Tonight's the night. After I finish this job, I'll be able to run my crew the way I want. No matter what happens, it'll be worth it to get out from under Fileze.
It's been a week since we stole the money and diamonds from the warehouse in vampire territory. I haven't seen Rory since and hope she's okay, but she isn't returning my texts or calls. If Fileze did anything to her… I want to say I'll kill him, but I don't have the power to do that. Still, I watch the news, hoping I don't see her face as a victim.
In my apartment bathroom, I step from the shower and dry off. Lotion my body, and then wrap in a towel. At the mirror, I do my make-up, adding extra liner under my eyes. Smudge it to make my aqua eyes pop. Everyone says the strange color is my best feature. Might as well emphasize them.
Next, I squeeze out the excess water in my hair and dry it using a round brush until it's shiny and the ends curl softly. Without putting on underwear, I pull on my most elegant dress. It's short, tight, and black, with a sweetheart neckline that accentuates my cleavage.
"What do you think?" I ask, walking out of the bathroom.
Ellie, who's still in bed, rolls over and groans. She pushes her bangs out of her eyes and smiles. "You look smokin' hot. Dayum. I'd tap that."
"Thanks." I walk over to our shoes and pick up two different pairs, holding them up so she can see. "Which shoes, though? The red ones?" Each has seven-inch heels. Neither set is easy to walk in, but hopefully, I won't be wearing them long. "Or black?"
"Bitch, the black ones for sure." She climbs out of bed. Dressed in a pink thong and a white tank, she slaps my ass as she passes me on her way to the bathroom.
I slide on the shoes, unplug my phone, and grab my bag, which contains some money, my ID, the vial of poison I'm to use on my mark, mace, a compact wooden stake, and a little gun filled with silver bullets. In the false bottom is my secret weapon—a hot pink taser. Not even Ellie knows I have it.
Not because I don't trust her but because secrets keep me alive.
Fallen City isn't for the faint of heart.
"You got enough condoms?" she asks from the bathroom. "I bought a new box yesterday. They're under my bed, or maybe on my bed." She snorts. "They're somewhere around my bed."
Oh, and I have condoms in my bag too. "Thanks, Ellie. I'm good." I head to the door.
"Hey?" Ellie calls.
"Yeah?"
She pokes her head out, and our eyes meet. Hers are soft, full of concern. "You know you don't have to do this. It hasn't been that many days since your mom—"
"Don't worry about it," I say, cutting her off.
I can't talk about my mom. The pain is too raw, too jagged, and I'm afraid my heart will cut into ribbons if I say anything. "Thanks, Ellie."
"Love you." She returns to the bathroom, and I hear her turn on the shower.
"Love you back, babe." I take a deep breath and push down the grief just below the surface. I found out my mom died a couple of days ago, and while she wasn't ever a great parent, she was all I had.
But tonight, I need to focus. I need to plaster on my game face. When I come back here in the morning, I'll no longer be someone's bitch but obligated only to myself.
That one thought pushes out any worry about what kind of monster Fileze has me seeing tonight. Another bonus about tonight? I'll be able to pay for my mom's funeral.
Determined, I exit, locking the front door before closing it. Clomp carefully down the stairs and outside. The city is alive with activity, especially at night.
It's after nine, and the night is warm and breezy. I suck in a deep breath. This section of Fallen City is deceptively beautiful after the sun goes down and salt from the ocean gives the air a little bite. My apartment complex is snuggled between a run-down tattoo shop that doubles as a drug den and The Bean Barn. I stop in for an iced coffee and a blueberry scone.
Bob, the manager, doesn't charge me for the coffee, and I thank him before sliding into a booth. There's a newspaper on the table.
The angel leader, Michael Knightly, talks about how excited the angels are for the new school year at the Nephilim Academy.
I peruse the article.
Apparently, there's been an uptick in nephilim.
Not that I'm surprised.
When an angel and a human get busy… well, everyone knows the rest.
The baby born is nephilim, which is why the Academy was created in the first place.
"We take care of our own," Michael is quoted as saying.
I can't help but roll my eyes.
What a douche.
Angels aren't supposed to have sex with anyone outside of other angels. Obviously, they aren't as divine as they want us to believe. It seems they have urges, the same as the rest of us.
I don't finish reading the article and turn the pages until I get to the business section. The DOW is down, and the NASDAQ is up.
Wall Street is a mess, but I can't get enough of the numbers for some reason. It's like I was born for business. Now I just need to get my degree, and maybe someday I'll be able to start my own legitimate company. I'd been all set to pay for my first semester of college, but then my mom died. It doesn't matter that we weren't super close. I need to lay her to rest the best way I can.
Cremation is an option. Or I could let the prison take care of her remains, but she'd always been afraid of fire, and I can't do that to her. It turns out buying a burial plot, a casket, and a gravestone costs a lot.
Grounding out those thoughts, I study the top article. Some guy is giving his two cents on trends in the market. He has a perfectly sculpted face, and immediately, I know he has to be at least part angel. That's the hope of the Nephilim Academy. Once a student graduates, they will live productive lives outside the wall.
I pull out my phone, checking the time.
Fileze said he would text the address by ten.
That's still twenty-plus minutes away, so I wait and watch the people pass by the coffee shop's big window while I sip my drink and nibble on the pastry.
Across the street is a giant billboard advertising an upcoming movie. The actress has lush blond hair similar in color to mine. Her navy wings with white tips are tucked behind her and match the sparkling gown she's wearing.
Arielle Knightly. She's the most prominent actress the world has ever known. Since she started on the acting scene, nobody else stands a chance. Beside her on the billboard is a man holding a gun, but his face is cut off. Sadly, even the male actors are only arm candy next to Arielle.
I'm not much for theaters. I can't afford them, but even I know she's a remarkable actress.
Beyond the advertisement is the ocean. I can see the waves break and smash against the sand if I squint. The Pacific is the only redeeming quality about Fallen City.
I promise myself I'll make time to go for a walk along the beach, but I won't. It's wishful thinking.
Sometimes I wonder if anyone is ever truly happy? Even the angels.
As if to prove my point, a vampire walks by the window. I know he's a vampire because, at night, a vampire's eyes flash the color of fresh blood, and he looks right at me before grabbing someone from behind.
He bares his fangs, grabs the guy by the shoulders, and tears his throat out in the blink of an eye. Vanishes before the guy's body hits the pavement.
I swallow down frazzled nerves.
Yeah, Fallen City is not for the faint of heart.
My phone buzzes.
That's when I realize one hand is in my purse, fingers curled around the small stake. I release it and find my phone, pulling it out.
It's Fileze.
He texts me: The Hotel BelAyre. Ten-thirty. Room 1323. His name is Jesse. Get me that jewel, and you're free. Don't fuck this up, and don't be late.
I growl, frustrated. He promised me a cut of the spoils from the job, which I intended to use for my mom's funeral. Leave it to Fileze to stiff me.
But, whatever. Maybe I can find a house to break into after I finish with Jesse.
I text Fileze back to let him know I received the message. Tuck away my phone and finish my coffee. If I hurry, I can walk instead of paying for a cab and still make it in plenty of time.