I gasped, pressing my hands down hard in my lap not to have a big ‘O’ moment right there in front of my boss. And that was the stuff of my nightmares. Please, hell, not when I was trying to save this job…
“See, it may turn you on…” Stanbury paused the computer game, perching on the edge of my desk. When his gaze lingered over my body like grubby fingers, I dragged my khaki jacket closer around me. It only took one look from him to dampen the happy tingles between my legs. “But Angels vs Vampires…? Let me tell you something, research highlights one simple fact: men desire guns, cars, and zombies. I guess that’s hard for you to understand, being dickless.”
My eyes widened, and my hands clenched into fists.
You show that asshole just what you can do without one of his precious dicks, girl…
Rage: it bunched in every stiff muscle, flooded my eyes, and scented the air. A fury so strong that I trembled, hell, wept, from it.
I didn’t understand my new powers or my intense draw to the taste of candy blood, but the anger that I understood. Everything became clear and simple when the world flared to violet. Then it was as if I stood above a land of bones, on a mountain of feathers, and I controlled the world.
And all I had to do was ask…
“Say that again,” Gizem’s voice was low and dangerous. Her hand curled around a monitor like it was Stanbury’s throat.
Stanbury shrugged. “People don’t want to become the hero. They want to let out their monster. Plus, your obsession with perfection...? But then, I don’t have to ask where that comes from, do I?”
He leaned forward, staring at my cat’s eye mirror sunglasses as if he knew what was behind them.
Yeah, he knew.
One violet eye, and one black one. I’d been born that way. At least, found that way in Hackney Cemetery, before I’d been taken to Jerusalem Children’s Home, where Gizem had become like my big sister.
Why do I bother hiding behind these sunglasses? As if kids hadn’t always called me freak?
For the same reason that no one knows about J. We all have secrets to survive.
I swallowed convulsively. “You’re shutting down our project.” It wasn’t a question.
Stanbury straightened his tie. “More like firing you.”
Gizem gave a strangled cry, before storming to the window out over London. Her curling hair jumped on each step.
I knew how much losing the job would devastate her because the same cold ball froze my guts: Christmas coming up, kid sister, and bills to pay.
We were screwed.
Stanbury stalked predator-like around me. I tensed at the tap, tap, tap of his brown brogues on the floor. Musky cedarwood, as if he’d woven the aftershave into his suit, caught me by the throat. When he tucked a strand of my ash-blonde hair gently behind my ear, I startled.
Tell that shady dick to go find a fashion runway for Christian Grey wannabes to die on.
Despite myself, I sniggered at J’s outrage.
Stanbury twisted my hair. “Why not come out to dinner? We’ll discuss this. I’m certain we can find a way to solve our little problem without such…drastic measures.”
I wrenched away from his teasing fingers. “I have a boyfriend.”
“So, hands off, muppet.” I jumped at the sudden voice from above our heads — for once, not from inside my head — which sounded like an Irish, pissed off god.
I peered up at the ceiling. Somebody was hiding up there…
The gleam of the pendant lights shanked icicles of pain through my throbbing forehead. I twisted away, huddling behind my sunglasses.
Thump — flakes of ceiling, like dry snow, floated down.
Crash — the ceiling was falling in, or someone was falling from the ceiling.
I shrieked as I was showered in shattered PVC panel…and punk. The swivel chair cracked, and the Irish stranger and I were both tumbled backwards in a tangle of limbs.
Of course, it’s hard not to notice a bloke when you have a lapful of him: red leather bondage trousers and leather jacket studded into armor. His hair was a spiked mess of red flame. And his kohl smudged violet eyes...?
I hissed.
Don’t get excited, Feathery-toes, just because the punk has violet eyes too. Although he also has an ass that’s just begging to be ridden to the Grand National.
A strange punk Irishman’s arse on my crotch.
What. The. Hell.
Why’ve I never seen anyone else with the same color eyes as me?
Slam.
I doubled up, as sweetness like thick treacle, choked me. It was so much stronger now that the Irishman was touching me. At least by the bulge in the gorgeous punk’s trousers and the tremors quivering through him, I wasn’t the only one struggling.
Help me, or I’ll have a Harry Met Sally moment right here with this stranger on my lap.
I thought you’d never ask.
And just like that? The fever died. Whatever was affecting me, the voice in my head could control it…or control me. Had J always had power over me or had that started, when I’d turned twenty-one?
I shoved off the punk. He tumbled harder than I’d expected to the side, banging his head under the desk. I smirked, until he turned the puppy dog eyes on me.
How was the punk able to look innocent with that spiked black collar around his long pale neck?
Stanbury stared down at me primly, as if he hadn’t just been sexually harassing his staff. A.K.A – me. “Your boyfriend?”
I shot up, scrambling for my saddlebag. “I’ve never seen him before. My guess would be stalker.”
“Stalker?” Stanbury squealed, fumbling to pull out his mobile from his trouser pocket, forgetting his Mr Suave act.
“Hold on, now,” the punk straightened in a twirl of red and black leather, “I know that I made a balls of the entrance but—”
“You fell through the ceiling, wallad.”
“There’s no need to be calling me an idiot. Nobody’s perfect. Not even an angel.”
“Right, that’s it. Security?” Stanbury jabbered into his iPhone as he edged towards the door. “Get your fat arses up here. We’re trapped with a madman. For god’s sake, he could have a gun!”
The punk’s eyes widened. He peered around our office, which looked like a rainbow had vomited it up, as if he’d catch sight of the madman. Then he stepped towards me, his voice low and urgent, “I’ll save you.”
I slipped the pepper spray out of my saddlebag and blasted it into the punk’s face. The punk yelled, before rolling about on the floor like he’d never been sprayed with pepper spray, bleach, or acid until now…
The bitch must never have lived in Hackney.
“I’m blinded!” The punk gasped, clutching at his streaming red eyes (points on the waterproof eyeliner), but then he grinned, “Fair on you, princess.”
You go, girl, teach him to be a peeping tom. Next time though? Not the eyes. Those babies are for the gods.
The sun glinted through the long windows out over London. I winced, even with my sunglasses. The feathered line of skyscrapers and tower blocks winding around the Thames were grayed to ghosts.
When the punk dragged himself to his knees, I caught a blur of orange and… Gizem shoved the punk back to the floor. “You come here and bother my girl...?” Gizem pushed her hair away from her forehead, before shrugging. “Come on, let’s leave these two dicks together.”
The punk struggled to his knees again, wiping his sleeve across his weeping eyes.
I nodded, tiredly. “We’re fired. I don’t need it shared on the company website to get the message.”
“You’re not leaving me alone with him...?” Stanbury threw himself towards me like I was his guardian angel, digging his fingers into my shoulders.
I recoiled at the enshrouding musky cedarwood; bruises ached under my skin. My pulse pounded, legs trembled, and my cheeks flushed. I could feel the rage bunching inside me once more.
It’s happening again… J? How the hell do I
stop it?
Silence.
Don’t go all Queen Bitch on me: I need you.
“I thought blokes like you craved guns, soldier?” I didn’t recognize the hardness in my voice or the crushing grip that I used to prise Stanbury’s fingers from my shoulder. He whimpered. “Anyway, what can I do? I’m dickless, remember?”
Stanbury clutched his injured hand under his armpit. He scrutinized me like he could see through my sunglasses. “I guess that I got it wrong. You’ve already let out the monster.”
Light-headed, I bounced up to the balls of my feet. I cocked my fist, only for one cool arm to encircle my waist from behind and another to close gently around my fist.
I struggled. Spikes and studs dug into my skin. A roaring rush ballooned louder and louder in my ears.
Slam.
Stronger than ever before, the sweet coppery tang exploded on my tongue. I was lost in it: the rage, heat, and desire.
Then the world bled to black.
Nothing but violet.
Confused, I gaped at the toes of my violet knee-high boots. My arse was numb, and I shook. Then I turned my head to the side and hurled.
Someone nuke me from orbit.
And you call me the drama queen.
You’re back, then? Way to help a girl.
I was never gone, and who says that I’ve ever helped you?
J was like having both an angel and a devil trapped in my mind. I never knew which one would battle for control and sass me.
“So, I made a holy show of myself before. I’m sorry if I made things worse.” The punk peered down at me. He lounged against the glass front of Spirit and Fire with infuriating ease, whilst he tucked his hands in his pockets.
I mumbled something. I’m not sure it was English.
Then the fog cleared and…
My gaze cooled. The numbness of my arse was because someone — this punk — had carried and then dropped me with my head between my knees, on the veined marble steps outside my own office.
Except, I reckon that it’s not your office if you’re fired.
“Where’s everyone else?” I asked.
“With that muppet of a boss. I trapped them in when you swooned, and then—”
“I don’t swoon. Who are you?”
“My name’s Rebel.” The punk took a wary step towards me.
“Rebel? What the hell sort of name is that?”
Rebel’s eyes sparked with flames, and I gasped. “The sort you earn.”
I scrabbled up, clasping my saddlebag to me like a shield. Maybe the dizzy exhaustion from my migraine was catching up on me? Migraine induced hallucinations…?
When Rebel stuck out his hand towards me like he was following through on a learned script, I shied back. “You get me kicked out from the one job that I’ve ever… You’ve no idea how hard it was for someone like me to even be allowed through the door of a company like that. And then you reckon that I’ll shake hands with you?”
Rebel raised his pierced eyebrow. “You didn’t need me to lose that job. You did that all on you own.”
Boom! The collared redhead has just read you some realness.
I shoved Rebel against the clouded glass skyscraper, pressing my arm across his throat. The safety pins in his ripped black t-shirt pricked my guts. His breath was fast and hot across my cheek, but he stilled.
Rebel’s thick eyelashes curved onto his cheeks as he looked down. “Belt me one, if it’ll make you feel any better, princess.”
It coiled — like it’d been coiling for the last month now — a darkness. I could mess up Rebel’s sweet face and teach him what happened on the Utopia Estate when you disrespected. I could take what was offered sacrificial from this angel.
But I didn’t believe in angels and definitely not ones who fell out of the ceiling into my lap.
I snorted. “I don’t hurt crazies.”
I pulled away from Rebel, but couldn’t help waiting for the moment that his eyes opened, before I marched towards Hackney.
Gizem was locked with Stanbury. The worst that could happen to her was dying from boredom, until security freed them. I had a sister, however, who’d be home from college, and I needed to get back and explain just why I’d lost my job…almost a month before Christmas.
I pulled my jacket tighter around myself against the bite of the wind as I trudged past the Caribbean supermarket — which was a red and green vegetable blaze in the gray day — and the boarded-up Vietnamese one next door. The line of empty properties squatted in tattered threads, amongst Turkish kebab shops and the glare of CCTV cameras. A greasy pall blasted from a burger bar.
I grimaced, wiping my face.
Don’t look now, your Feathery-highness, but someone may be following our fabulousness.
The pretty boy in red leather will get himself beaten up looking like that on these streets.
My, one would almost reckon that you cared.
Don’t push it.
Or what...? You’ll punch yourself in the head or not talk to yourself?
I grinned.
I’ll stop playing, that’s what I’ll do. Hasn’t this all been a game? Since I was born?
I’m hurt. You’re mine. I raised you. I’m inside you. I don’t play about that.
I shivered. The bass of a grime song blared from a beat-up Ford, as it cruised by, pounding my migraine harder.
I stopped, before calling over my shoulder, “You’re not stealthy, bro.”
Rebel’s head popped out from a side alley. He bit his lip, before sauntering towards me, as if his pale skin wasn’t blushing. He shrugged. “Look, I’m not awful good with all the…blathering and…” His pink tongue licked out, swiping his lips. “It’s been a long time, what with…”
“Being locked up?”
“How’d you know?”
“A wild guess.” A gang of kids on bikes circled like eagles. They’d pulled up their hoodies and dragged scarves over their faces. Their gazes were sharp and assessing. “Trust me, you’ll be shanked wandering around all punk rocker without a clue.” One of the boys spat in front of a bin; another swiped his hand through the spit: a drug deal gone down. Then they both patted their schoolbags like a salute. We all knew the warning: they were carrying a knife, ammonia, or meat cleaver. I snatched Rebel’s hand, tugging him after me. “What is it with me and strays?” I muttered. “You don’t even know my name.”
“I do: Violet. But your mates call you Feathers. It’d be a fine thing if I could call you—”
I dragged Rebel by the wrist around to face me. “Listen here, you’re not my mate, and I don’t need a fanboy. So, you’re going to tell me how you know all this and if it involves cameras and the Internet...?”
I rolled his wrist from side-to-side, and the bones rubbed against each other with a crunch.
“Jesus, will you stop that woman and wise up. I already told you,” Rebel’s smile through his pain was suddenly dazzling, “I’m an angel.”
“Yeah, and I’m a unicorn, not the Bitch of Utopia Estate.”
He laughed. The punk stood there quivering in my hold and he laughed.
I threw down his wrist like it’d burnt me. “You’ve been watching me?”
Shame flooded Rebel’s face. He dropped his gaze to the pavement, rubbing at his wrist. “I can’t help it. I’m addicted. I’ve been following you for a month now.”
“You…?”
The slam of sugary copper couldn’t be because of Rebel…? I imagined the taste of his blood in my throat and its sweet kick, before shaking my head. I was a freak, but angels weren’t real.
I staggered back from him. “Whatever you are, don’t come near me again.”
Rebel frowned. “It’s not safe…”
Suddenly, there was a flash of silver, a tumble of black, and Rebel was yanked into a side alley. I froze, flattening myself against the wall.
A bald bastard clutching a knife — his face tattooed with wings like birds had exploded free from his mind — pinned Rebel to
the redbrick wall, before punching him in the guts. A hook to the chin, and Rebel crashed into overflowing recycling bins.
Rebel struggled up, shoving back the attacker.
“Just give him your phone,” I growled because I’d seen enough muggings to know the drill.
Distracted, Rebel glanced over at me, and missed Bird Tattoo’s knee to his balls. I winced, creeping closer, but when I peered into the shadows, the sun glinted off the blade…
My knees buckled, and I swayed. The new powers burning through me since my twenty-first meant nothing in the face of that knife. Despite a flush of guilt, I abandoned Rebel and I ran.
2
Shanks, blades, or knives: call them what you like, I hate the bastards. The sleek primitive power that promises respect, but offers up some poor kid’s grave.
Yet there’s nothing like the gasp, as your mates watch the tip slash, and knowing that one more push to the left or right could save or end your enemy’s life. Then as the quarry’s wide eyes watch yours, waiting on your decision, even if you never intended to kill them before you were drawn into the dance…
In that moment, you’re the god.
When you grow up as an orphan, alone on Utopia Estate in London, the center of drugs, gangs, and prostitutes, you learn how to survive.
As a kid, I’d been nicknamed the Bitch of Utopia.
I hadn’t just looked different, even if I’d tried to hide behind sunglasses, I’d learned to pull off that edge of swagger, which is backed up by a shank.
Until the day that the blade had been turned on me.
When I finally collapsed onto the faded purple swings in the playground on the Utopia Estate, holding myself against the biting cold of the chains, I knew why I’d deserted Rebel in the alleyway, leaving him to the mugger with the wing tattoos.
It was the memory of a knife cutting into my neck and Gizem’s scar.
I sighed, scuffing my foot in and out of a muddy track, whilst I swung.
Drizzle ghosted from torn clouds; rain tears caught and shone down the slide. The monkey bars bared themselves like fangs, whilst somewhere high in Tower Block B, a baby bawled.
Hey, scaredy cat, you left our pretty boy to bleed.
Rebel Angels: The Complete Series Page 2