. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Get out.” He shoves her back hard, and I lunge forward, putting my hand over the cool metal and turning it away from me.
It goes off with a sharp pop, and warm liquid spills over my hands. Fear seizes my chest, choking my breath.
“Fuck.” Beto’s lips tighten, and he drops to his knees.
I’m holding the gun as Mateo enters the room.
“Beto!” He’s shouting, grabbing cloth to stop the blood, and I’m trying to figure out what just happened.
The gun slips from my hand to the white fluffy rug.
Angel is on the floor, terrified eyes flying between me and her brother. “Beto?”
It’s all happening so fast, but it feels like time has slowed down. Mateo rolls him onto his back, pressing a towel into Beto’s side. His eyes are closed, and blood is all over his stomach.
“No…” Blood on my hands, my arms, my jeans.
“I’m going to kill you!” Mateo screams at me, fire in his eyes.
“Angel, call 911.” My voice sounds strange, and I’m backing to the window. “Hurry!”
Mateo lunges for the gun on the floor, but I beat him to it, snatching it up and holding it loosely in my hand. I’m not a killer. I don’t know what the fuck to do right now.
“Go, Deacon!” Angel’s voice is hoarse with tears. “Just go… Now!”
“But…” I’m torn between wanting to help and knowing I can’t.
Mateo stands, pulling Beto up with him. He hauls him over his shoulder, turning for the door. Angel is right behind them, and I’m left standing in the room with her words echoing in my ears.
I do the only thing I know to do. I pick up my phone and leave through the window, running across the lawn to my waiting motorcycle.
18
Angel
“We’re sorry, the number you have reached is not available.” Pressing the end button, I hang up and try again.
The burner phone Deacon bought me is in my hand, and I’ve been calling him nonstop for five hours. I don’t know if he turned his phone off or if he left it in my bedroom or