Page 21 of Where Angels Fall

A heavy tear falls down the side of her face when her eyelids flutter open and I shove the fat tip of my cock past her pillowy lips. “Suck it like I know you want to,” I grit out through clenched teeth. And she does. All I give her is the tip, and she suckles on it like the good little thing she is.

It makes my eyes roll into my head and my balls draw up close, ready to blow. I continue stroking my cock, my breath sawing in and out of me, forming a cloud past my lips. My groans slip out, ragged and raw. Her lips are fucking heaven, and when her tongue timidly swipes at the little divot, I see stars.

Just before I fall off the edge, I pull out of her mouth, working my cock fast. Dizziness overtakes me when I come, spilling ropes of cum onto her perfect, pretty face. It drips down her cheeks and onto her lips, shiny, sticky drops covering her.

My aim was to make her dirty. To mark her. But it’s done the opposite. She looks even more beautiful. And it brings back my irritation. I have too much going on to be feeling this way about a sweet little angel.

Now that she’s come down from the high and the adrenaline has worn off, her eyes droop with tiredness. With a stony expression, I stand, zipping myself back up, scooping her limp body off the ground.

She’s silent as I walk us back through the darkness, her eyes shut, and arms wrapped around herself. I would almost think she’s asleep if it weren’t for the way her lashes flutter and her bottom lip trembles. My cum dries on her face, the way I wanted it to. When I place her in the front seat of her half a million-dollar car, her eyes won’t meet mine. But I’m too distracted to care. I have revenge to plan and dead to bury.

Yet, I slink into the shadows and wait for her to gather herself. I watch her drive off and wait until the lights of her car fade into nothingness. Where she will go back to her penthouse apartment with its sparkling white shower, where she will wash off every trace of me before lathering herself in expensive lotion.

And I’ll hop on my bullet-marked bike back to my rundown club bar, where blood won’t budge from our skin, no matter how hard we scrub. Where our enemies don’t take rest days and are already planning their next hit.

Where my family awaits.

Chapter 9

Ash

The ghosts of my men still linger in the club as we all litter the booths, drinks in hand. Scotty, Henry and Ivar were all long-time members, and their blood is still stamped onto my hands. Everyone feels them, the heaviness settles deep into the space.

Kaleb polishes a knife at the bar while Kai just stares at the door, alert and ready like always.

The clunk of pool balls bashing together blends into the low music pouring out of the speakers, but no one is happy. It’s not the usual loud yelling, fighting and fucking that usually happens on a Friday night. It feels wrong.

A loss is always felt deep within the Devils, let alone three. And not all of the Devils have an angel to give them a moment of silence in their minds.

I watch Leon over the rim of my glass waltz up to the bar where Griff is leaning. Leon’s cheeky smirk focused on Griff’s permanent scowl. These two haven’t meshed well since we brought Leon in after his stint in prison.

As soon as I saw the twenty-five-year-old’s tech skills, I knew we needed him. And he needed us, after seven years locked up and coming out to nothing and no one. It was a win - win situation for everybody but Griff. The kid just has a way of getting under his skin unlike anybody else. And I love to watch it.

Griff is a life time member, born into the club, and he is a pain in my ass most of the time. All he wants to do is get drunk, start fights and fuck women. I guess that explains half the men in the club, but Griff is useful when I need him. With arms built like tree trunks and a body built like a brick shithouse, people see Griff and second guess whether messing with us is worth it. He also makes a pretty penny in the underground fighting world, but that is a whole other story.

When he begins throwing punches, they walk away. He is a scary motherfucker, even I can admit that.

And Leon hasn’t seemed to get the memo. Leaning against the bar, Griff slowly looks him up and down, a look of pure disdain on his face. Leon stands out among all the rest of my boys. His patch work tattoos are trendy compared to the rest of our skin-to-skin pieces and his lean body doesn’t hold anywhere near the bulk that mine or Griff’s does. And I know he makes Griff uncomfortable; I just can’t quite figure out why.

“Hey, pretty boy,” Leon taunts as he joins him at the bar. He grabs a drink over the counter and winks at Griff over the bottle as he takes a swig.

An exhausted sigh falls from my lips as Griff leaps on Leon, his hand wrapping around his neck and shoving him back onto the bar. “The fuck you just say to me?” Griff’s growl attracts everyone’s attention.

Leon laughs, his eyes sparkling, seemingly unaware of the damage Griff could do just by squeezing his hand. Or maybe just unfazed. “I said...Hey, pretty boy,” he gasps out of his compromised airways. I shake my head. Leon might be more insane than any of us.

Griff’s hazel eyes come alight with hate as he glares into Leons green ones, before he shoves him away and strides out the front door, the wood banging as he leaves. Chuckling, Leon rubs at his throat, going back to his drink like nothing happened.

Griff’s heavy boots pound out the door, the sound swallowed by the low thrum of music. For a moment, no one moves. No one breathes too loud. My fingers drum against my glass, the ice rattling in the silence before I finally push to my feet. The chair scrapes back, sharp and grating, cutting through the stillness.

Every set of eyes in the room turns to me. My Devils. My family. My responsibility.

The deep breath I take feels like swallowing glass. The colour red still pulses across my vision, the same way it does when I think of them. My parents. I shove it far out of my mind.

“Three of ours,” I say, my voice low but carrying anyway. “Three brothers who bled for this patch, who stood for it, who’d burn the fucking world before letting it fall into enemy hands. And now they are gone. Blown apart by cowards who didn’t even have the guts to face us head-on.”

My eyes scan the room, landing on Kai, on Kaleb, on every man who’s been here long enough to understand what those names mean. “Scotty. Henry. Felix. You don’t forget them. You etch them into your skin, your bones. You carry them until you join them.” I step forward, planting a hand on the table and leaning into their attention. “And I swear to every one of you.... We will find the people who did this. We will find them, and there will be no mercy. Not quick. Not clean. They will beg before they burn.”

The air shifts, the low hum of grief bending into something sharper. Rage. Determination. I let it hang there for a second, let the weight of my words settle into their chests. Then I straighten, down the last of my drink, and toss the glass onto the table with a dull thud.