Chapter Eighty-Five

When Colton woke up on his sofa, he cursed at the woodpecker that was ruining his oblivion. Fucking birds and their bird noises so early in the morning.

Except it wasn’t morning. It was dark. It was only eleven.

The woodpecker tapped again, and Colton realized it wasn’t a woodpecker. It was tapping. On glass.

Where the hell was his dog? He looked around to see Pudge was nowhere to be found. He usually told him when someone was at the door. Had he lost his damn dog, too? Christ, his life was a frigging mess.

An answering bark came from outside. He’d let the dog out and forgotten to let him back in. He was such a piece of crap.

He was halfway to the door when he realized Pudge couldn’t have been knocking. The dog was brilliant, but knocking at the door was beyond him. Which meant a person had knocked. At his back door.

His gun was…somewhere. He wasn’t sure. Oh, well. It wasn’t as if the person was going to find Angel here. Because she was gone.

He opened the door and blinked.

“Angel.”

She blinked back at him. “God, you might look worse than me,” she said, and pushed past him.

He put his hand out to brace himself so she didn’t knock him over. He wasn’t too steady. In fact, there was more than one Angel in his kitchen.

She was dressed in the same clothes she’d been wearing when she jumped off the balcony. Only, she was filthy.

Christ, this was an odd fantasy. Normally he dreamed of sexy, put-together Angel, not this mess that was limping to his refrigerator.

“Are you real?” he heard himself ask out loud.

“Are you drunk?” All four Angels tilted their heads to the side at the same time. The movement made him dizzy.

“Oh, hell,” he said, stumbled out into the backyard, and threw up.