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What have you been up to, Angel Montoya?

I almost feel bad for hiht of what he

Angel hasn’t confir yet, but I’ular business ht He must have been up to some shady shit

Still, my heart jumps a little from the way he looks at me, like I’m the sunrise

“Your friend can wait,” he grurab breakfast first”

Angel seems completely done with his motorcycle He rips off his weathered deni in his ear A few seconds later, his black range rover squeals up froe

“Get in,” he says, opening the passenger door

Without thinking, I oblige

In the blink of an eye, we’re peeling out onto a golden street and racing towards who knohere

“Is everything alright?” I gather the courage to ask, when the silence of our car ride has lasted a little longer than I’m comfortable with

I glance over at the ruggedly handsome bad boy It al harsh, before he thinks better of it “Everything’s fine,” he gruo with his lie

I study his clothes for blood stains His crisp white t-shirt hugs hisfeature of his powerful, athletic body, but there’s no sign of any dae

His knuckles are a different story I’d seen how bruised and swollen they were last night, but I didn’tThey’re still in that same weathered state, but no worse for wear than before I feel a weird sense of relief wash over ht, he was the one dishing out the pain and not the one receiving it

It’s a strange thought I’ve never been a fan of violence, even though it practically forged me My father made his bones with his fists and, from what I can remember, my mother was never shy about the brutality of it all— enough to see the downside of that way of life I wonder if she regretted any of it in her last moments?

Will I?