Page 38 of Angel

But no one wanted to kill a barely legal kid who had been handed a rotten deck of cards by the universe. His life did not excuse him—but it did make his situation more sympathetic.

Unlike their other guest, Bulldog had not been keeping Sam in chains in the cellar. He was locked up down there with food and water, had a drain in the floor for a bathroom, and had been given a pillow and blanket. Bulldog had not been torturing him but, instead, talking to him.

The same could not be said for his cellar companion. Sam was privy to each session Bulldog had with Scar’s gift.

It had taken three days, but Keys finally discovered the man’s identity: Nathan Moore, state trooper and Bree’s rapist.

As soon as that discovery had been made, it had been difficult to keep Angel out of the cellar. She’d made it known that Moore was not to be killed. Angel was out for blood and she wanted him to suffer.

Based on the police report of Bree’s disappearance to the night Bear had nearly run Bree over in the street, Bree had been held captive for nine hundred and ninety-six days. Two years, eight months, and twenty-two days.

Angel wanted Moore to suffer just as long. She was only four days into his sentence.

Cage would not allow Angel to go down into the cellar alone, despite her insistence that she did not need his support or help. Cage called bullshit and followed her down each time. Personally, he was tempted to demand a kidney from Moore once Angel had had her fill.

Bear had an even more difficult time than Angel. He was tasked with the job of keeping Moore alive long enough to serve his sentence when he wanted nothing more than to put a bullet between the man’s eyes for what he had done to Bree.

Cage had no idea how Scar had found Moore. He was raining a one-man-army down upon the human trafficking industry. It was very possible that he’d stumbled upon Moore and had taken him captive as soon as he’d learned who the man was and his connection to Bree. Regardless of the fact that Scar no longer wore the VDMC colors, no one doubted his loyalty to the club or its members. Cage wasn’t sure if he’d use love as a word to describe Scar’s feelings towards them. It was possible Scar was too emotionally damaged to feel such, but Cage never doubted the man’s loyalty.

As Cage stood against the wall of the cellar he himself had soundproofed a year and a half ago, he wondered if he should pull Angel away from Moore. She looked exhausted, but still kept her punches flying. Moore was beyond black and blue. He was missing teeth and was a bloody mess. He hung naked from the ceiling by chains attached to his wrists.

Cage kept silent though. Angel needed his support more than she needed his intervention. Additionally, Cage had to wonder if this was cathartic for Angel. Bree had been the one kidnapped from her foster home, raped, tortured, and sold. She’d been the one thrown from a moving van into traffic and nearly run over by Bear’s hog. She’d been the one to almost die.

But Angel had suffered too. She’d taken on Bree’s fight, carried her burden for her, the moment she’d laid eyes on Bree in her hospital bed.

Cage had only been minutes behind Angel entering that room. It shamed him to recall being grateful for Bear’s text message that night asking for assistance at the hospital because it had given Cage the excuse to kick the Honey he’d just fucked out of his bed. He honestly couldn’t even remember which one it was—all he knew was that she was the last girl he’d fucked until Angel.

Out of the corner of his eye, Cage watched as Sam curled further into a ball in the corner he’d claimed. He hugged the pillow closer to himself, squeezing his eyes closed against the sight of Moore’s mangled body and clutching his hands over his ears to muffle the man’s tortured moans. Cage thought perhaps witnessing Moore’s torture was enough to set Sam straight. But they couldn’t keep him down here indefinitely.

One of the suggestions was to give Sam over to Carlos. He’d wind up in jail and—while the system had its purposes and some did emerge rehabilitated—it would ruin Sam’s entire future. He would forever have that jail sentence on his record and would struggle for the rest of his life to find a job or a career.

Perhaps that was what the kid deserved for what he’d been a part of. Bree spoke of Sam’s participation as being scared but willing. Perhaps he deserved to have that record follow him around for the rest of his days.

Looking at the kid now, though, Cage questioned that logic. It was human to make mistakes. Fuck, Cage’s life was full of them. But if the world only saw Sam as one thing—a criminal—that would be what he would be regardless of how he managed to turn his life around. His mistake was awful, but the circumstances of his upbringing also had to be taken into account. He hadn’t been born with a silver spoon in his mouth or even to a loving family. His mother had been a drug addict and his father non-existent. It was likely that Sam didn’t even know which of the Pythons was his father.

Regardless of upbringing, there was right and wrong. However, Sam’s right and wrong were likely askew. Can you blame a child for always making wrong decisions when that’s what he’s taught is normal and right?

Where did the cycle end?

Cage had no idea what would happen to Sam. He didn’t even know if Steel had asked Ollie about Sam, to get another perspective on Sam’s life in the club. He’d been a prospect, but had he been given a choice? Ollie had also been wearing a Python prospect cut and he was only fifteen.

After several hours, Angel stepped back from Moore. She was soaked in sweat and covered in the man’s blood splatter. Cage handed her a water bottle first. After she took a swig, splashed it around in her mouth, and then spat it out at the drain below Moore’s feet, Angel chugged down the rest of the bottle. Then she stood still for Cage to take some wet cloths to her skin to wipe off the blood. She’d argued the first time he’d done this, but now she stood patiently for him to help clean her off.

“I need a shower.”

“You need about five showers,” he corrected. He spotted something in her hair and picked it up—only to discover it was a tooth. Cage made a face and flung it towards the drain. “Make that, six showers.”

There was a second of hesitation, but long enough that Cage caught it, before Angel asked, “Join me?”

All the blood his body possessed immediately headed south. She didn’t need to ask twice. “Fuck yeah.”

Perhaps there was something wrong with her, but as Angel stood there while Cage wiped Moore’s blood off her, she suddenly had the intense need to fuck his brains out. It was so strong and overwhelming that it took all of her concentration to recall that there was an eighteen-year-old terrified kid in the corner whom she did not want to be her audience. She’d never been one for exhibitionism.

Glancing at Cage’s watch, she added, “Bree’s still at Bulldog’s for another hour.”

Cage dropped all the bloody towels to the cellar floor and, not caring in the least about her current state, picked her up into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, settling her core over his hardening erection. “My room’s closer.”

“My shower is bigger,” Angel countered.

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