ANGEL
His fingers closed around my nape the way you’d grab a disobedient animal. He steered me through the dining room and I walked with my chin up and his bloody hand on my neck.
Every eye in the restaurant followed us out, looking horrified.
The cool night air hit my skin. Vincent didn’t slow down. His strides were long and hard and I had to half-jog to keep up.
“Slow down! My heels are hurting!” I complained when I nearly tripped once.
His grip tightened. Nothing else.
He opened the car door and his hand moved from my neck to my waist where he picked me up—both hands.
He set me in the backseat the way you’d set down something you wanted to throw against a wall.
He spoke to his driver and his second in command in a low tone. The man nodded once and went back into the restauran
