MONTHS EARLIER

"That wasn't very nice, Angel."

I start at the voice that erupts in my apartment as soon as I exit the bathroom. Not thinking, I spin and grab one of the closest loaded guns from the wall and fire,

"Fucking hell."

The figure in the armchair rolls off and onto the ground, the bullet I'd fired lodging itself in the wall.

I point the gun at the figures head as they roll to a stop only a metre in front of me, crouched to the ground.

They stand up slowly, blood caked hands dusting imaginary lint off his jacket.

"Put the gun down, Angel."

"And why would I do that?" I cock my head to the side.

He tilts his head back at me, dark eyes twinkling.

"Because I asked nicely?"

"We don't always get what we want."

He huffs, rolling his eyes at me as he shrugs out of his jacket, folding it over the armchair beside the bed before beginning to unbutton his crisp white shirt. With each button a new sliver of skin is exposed, the intricate ink of his tattoos peeking out.

I didn't even know he had tattoos.

"What are you doing?"

He ignores me, pulling his muscled arms out of the shirt before throwing it beside his jacket. He turns back to me with his arms outstretched by his sides.

My eyes track down his corded muscles, the dips, and grooves of his abs on show before I reach the V of his hips and the bulge just below that I can see clearly through his black slacks. My gaze travels back up to his pecs, my head tilting at the tattoo of deaths scythe over his heart.

I look back to his eyes.

"Well then, shoot me." He drags a bloodied finger to his left shoulder, pointing just below his collarbone. "Right here, I want matching scars."

My eyes flicker to the blood seeping from the left side before I slowly walk up to him, biting the corner of my lip.

He watches me like a predator watches prey, taking slow measured steps backwards.

I watch him as the back of his knees hit the armchair.

I shove him down onto the chair and he tumbles back, his hands curling around the armrests as he continues watching me.

I stop in front of him.

"Stay." I smile sweetly at him, turning my back on him as I walk for the bathroom, the steam from my earlier shower still permeating the air.

"That was mean Angel, you got me all excited."

"I'm sure your right hand will help you out."

"Been a bit overworked lately." He mutters lowly but I still catch it.

I roll my eyes, bending and grabbing the first aid kit from under the sink.

I stand and turn, raising a brow at the man standing in the doorway, his dark eyes taking in the bathroom with a predator's gaze.

"Cute." He mumbles, finally looking at me with his face bathed in shadows.

"Get back in the chair."

"So demanding."

I stalk past him, sitting the first aid kit on my bed before looking at the chair he's already left a bloodstain on.

"You're paying to get that cleaned."

"Sure thing, Angel."

He stalks forward, rounding my bed and taking a seat on the other side.

I turn a glare on him, "If you get blood-"

"I'll pay for it." He waves me off, beckoning me forward with his chin. "So, are you going to stitch me up, Angel?"

"Shut up." I mutter but still crawl closer and open the kit, digging to find what I need to begin cleaning his wound.

I reach for the little bottle of alcohol I always keep in the first aid kit, handing it over. "You may want to drink up, I've been known not to have the steadiest hand."

"I saw you stab a man earlier tonight, your hand was steady enough."

"Not when removing bullets."

"I'll take my chances." He watches me with his dark gaze.

• • •

I pull the last stitch closed, cutting the needle free before sitting back.

I could feel John's gaze on me the whole time I cleaned, removed the bullet, and stitched him up and not once did he say a word or flinch.

If I wasn't so suspicious of him I'd be impressed.

"Do you have any idea why someone would be shooting at you?"

His jaw flexes.

"At me?"

I hum, packing away my stuff.

"I think you need to ask yourself that question, Angel."

I tilt my head at him, lifting a brow.

He reaches into his pocket, retrieving a photograph from his pants. He hands it over to me, still folded.

"I went up to the roof after you left and found that."

I unfold it, the air in my lungs sucking back down my throat with a cough.

"So, who would want to kill you Angel?"

I don't answer, my finger tracing the photograph, the picture of me with my face circled and the persons face beside me scribbled out.

John leans forward, looking down at the image and grabs my hand, stopping my thumb from stroking the scratched out face again.

"I gather you know her."

I rip my hand out of his grip, shoving the photograph under my pillow before standing up and pointing to the door.

John looks at the pillow before glancing at me.

"You've overstayed your welcome."

He lifts himself from the bed. "Find out who is trying to kill you Angel, because if I get my hands on them they will die."

"I don't need a knight in shining armour."

He chuckles darkly, "It's Armani." He says, swiping up his jacket and shirt. "And they shot me, they're dead already."

I ignore him, opening the door and slamming it as soon as he exits.

I rush back to the pillow, my hand slipping under and grabbing the photograph before I walk for my duffle, digging my hand in the lining and pulling out the only photograph I still have from my past.

A phantom hand squeezes my heart as I unfold my own photo and look at both side by side, except mine is free of scratched out faces and circled targets.

My sister, Holland and I stand side by side. Her lithe body leaning into mine, face coated with a layer of boredom even as a genuine smile stretches her lips. My own eyes bathed in giddy happiness instead of vengeance, the girl unrecognizable to the person I am now. I tilt my head, a sad smile on my lips as I trace a nail down the scar over the girl's eye, lifting my hands to the very same scar on my face.

"Don't be stupid."

"Do you trust me?"

"No."

I roll my eyes and pout at Holland before grabbing her hand and tugging her around the corner. Her icy  blonde hair sways messily from her ponytail, bits falling into her face.

"Ready." I hush and get into character, my brown eyes connection to her matching ones.

Dim lights glare down at me as I stumble down the hallway, alcohol coated floor causing my shoes to stick with every stagger.

A surprised giggle escapes my lips as my hand is tugged behind me and a body stumbles into mine.

I look behind me, laughing at my sister's glare before her eyes lose their focus. I stumble forward, dark brown hair falling into my face.

"C'mon." I pull her further down the darkening hallway, champagne bottle clutched in my left hand as we approach the door at the end of the hallway.

Holland pushes in front of me, her hand slapping against the door, shoving the wood open on groaning hinges. Her hooded eyes glance back at me a second before chairs scrape as the people inside stand up to look at us, hands going under coats and behind backs.

Three men all together.

My eyes swing to the door on the other side of the room.

Where I need to get to.

One of the men breaks off from the others and approaches us, hands up placatingly as if I'm a scared animal.

A sultry smile tilts up my lips and I stumble past Holland. The champagne bottle swishes wildly, almost tipping over, the liquid inside spilling onto the floor.

I take a sip, draining the last of the liquid before planting my right hand on the man's chest, feeling the muscles beneath contract.

"Hello Handsome." I slur the words, dragging my fingers to his navel and bunching his shirt in my fist.

He doesn't fall for the come hither smile, his hard eyes pinned to Holland and I.

"How'd you get back here?"

I don't answer the question, peaking over his shoulder at the two other brutes. "Well, aren't you three a sight for sore eyes." I giggle at the end, running my eyes up their forms appreciatively.

Brute one places a hand on my shoulder, his grip bruising as he forces me a step back.

The two others follow, their eyes focused behind me as I hear Holland stumble back into the door.

A lock clicks and the men focus their hard gazes on Holland.

"How did you two get back here?" Brute one repeats, his words growled.

"Oh." My mouth forms an innocent pout and I glance over my shoulder at Holland. "The men let us pass, says they wanted a show." I lean forwards and whisper on a breathy chuckle. "So, we gave them one."

I slam the champagne bottle into the side of his head as I finish the sentence, the glass shattering and the man tumbling to the ground.

"Timber!" I smile sweetly at the other two, holding the broken neck of the bottle in my grip. "Heya boys." I let the words linger with a crazed accent, winking at them.

They react quickly, diving forward. One for me, the other for Holland.

I hold my hands out, welcoming their deadly embrace before slamming a knee into the firsts groin and spinning around, winding an arm around the man's neck. I shove the broken bottle into the skin, piercing it slightly.

He stills in my grip.

His friend crashes back into the second door as Holland kicks her foot flat into the centre of his chest. The door caves in, four faces peering at us from the other side of the broken door.

I look at her with narrowed eyes and she shrugs. "I was aiming for the wall." She shouts and ducks as a gunshot echoes.

I push the man away from me, spinning out of the way of another's grip and landing next to Holland, our backs touching as we reach for our own weapons and aim.

We don't fire as a woman enters through the door, clapping at us slowly.

"Samael is upping his game, got to give it to the man."

I smile at Margo, teeth bared. "How's the tits bitch?" I simper and wink at the man that exits behind her.

Her face darkens and she rubs a hand against her chest, no doubt remembering the bullet I'd fired through her fake boobs, accidentally.

Maybe.

Okay I wasn't aiming for them, but it happened, and I don't regret it.

"Diego." Holland quips, aiming her gun at the man's chest. "You've gotten uglier."

He places a hand against his heart. "You wound me, Agent Eleven."

Okay I might have gotten Holland a little tipsy before we left.

Margo scoffs. "Hasn't your precious Director killed enough people sending them after us? Why waste his two favourites?"

"No risk, no reward?"

"Agent twelve, I see you've gotten crazier."

I tip my head in acceptance. "Thank you."

Diego smiles flirtatiously.

"Enough talking." Margo snaps, shoving an elbow into her man's chest with a glare.

She spins around, reaching behind her back and pulling out a knife.

"Playing with big girl weapons?" Holland sneers.

I cough to hide my snicker.

"Bitch." Margo snaps and throws the weapon, aiming for Holland.

Though since I got Holland a bit tipsy, she doesn't move nearly as quick as she should.

I shout and dive for her, pushing her out of the way, feeling the blade slice against my face.

Blood coats the vision of my right eye, a stinging ache zinging down my face.

I lift my weapon and fire blindly towards Margo and Diego, finding Holland's hand with my other. Slowly I pull her backwards, towards the door we entered in.

The noise in the room explodes, the feeling of Holland pulling me back now.

"C'mon!" Her voice pierces my concentration and cold air whispers over my body as we exit into the night air. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." She mutters. Pulling me away from the nightclub and taking bends.

"It's fine, I'm fine. I just can't see anything." I lift a hand to my eye and wipe the blood away, my vision slightly clearing with red at the edges. "Dads going to kill us."

"Dad can get over himself." Holland mutters, her voice sounding more sober than she did inside.

"We failed a mission."

"It's not the first and it won't be the last."

"Yeah, but it's dad."

"Since when have we cared what he thought?"

I stop and realise she's right. Grabbing her hand, I squeeze it as she turns to me and examines my face. "As long as I have you."

She smiles at me, her gentle fingers prodding at my face. "It's going to scar."

"I'll look like a badass, it suits my aesthetic." I shrug, brushing my brown hair off my shoulder.

Holland rolls her eyes and turns, starting the trek to our car. Her blonde hair glows under the moonlight, bathing her in an angelic glow.

I snort.

She's anything but an angel.

She turns to look at me after my snort, her eyebrow raised and dark brown eyes curious.

"Nothing." I murmur and jog to her, looping my arm through hers.