The Angel
Page 88
Michael extended his left hand and Spike started to swab his wrist with alcohol.
“Hold him down, mate,” Spike ordered Griffin. “Don’t let him move a muscle.”
Griffin took Michael’s hand in his and held his fingers and forearm hard against the table.
“I won’t even let him flinch.” Griffin and Michael’s eyes still remained locked on each other. Michael felt blood surging through his body. The buzz of the electric needle started up.
“Won’t lie to you, kid,” Spike said, making a final adjustment on her needle. “Skin on the wrist is thin and sensitive. Getting ink on your c**k would hurt less than this will.”
Michael took a deep breath in and slowly let it out of his nose the way Nora had taught him.
“It’s okay,” Michael said and knew he’d never been so calm or certain in his life. He had Griffin’s hands on him holding him down. No fear, no agony, nothing in the world could penetrate the armor of his happiness. “I can take pain.”
* * *
Slowly Wesley turned around. Standing in the doorway to Nora’s bedroom was a man well over six feet tall, with perfect pale blond hair, penetrating steel-gray eyes and a face too handsome to be human. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt that revealed impressively taut biceps, and in his right hand he held a motorcycle helmet.
“So Søren rides a motorcycle,” Wesley said, not knowing why that was the first thing that came out. “For some reason, I’m not surprised.”
Søren’s eyes narrowed and the corner of his mouth twitched with amusement. He tossed the helmet onto a chair and crossed his arms over his broad chest.
“Hello, Wesley,” Søren said and spoke no other words.
“I’m not going to say hello to you.” Wesley took a deep breath and took a few steps closer. “We’re not friends. This isn’t going to be a friendly conversation.”
Søren stared at him a moment and Wesley felt himself being weighed in the priest’s eyes. For more than two years, Wesley had wondered about Søren—what did he look like, how did he act, what the hell did Nora see in him? Now the man himself stood in front of him. And that’s what Wesley saw. A man—mortal, very handsome, but still only a man.
“We aren’t friends, no.” Søren said the words with a magnanimous air. “But must we be enemies?”
Wesley summoned all his courage.
“You hit Nora. You hit her often. You’ve sprained her wrists. You’ve bruised her ribs. You’ve done stuff to her she wouldn’t even tell me about. Yeah, Søren, I think we’ll be enemies.”
Søren didn’t seem the least surprised or intimidated by Wesley’s words. In fact, he seemed almost pleased.
“I am a pacifist, Wesley. I have no interest in getting into any kind of fight with you. I think Eleanor would never recover from the laughing fit that would induce if she discovered we’d scuffled over her.”
“Where is Nora anyway?” Wesley demanded. “I came to see her, not talk to you. You’re about the last person in the world I want to talk to.”
The insult didn’t seem to register. The man was a wall nothing could penetrate.
“She’s upstate with two friends for the summer. I won’t bore you with the details of why, but she’s quite content, I assure you. Do you care to tell me what you’re doing in Eleanor’s home?”
Wesley didn’t answer at first. He turned his back to Søren and weighed how much to tell the man.
“She’s not,” Wesley finally said.
“Pardon?”
Wesley turned back around and glared at Søren.
“She is not content. I don’t believe that, and something tells me you don’t, either.”
“You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?”
“I live here.” Wesley pulled his keys from his pocket. “I still have a key. This was my home with Nora. What are you doing here?”
“Kingsley had the house alarmed when she went upstate. Silent alarm. You tripped it when you entered. I was nearby and came to investigate.”
Wesley’s stomach knotted up.
“Alarm? This is a really safe neighborhood. Why would you alarm Nora’s house when she’s not even here?”
Søren didn’t answer and the silence scared him more than any explanation.
“Things are happening,” Søren finally said.
Wesley gave a short, empty laugh.
“Well, that explains everything. Thanks for that, Father Stearns.”
“Her file was stolen from Kingsley’s office. That file contained everything there is to know about her. We don’t know who stole it. We don’t know why anyone would take such a risk.”
Wesley’s anger turned to fear.
“You ass**les—you and Kingsley both. You keep her safe or you’ll answer to me. And I know that doesn’t scare you, but I’ll make it scare you if I have to. Now I guess I’ll go. Gotta run upstate to find Nora and make sure she’s okay.” Wesley headed for the door, knowing he’d have to barrel past Søren to get through. In his mood, he rather relished the idea. “Somebody’s got to and obviously you don’t give a damn about her.”
Wesley headed for the gap between Søren’s body and the door frame, a gap just wide enough for him to fit through. But Søren’s arm suddenly clapped down against the frame and barred Wesley’s way.
“Hold him down, mate,” Spike ordered Griffin. “Don’t let him move a muscle.”
Griffin took Michael’s hand in his and held his fingers and forearm hard against the table.
“I won’t even let him flinch.” Griffin and Michael’s eyes still remained locked on each other. Michael felt blood surging through his body. The buzz of the electric needle started up.
“Won’t lie to you, kid,” Spike said, making a final adjustment on her needle. “Skin on the wrist is thin and sensitive. Getting ink on your c**k would hurt less than this will.”
Michael took a deep breath in and slowly let it out of his nose the way Nora had taught him.
“It’s okay,” Michael said and knew he’d never been so calm or certain in his life. He had Griffin’s hands on him holding him down. No fear, no agony, nothing in the world could penetrate the armor of his happiness. “I can take pain.”
* * *
Slowly Wesley turned around. Standing in the doorway to Nora’s bedroom was a man well over six feet tall, with perfect pale blond hair, penetrating steel-gray eyes and a face too handsome to be human. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt that revealed impressively taut biceps, and in his right hand he held a motorcycle helmet.
“So Søren rides a motorcycle,” Wesley said, not knowing why that was the first thing that came out. “For some reason, I’m not surprised.”
Søren’s eyes narrowed and the corner of his mouth twitched with amusement. He tossed the helmet onto a chair and crossed his arms over his broad chest.
“Hello, Wesley,” Søren said and spoke no other words.
“I’m not going to say hello to you.” Wesley took a deep breath and took a few steps closer. “We’re not friends. This isn’t going to be a friendly conversation.”
Søren stared at him a moment and Wesley felt himself being weighed in the priest’s eyes. For more than two years, Wesley had wondered about Søren—what did he look like, how did he act, what the hell did Nora see in him? Now the man himself stood in front of him. And that’s what Wesley saw. A man—mortal, very handsome, but still only a man.
“We aren’t friends, no.” Søren said the words with a magnanimous air. “But must we be enemies?”
Wesley summoned all his courage.
“You hit Nora. You hit her often. You’ve sprained her wrists. You’ve bruised her ribs. You’ve done stuff to her she wouldn’t even tell me about. Yeah, Søren, I think we’ll be enemies.”
Søren didn’t seem the least surprised or intimidated by Wesley’s words. In fact, he seemed almost pleased.
“I am a pacifist, Wesley. I have no interest in getting into any kind of fight with you. I think Eleanor would never recover from the laughing fit that would induce if she discovered we’d scuffled over her.”
“Where is Nora anyway?” Wesley demanded. “I came to see her, not talk to you. You’re about the last person in the world I want to talk to.”
The insult didn’t seem to register. The man was a wall nothing could penetrate.
“She’s upstate with two friends for the summer. I won’t bore you with the details of why, but she’s quite content, I assure you. Do you care to tell me what you’re doing in Eleanor’s home?”
Wesley didn’t answer at first. He turned his back to Søren and weighed how much to tell the man.
“She’s not,” Wesley finally said.
“Pardon?”
Wesley turned back around and glared at Søren.
“She is not content. I don’t believe that, and something tells me you don’t, either.”
“You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?”
“I live here.” Wesley pulled his keys from his pocket. “I still have a key. This was my home with Nora. What are you doing here?”
“Kingsley had the house alarmed when she went upstate. Silent alarm. You tripped it when you entered. I was nearby and came to investigate.”
Wesley’s stomach knotted up.
“Alarm? This is a really safe neighborhood. Why would you alarm Nora’s house when she’s not even here?”
Søren didn’t answer and the silence scared him more than any explanation.
“Things are happening,” Søren finally said.
Wesley gave a short, empty laugh.
“Well, that explains everything. Thanks for that, Father Stearns.”
“Her file was stolen from Kingsley’s office. That file contained everything there is to know about her. We don’t know who stole it. We don’t know why anyone would take such a risk.”
Wesley’s anger turned to fear.
“You ass**les—you and Kingsley both. You keep her safe or you’ll answer to me. And I know that doesn’t scare you, but I’ll make it scare you if I have to. Now I guess I’ll go. Gotta run upstate to find Nora and make sure she’s okay.” Wesley headed for the door, knowing he’d have to barrel past Søren to get through. In his mood, he rather relished the idea. “Somebody’s got to and obviously you don’t give a damn about her.”
Wesley headed for the gap between Søren’s body and the door frame, a gap just wide enough for him to fit through. But Søren’s arm suddenly clapped down against the frame and barred Wesley’s way.
