Chapter Four
Angel
I helped Demon get into his apartment. My hands shook when we entered his living room, as memories assaulted me of all the times I’d thrown myself at him, only to be rejected.
Was I really that stupid?
Yep, because here the fuck I was again.
And why did I have to blurt out that I was engaged? I made my dad promise not to tell anyone, and what the hell do I do? I fucking reveal it to him while he’s bleeding from a stab wound.
Why can’t I act like a normal person when I’m around Demon?
After the fiasco that was my twenty-first birthday, or as I referred to it, the birthday that would not be mentioned, I swore I would get over Demon. I was an adult, and my stupid childhood crush needed to die a quick death.
I gave myself a month to wallow in my self-pity. Cringing every time, I thought of the stupid shit I’d done to get Demon’s attention. When my self-appointed month was over, I crammed those horrific memories in the back of my brain, and did my best to forget about them.
I wanted to become a person who I’d be proud of. A person who didn’t throw herself at a man who made it clear, on numerous occasions, that he wasn’t interested.
I threw myself into school and ended up graduating Summa Cum Laude. Then I met Blake. A perfectly normal guy who, surprise, surprise, didn’t run a motorcycle club. In fact, I didn’t think Blake had ever been around a motorcycle. And most important, he wasn’t aware of my pathetic attempts to get Demon.
With Blake I was able to reinvent myself. He adored me as a student, as a bartender at the bar, Unfinished Business where we met, and as his fiancé. To Blake, I wasn’t Satan’s daughter when I was around him. I was just Angel, the normal college student. And Demon was never brought up, which was exactly what I needed to get over him.
Or so I’d thought.
And in one night, all my hard work crashed down around me. I knew I shouldn’t have moved back, but I couldn’t stay away from my parents. I missed them, and I wanted to stay near my mom to make sure she was taking care of herself. Her diagnosis was the main reason I became a nurse practitioner in the first place. I refused to let Demon ruin my plans.
Yet here I was.
I was an idiot to think I could stay out of club business, and away from Demon. It was in my blood. I was going to have to tell Blake about my childhood. I’d just keep Demon out of it. Good plan, no Demon.
Oh, shit, Demon.
“I can’t believe you were stabbed.” I poked his chest surprised when he wobbled. “Fuck, you got stabbed.”
My hands went to my knees as I got woozy. Tears streaked down my cheeks as I tried to get my breathing under control. This was a good reminder of why I needed to stay out of club business. I wouldn’t pretend it wasn’t a part of me, but it didn’t mean I needed to be a part of it now.
“You can’t pass out,” Demon said incredulously. “I’m the one who got stabbed, Angel. Come on kid, I need you to fix me up. This is what you went to school for, isn’t it?”
“I don’t feel so good.” I swallowed as blackness encroached on my vision. Demon got stabbed, and he wanted me to stitch him up. This could not be happening.
You’re not in college anymore, Dorothy.
His large hand landed on my back, almost sending me to the floor. He rubbed his palms up and down without any grace. A giggle bubbled out of me from the absurdity. Here he was comforting me, and he was the one who was stabbed. “I’ll tell you what, you can pass out after you stitch me up. Deal?”
“I can’t stitch you up. How can you be so nonchalant? If you don’t want to go to the hospital, then maybe somebody downstairs can do it. You’re a president of a motorcycle club for fucks sake. Don’t you have some underground doctor who takes care of shit like this for you? What kind of shoddy operation are you running?”
“Damn, I thought you were supposed to be a fancy ass nurse. Must not be any good if you can’t stitch up a tiny stab wound. I thought you were made of thicker stuff than this, kid. I guess you went soft in college. Were you out of the real world for too long? Forgot what life was really like outside of a classroom?”
I stood up quickly, knocking his arm off in the process. Asshole, calling me soft. Who did he think he was? “Fuck you. You’re the one all woozy from a tiny little stab wound. Shouldn’t you be made of stronger stuff? And I hate to break it to you, but the club isn’t the real world either, Demon. Where’s your first aid kit, assface?”
He smiled as he fell on the couch. “There she is. There’s my girl. And I’m woozy from the blood I’ve lost, not from some tiny scratch.”
My stupid heart fluttered when he called me his girl, which pissed me off even more. I was engaged. I was over this asshole alpha dickhead. He rejected me, twice. Even a club whore would realize it was time to move on.
And I was engaged.
“I’m not your girl, dickhead.”