Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25253 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 126(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25253 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 126(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
“Secret passcode,” I affirm. “They operate on hydraulics. No individual can open them.”
“I see.” She steps back. “This is a prison then?”
“No.”
“Can I leave?” Her chin juts out in a challenge.
No, I answer silently. Out loud, I say, “Where do you want to go?”
“Who knows? Maybe a park. Maybe the mall. Maybe the library. Maybe to see my friend Laurel.”
“Laurel is otherwise occupied, but if you had details you wanted to share about her, Santino would bring her to see you.”
Angel’s soft face hardens at my mention of Santino. I shouldn’t have brought him up. “That asshole,” she says. “Sure, call him and tell him I have all kinds of details.”
“Why do I think those details include stabbing him with a pencil?”
“Oh, I’m not going to limit myself to a pencil. You’ve got a kitchen, right? I’m sure I can find a knife or five there. Plus, there’s candlesticks, chairs, books. Everything is a weapon if you know what you’re doing.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
Her chin goes higher. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“I would.”
She shrugs. “That’s for me to know and you to wonder about.” Angel sniffs and moves toward the hallway we came from. I quietly direct her toward the correct path, hiding a smile.
“What else would you do outside?” I can’t help myself. I want to know more. “What is interesting at the mall?”
“It’s fun to window shop. Go into different stores, dream a little.”
“What stores?”
“Laurel and I liked H&M. Stuff there is cute and cheap.”
“And if you didn’t have to worry about money?”
“There’s never been a time I didn’t worry about money.”
“But if you were to dream a bit?”
“I’m not a dreamer, Father Bjornsson. I’m a realist. Like I’m real about why you’re being nice to me. You think that I’ll let my guard down and then spill all of Laurel’s secrets so that you can sell those to Santino. I’m not going to help you with that.” She stops again. “Why are there so many doors in this place? Why is it so big? Are we in a school?”
She’s making me smile again, and it kind of hurts my face. I’m not used to using those kinds of muscles. “Close. It was an old seminary for Jesuits, but the chapter lost its funding and had to sell it a few decades ago. The Order bought it, and now it’s mine. It’s a cloister built around four gardens. They’re very nice. Even Lars likes them. Tomorrow we’ll eat in the herb garden.”
“And if I don’t want to, will you beat me?” Her words are saucy, but I can see the interest in her eyes.
“Only if you want me to.” I’m playing a dangerous game here, but the words come out before I can stop them.
“You say that like I might enjoy it, but I think you’re the one who likes to hurt people,” she says.
I don’t reply because I can’t lie in the Chapel. The truth hangs between us, heavy and erotic.
CHAPTER 8
ANGEL
“Tell me, Father. Do we all get what we deserve in the end?” I suck the spaghetti up. There is no way to eat it gracefully. Not that I was trying. When Bjornsson dropped the giant plate of pasta in front of me, there was no holding back.
At most shelters, the spaghetti isn’t great. To be honest, that goes for most of the food there. It’s filling and gets the job done, but here, everything I’ve tasted has been magical. Who knew that tucked away right in the center of the city is a small world of its own? The outside makes the world think the inside is filled with prayers and redemption.
Then again, maybe it is. It’s just not the kind people want to believe in. No, that’s too much to bear for them. The same way they rush past the shelters, not making eye contact with any of us while we all hope there are enough beds for the night. People only want to see the pretty things. It doesn’t matter what lies behind the walls if they don’t have to face it.
“Not enough do.” Bjornsson barely touches his food.
I hold all of his attention. Is it because he thinks I’m going to do something or because he simply enjoys watching me? I kind of hope it’s both. That I can make this man unsure of what is to come. That I'm unpredictable. But I have a sense he merely wants to stare at me. For some reason, I’ve caught his attention. I’m not sure if that’s bad or good yet. Probably a bit of both.
“Do you give people what they deserve?” I lick my lips, sweeping up any sauce I left behind. His words from earlier replay in my mind, and I remember the look in his eyes when he said them.