Azrael passed the sample bags to Luka.
"Run them in our lab," he said, shutting his eyes as he leaned back against the seat.
Luka glanced down at Little Roe's and his boss's hair samples. "Yes, sir. Should I handle it discreetly?"
Azrael rested his head against the leather. Innocent, round green eyes flashed in his mind.
His fist clenched, thinking about the fucker 'Uncle Vicky'.
That foolish spitfire of a woman had likely been the only one showering the boy with kisses all these years. But what about later? Would those innocent eyes be tainted by scorn, hearing whispers about being an illegitimate, fatherless child?
Azrael's blood boiled at the thought.
He could not condemn that clumsy, pouty kid to live a fatherless life he had lived.
"No," he said finally. "Just keep it away from prying eyes. Send a copy of the results to the Estate."
Luka's eyes widened. The Chairman would already be livid. His boss was declaring war.
"Y-Yes, sir."
Azrael shut his eyes, rubbing his throbbing temple.
Luka immediately handed him a bottle of water and a tablet. "Sir."
Azrael opened his eyes slowly.
He chucked down the tablet in thought. "And this Valerie—get me everything on her before it's on my Grandfather's desk."
His thoughts wandered to the night his life had slipped out of control.
...
Five Years Ago
Azrael was a restrained man. Despite the rumors attached to the Hawthorne name, he was not reckless with women or indulgence. That reputation belonged to his cousin, Vincent.
After the private plane crash that claimed Vincent's parents and Azrael's father, Vincent moved into the Hawthorne estate.
H was spoiled by everyone and grew shrewd in the worst ways.
One night, Vincent had just recovered from a car-race fracture and wanted to celebrate. He begged Azrael to come, and for once, his cousin agreed.
His cousin had just survived a brush with death, but by the time he arrived, the suite was loud with music and tipsy laughter.
"Bro! I didn't know you would come!" he grinned, kicking his knocked-out friends out of the way. "If you told me, I wouldn't call on these morons!"
Irked, Azrael decided to leave after one drink. He took the glass Vincent's friend handed him and downed it in one shot.
He frowned.
His vision suddenly blurred, the room tilting in slow motion. He got up to leave when he tripped.
"Shit! Shit! Shit! Did you give angel dust to my brother?" Vincent's panicked voice cut through the haze. "We are dead, you fu*ker…"
Darkness fell.
...
His head throbbed.
Azrael opened his eyes, feeling weight on his chest, only to see molten gold pouring up at him.
An angel was straddling his hips.
He looked up, shocked. Her hair spilled like liquid sunlight over her bare shoulders, and her dark wings swayed lazily behind her.
Her delicate hands rubbed his racing heart.
"Azrael…" she echoed from underwater.
He blinked, certain he was still dreaming, but her awkward grinding heated his body.
"Azrael...?" Her head tilted naively.
Her clumsy seduction was driving him mad.
He slid one hand up to the nape and pulled her down. The angel gasped, clutching his shoulders.
She looked up wide-eyed and flushed, horrified at his carnal desires pressing into her.
He leaned down to devour her, pulling her to fall deeper in sweet sin.
His lips traced her curves, stripping what he could, tearing what he couldn't.
Her soft moans echoed like prayers. Her body fit against him as though it was molded on his body.
He tried to be gentle, but the heat of her skin, the subtle hitch in her breath, the way her nails scratched his bare skin... everything about the woman drove him crazy!
"Azrael! Azrael!"
He buried his face against the curve of her neck, inhaling her as he lost himself in her. She trembled under him, her moans getting louder.
"Azrael…" she murmured again.
When it felt like she was slipping away, he flipped her over, starting over.
She screamed his name through the night.
...
The next morning, Azrael sat on the edge of the bed, jaw clenched.
The ringing of his phone sliced through the tension.
"Br—Bo! It wasn't me! I swear! The boys, they..." a panicked laugh came through the line.
"Come up here." He cut the call, eyes narrowing as he turned.
There she was.
His angel with her sinful curves lay spent on his bed. A breathtaking beauty.
The only problem was that his angel was a call girl.
A quick glance down at the faint red spot on the sheet told him that this little angel was new to the business, selling her services for the first time last night.
Feeling the heat rise in his groin again, he leaned closer when he heard the lock click.
Azrael grabbed his belt and stepped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
Vincent was already on his knees, forcing a smile. "B-Bro, hear me out, okay?"
"You drugged me." He incredulously spat.
"I didn't! I swear I wouldn't dare!" Vincent wiped the sweat off his face, his hands shaking. "I had nothing to do with it!"
Azrael's gaze darkened. "You said you were clean!"
"I am! I am clean now!" Vincent pointed toward the other man in the room. "He brought it, not me! Ask him!"
The boy standing behind paled.
Azrael's jaw tightened, his fingers curling slightly around the belt. He was about to beat them senseless, then frowned.
The screams will surely wake the woman... He will deal with them later.
He clicked his tongue softly.
"And this?" he asked, tilting his head toward the room.
Vincent blinked, confused for a second before quickly nodding, assuming he was stalking about the room services he had ordered. "Ye-Yes! I—I thought it would help you calm down."
Azrael stared at him for a moment.
"Get out."
Vincent froze. "Huh?"
It took Vincent a second to process it. He's… letting me go? This easily?
"Y-Yes! Thank you!" He scrambled to his feet, ready to sprint.
"And Vincent." He stiffened. "Don't breathe a word about this."
"Yes, yes! I won't!" he said quickly, nodding again and again before rushing out.
He stepped back inside.
The woman was still asleep on the bed, her golden hair spread on his pillow. If not for the faint rise and fall of her chest, he would've assumed she was a doll.
She looked hardly a day over twenty. He was nearing his thirties.
Sighing, he went to take a shower. When he came out, she was lying on her stomach, her back covered in his hickies.
His throat tightened.
Between the constant power struggle in his family, he never had time or leisure to keep a woman, but he suddenly didn't mind keeping a mistress.
On a whim, He threw his card and a blank cheque on the nightstand.
Knowing well, the escort will come running to him for more.
Only she didn't.
A week later, he scoffed at the arrogance of the prostitute and forgot all about her.