Page 4 of Angelic Vengeance

This time I couldn’t hold in an amused scoff. We didn’t even know each other.

“I’ll be fine.”

“I insist.”

God,how was he still interested?

“I insist you take a fucking hint.” A jab at his masculinity would make him leave me alone.

Sure, he was hot, but I didn’t date. I would never be able to be my real self or tell others about my past. They wouldn’t understand. So what was the point of having a superficial relationship?

Shaking his head, he ran his bloody thumb over his bottom lip – the same thumb he used to wipe my face clean. And probably the same thumb he used to pull out men’s eyes during torture. “You think I ran after you cause I’m trying to fuck you?”

Rude. I mean,didn’t he?

“I owe Francesca. She asked me to take you home. And keep you safe.” He glanced down at the man. “Though I doubt you need me for that.”

“Like I said, I’ll be fine.”

He watched me for a second longer, assessing my body language and facial expression for any sign of what I was thinking; he wasn’t going to find anything. I spent years training myself to become unreadable.

After what felt like too long for a normal interaction, he nodded his head towards the street at the end of the alley. “I’ll get you a taxi.”

Five minutes later, I was on my way home with a buzzy feeling left on my cheek. Alone, in a prepaid cab, and hot all over.

CHAPTER 2

The Bronx,New York City

3 years old

I WASN’T SURE HOW I got here.

Just that I’d been stuck here for a very long time.

I sat on a beige couch in a big empty room. Waiting – just like they told me. I struggled to breathe as my chin wobbled and my chest raised up and down with uneven breaths. My chest burned and my vision was blurry.

I was crying– or so I thought. Looking back now I was having a panic attack.

The nice woman I met earlier walked back into the room. She was pretty; long brown hair and green eyes just like mine. She spoke Spanish too. I wished she would be my mami.

When she saw me crying, she kneeled in front of me. She cupped my tiny red face between her soft hands and wiped away my tears.

“Stop crying, Angela. You have to be strong. Don’t ever let anybody see you hurt.”

I nodded. She smiled. I tried smiling back.

My breathing slowly turned more normal.

She let go of my face and squeezed my small dirty hands in hers.

“You’re safe now,ángel.”

7 years old

Ruiz lied.

Here I was, still in New York’s shitty foster care system, fighting to survive every day.

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