Cursed Angels

“I’m in here,” I call to Hunter, hoping to calm the erratic emotions in my chest and in my voice. The door opens, and there in all his naked glory is the man who’s heard part of my story and is still here.

“Are you okay? You look flushed.” He closes the distance, grasping my cheeks in his hands, holding me steady. A small smile plays on his lips. “You’re beautiful any time of the day. You know that?”

“Not really,” I utter. Then, out of nowhere, tears stream down my face. Hot, fat, scary tears. “I’m so broken. Why would you want me, Hunt?” I fall into his arms suddenly at the rush of emotion racing through me.

What I recall of my sixteenth birthday wasn’t only the beautiful afternoon spent with Archer. It’s what happened that night. The same night I believed the man I loved left me, but it’s only because of me. I was the reason he left, and now I don’t know how to live with the guilt.

“Why don’t we go pay a visit to the first name on our list?” Hunter asks, lifting my face to his. “You’re always incredible when you fight, and I think it’s time to reclaim your past. This,” he says as he swipes away the tears, “is you remembering. I want you to finally have your revenge.” He’s adamant, and I nod. I can’t deny it will feel good. The first name on the list is the man who finally broke me, who took what Archer was meant to have.

It wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t romantic.

No, the moment I lost my innocence, my virtue, was the day I shattered into a million pieces. And that was the moment I vowed to avenge myself and the boy I once loved.

“I’ll be ready in ten minutes,” I inform Hunter with my blood heating, ready for a fight. He smirks. The sexy, naughty curl of his lips tells me he’s ready for this as much as I am.

Hunter parks on the corner of the property. We exit the car in silence. I’m dressed in black leathers. The knife that’s strapped to my thigh is my most prized possession, and the small 9mm with a silencer is hidden at my back. It’s the one thing I never leave home without.

As we make our way closer to the large wall surrounding the home, I take in the two floors of opulence that greet us through ornate gates.

There’s a darkness to it, which makes my stomach tighten with a knot of anxiety. Hunter’s already worked the alarm from the cabin. Having someone who’s so well versed in hacking makes our job easier.

We scale the wall easily. Coming from years of training, I’m comfortable climbing and leaping off high edges. There’s a deathly silence that envelops us from the other side. We stalk closer, finding the security nonexistent, and I wonder if this asshole really thinks he’s safe after all the horrors he’s acted out.

The black pillars that stand on either side of the door, the slope of driveway paved in dark stones, and the two ornate gargoyles that sit atop the metal gates scream violence and horror.

The door beckons us as I fall back behind Hunter. He’s never let me go first in a job. The man is like my own personal bodyguard. He unlatches it easily; his lock-picking abilities are renowned in our world.

It’s quiet when we enter, the door shutting with a gentle click. Moving swiftly, we head up the stairs. It’s just hit six in the morning, and we know the man who lives here is a late riser. I follow Hunter down the hallway toward the door we know from the floor plan is a bedroom. The master bedroom.

The door is ajar, and once we step inside, I breathe. A form covered by blankets lies waiting for my revenge. My heart thuds wildly, needing to get this over and done with, but I know as much as I want to rush this, I won’t. I’ll revel in the torture.

Hunter lifts his hand in gesture, telling me to stay put. I do. He moves quietly and swiftly, then pounces. The man is bound and gagged, sitting on a chair within minutes. Shock registers on his face when his gaze lands on me.

“Hello, Dr. Hickson.” I smile, sauntering closer. My partner sits beside him with the back of the chair between his legs. In the man’s face, he trails the barrel of his gun over the fleshy, wrinkled cheek.

“Hmfmmhhmm,” the old man mumbles into the gag.

I reach forward, tugging it out of his mouth. “I’d like to hear him scream,” I tell Hunter who regards me with mischievousness in his beautiful, hazel eyes.

“What are you doing? Are you crazy?” The doctor gasps when I pull the blade from its holster against my leg.