Violent Angel (Pretty Broken Things #1)

2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

D amon Burrows took this job prepared to be shot. Maybe even stabbed. A few action movies got the idea of being rolled over the roof of a car stuck in his head. The list of the many ways he could die—or at least get badly injured—was pretty outlandish, but each scenario kept him entertained as he’d counted down the days to his freedom.

Hand throbbing in time with his racing pulse, he glanced at the puddle of blood on the floor, each fresh drop creating a barely audible, wet splat .

Getting impaled with my own pencil definitely wasn’t on my list.

Inhaling slowly to clear his vision and steady his other hand, Damon pried the short piece of wood and lead from where it’d gone right through muscle and flesh. Somehow, every bone that would’ve prevented full penetration had been avoided. The damage made his right hand pretty much useless.

Maybe this is my sign to get the fuck out of here.

He should’ve left the second his new charge started joking around in the limo and he’d seen how unfazed the driver sitting next to him in the front was by the disgusting idea of ‘humor’. Sure, the money was damn good, but he should’ve suspected the job his old cellmate snagged for him would be dirty.

Walking away hadn’t been an option, though. Damon wasn’t scared of his charge, Sonny Masseria, despite his connection to one of the most powerful crime families in the country. He wouldn’t even pretend his morals were that fucking pristine.

Guns, drugs, money laundering? Couldn’t say he cared. Not really.

Sex trafficking, especially when there were kids involved?

No way in hell would he look the other way.

Fine, he wasn’t any kind of hero, and he had no illusions about taking the organization down from the inside, but maybe he could get a few victims out? Remember names and faces, any details that might be useful to the authorities, and offer to testify once they built a case?

All the way here, he’d come up with different plans. Tried to consider every angle, determined to do something good for once in his pathetic fucking life.

What he hadn’t considered was one of the victims lashing out. The fragile young man who looked like a lithe cherub, with white curls and big blue eyes, would’ve escaped given the chance, Damon was sure of it. After puking his guts out from all he’d overheard, those heartbreaking sobs in the next stall switched disgust to determination.

I don’t know if I can save them all.

But I will save him.

Except the purple-haired devil with piercing green eyes stole the opportunity and made things ten times harder. How the fuck was Damon supposed to get any evidence, or free anyone , when he was bleeding all over the place?

Jaw ticking, he grabbed a towel from the stack by the sinks and wrapped it around his hand, clenching his fist to compress the wound. He was in way over his head.

Maybe that’s exactly why the little guy told you to back off.

True. The young man might’ve been a punk, but he’d been rightly suspicious of Damon’s intentions. And even if Damon’d managed to convince him he wasn’t one of the buyers—or someone who got off on abuse and rape—he clearly didn’t know what the fuck he was doing.

Smiling a little, he recalled the fierce protectiveness in those brilliant green eyes, the same shade of green as his mother’s specially bred, black and silver spider ball python. Actually, everything about the guy reminded him of a snake, but not in a bad way. His body moved with a hidden strength, slow, almost hypnotic, anything delicate about him only on the surface. It wasn’t a stretch to picture him squeezing the life right out of someone.

Then why is he here? Why wouldn’t he fight for his freedom?

The answer was obvious. Alone, Damon doubted anyone could contain the purple-haired devil for long. There was nothing fake about that confidence. He’d attacked Damon without any hesitation, not fumbling or reacting out of fear, but using a swift, precise technique—the kind convicted killers on the inside perfected over a lifetime.

If the devil’d aimed for his throat…

I’d be bleeding out right now.

So why did he let me live?

Maybe part of him believed Damon wasn’t involved in the auction? Maybe he was giving him the opportunity to prove it?

You’re thinking about this too hard,

Using the remaining towels, Damon cleaned the blood off the floor, tossing them in the trash before pulling out his phone. He fucking hated cops, for obvious reasons, but there was no use pretending he didn’t need them now. As much as he’d prefer going to them when he actually had some evidence, calling in an anonymous tip might have to be enough.

Took less than five minutes for his initial instincts to be proven right. The bored operator barely let him get out a full sentence.

Had he actually seen anything illegal happen?

No.

Was anyone in immediate danger?

Not that he knew of.

After that, she told him to stop wasting her time.

And the call was disconnected.

Groaning, he made another call. This time, to someone who could hopefully tell him what the fuck to do next.

“Burr, baby…” Sounding like he’d been woken from a deep sleep, his childhood friend, Rome Diaz, yawned noisily into the phone. “About time you reach out to touch me. Your timing could be better, though. I was the main event at a wild party and let’s just say, this booty needs a break.”

Despite how fucked up things were, Damon almost smiled at the satisfaction underlying Rome’s teasing tone. Unlike those about to go up for auction in the other room, Rome did sex work willingly as a high priced escort and he loved his job.

He also had two very overprotective older brothers who, while not thrilled about his chosen career path, made sure he was always safe. If anything went wrong, Rome had about a dozen exit strategies and a rescue on speed dial—if not within shouting distance, because Damon was pretty sure Rome’s brothers had him followed to all those parties.

“I wouldn’t be calling this late if it wasn’t important.” Damon glanced at the time on his phone. Only a bit after midnight, on a Saturday, but Rome usually went hard on Fridays and vegged until Monday or Tuesday when he saw his regular, tamer clients. “You remember that job Bubbles got me after I—”

Rome made an indignant sound. “I still can’t get over you replacing me with someone named ‘Bubbles’ .”

Sighing, Damon braced his shoulder against the wall by the sink. “I didn’t replace you—he was just my cellmate and I needed the work.”

“Essex could have found you something.”

“Mr. Pillar of Justice?” Damon arched a brow. “Rome, I love you, but the FBI doesn’t employ criminals. The fact that your big brother still lets you talk to me is a damn miracle.”

That earned him an amused huff. “I’m the baby of the family, I always get what I want. Now, tell me about this trouble Bubbles got you in so I can make it all better.”

Quickly summarizing the fucked up situation, Damon tensed at the sound of the auction beginning in the nearby lounge. His stomach twisted as he pictured the fragile, white haired young man being dragged up on that stage and being sold to the highest bidder for…fuck, he didn’t want to think about what came next.

Maybe the protective friend would go up first. That idea didn’t bother him as much. Whoever won the vicious little thing in leather would regret it.

If I find him a box of pencils, he could probably take them all out.

Picturing a whole, hot, John-Wick-style scenario had Damon’s dick hardening with interest, but there was no fucking way a guy in his early twenties—who couldn’t be more than 5’5—could handle a room full of bulky bouncers and bodyguards. Fierce as he was, the slick move with the pencil wouldn’t hold up against the heat those fuckers were packing.

Whoever is putting him up for auction knows how to keep him in line or he wouldn’t be here.

But if he gets desperate—

Rome pointedly cleared his throat, like he knew he’d lost Damon’s attention at some point. “Hello? Did you hear a word I said?”

“Yeah, no, sorry. I missed the last bit.” Damon blew out a breath. “I gotta get out there.”

“Go and keep an eye on your little spitfire. I can’t wait to meet the guy who has you all twisted up.” Rome clucked his tongue, cutting off Damon’s weak protest. “I’ll call Aspen since he’s in town—he won’t waste time with all the red tape like Essex. Depending on how close he is, he can probably get some guys together and hit the place within the hour.”

Closing his eyes, Damon nodded slowly. A lot could happen in an hour, but this was the best he was gonna get. “Okay, that should work. Thanks, Rome.”

“Thank me by not doing anything stupid and getting your handsome ass killed.” All the teasing was gone from Rome’s voice, replaced by concern. “I mean it. Don’t be a hero.”

A bitter laugh escaped Damon as he stared at the bathroom door. “You know that’s not even possible. Whatever happens, I’ll make it out of this without a fucking scratch. I always do.”

“Burr…”

“I should go before Sonny notices how long I’ve been gone.” Damon did his best to lighten his tone. “Thanks, man. I’ll see you soon.”

Ending the call before Rome could start questioning his fucked up headspace, Damon tore a cleanish part of the towel compressed to his palm and used it as a makeshift wrap. With the ends tucked in, it was secure enough, and he could clasp his hands behind his back to avoid notice. Bodyguards were supposed to be pretty invisible anyway, right?

Fuck it. If Sonny asked, he’d make something up. Tell him he’d tried to cop a feel of one of the pretty boys and gotten bit. The disgusting bastard would probably find that funny.

Back in the lounge, he took his place a few steps behind his client, earning nothing more than a brief glance from the driver who’d come in with them. Sonny was hardly blinking as he stared at the platform, where the next slave was lifted up by his owner.

The big Black man blocked most of his offer’s body from view, and the way he squeezed one delicate hand almost seemed…supportive. Almost like the man actually cared. But Damon was probably imagining things, looking for any semblance of humanity in a space where it was completely lacking.

In the end, the slave was left alone on the stage, looking like an ethereal creature under the spotlight, captured for one depraved purpose. His white curls formed a soft halo around his head as he turned at the auctioner’s command.

When the bidding began, the numbers were insanely high. High enough Damon started questioning his own understanding of what the fuck was going down tonight.

He leaned closer to the driver, speaking in a whisper. “Sonny said this is a one-night-only thing? For that kind of money, couldn’t he just buy the…slave?”

The driver grunted, taking out a pack of cigarettes and offering him one before lighting up himself. “Not even close. All these boys are prime. Virgins, but trained from real young to be worth top dollar. The boss isn’t allowed to keep any of them—his dad would kill him. But he likes coming to these things now and then to scratch the itch.”

Damon’s brow furrowed. “What itch?”

Amusement shone in the driver’s eyes as he glanced over. “He likes being the first one to tear into those tight little asses. When he was younger, he’d find fresh meat out in the wild. Disposing of what he left behind got pricey. This is the compromise.”

Clenching his throbbing fist until the pain shot up his arm was the only thing that kept Damon from knocking the driver the fuck out. He kept his expression as neutral as possible when he nodded, his guts churning even as he considered going for his gun.

How many bastards like Sonny could he take out before he ended up one of the bodies on the floor himself?

Not enough. Waiting for Aspen’s crew was still his best bet.

But when Sonny won the bid on the young man the auctioneer called ‘Sweet Cherub’, he knew he was running out of time.

I can’t let him leave the lounge with the little guy. Not now that I know what he’s done…

Last in the line of slaves, standing alone by the platform, the purple-haired devil caught his eye. Held his gaze with one full of curiosity, as if he could read Damon’s thoughts written all over his face. He flicked a glance toward the Black man helping ‘Sweet Cherub’ down, then met Damon’s eyes again like he was trying to tell him something.

Damon frowned, his brow furrowing.

Maybe I need to get him away from his owner first?

When he stepped forward, he could practically hear the purple-haired devil’s irritated sigh. Subtly shaking his head, those lips that had brushed his ear less than an hour ago formed a single, very clear word.

‘Wait.’

Inclining his head, Damon went back to pretending to be Sonny’s bodyguard and not a man who was actively planning a hundred gruesome ways to kill him. His five years behind bars hadn’t been for murder, but he’d gotten the kind of education inside that could come in handy tonight.

The purple-haired devil was still watching him, his intent gaze heating Damon’s skin like he was branding every inch of flesh under his suit. Instead of hostility and disdain, that unblinking stare was full of something else. Not lust, but…definitely interest.

Whether that interest was considering Damon as a potential ally, or wondering what his insides looked like, was hard to tell. The man studied him from the platform as though he couldn’t figure out what made Damon tick, but fully intended to by the end of the night.

Or maybe Damon was projecting his own interest. He couldn’t deny the young man’s appeal, especially when he held out his arms to do the same slow turn of every man before him, showing off his sleek, toned body, his movements challenging and seductive all at once.

The bidding was just as crazy as it’d been with ‘Sweet Cherub’, with the auctioneer declaring ‘The Amethyst Angel’ as a rare find.

“As you can tell, he still has some fight in him.” The lanky old man up on the platform ran his hand down the purple-haired devil’s leather clad hip, chuckling and jerking his hand back at the snap of sharp teeth near his face. “He might need a muzzle and a choke chain, but you’ll be in for one hell of a ride.”

Lounging on the sofa in front of Damon, Sonny chuckled, making the transfer for his winning bid as ‘Sweet Cherub’ was brought over and left in his dubious care. “I’d be tempted to snatch up that one if I didn’t have this precious little thing to entertain me. Come here, cutie, and let’s get acquainted before I bring you upstairs.”

Already pale, blue eyes wide, Sweet Cherub hissed through his teeth at the word ‘cutie’. He started backing up, but Sonny curved an arm around his waist, lifting the delicate young man onto his lap.

“None of that now. You wouldn’t want me to have my driver and my bodyguard holding you down for me, would you?” Sonny smirked at the quick head shake. He accepted a glass of champagne from a server, motioning for him to leave the bottle and offering the alcohol to his ‘prize’, not speaking against until he drank every last drop. “Good boy. What’s your name?”

Wetting his bottom lip with his tongue, the young man sat stiffly on Sonny’s thigh. “Lux.”

“Mmm, I like that. My little lux -urious virgin hole.” Sonny raked his fingers into Lux’s hair, yanking his head back and licking his throat. “Relax, cutie. Show me what got you that price tag. Is it that sweet mouth?”

Lux closed his eyes, drawing in a sharp breath. “N-no.”

“I bet it is, but maybe you need some help getting in the right headspace?” Sonny pinned Lux to his chest, locking a hand around one wrist and stretching out the young man’s arm. “Frankie, give cutie the special treat I brought for him.”

The driver nodded, pulling a small black box out of the inner pocket of his jacket. He opened it, revealing a syringe full of amber liquid.

A low sound escaped Damon’s throat as he reached for his gun. His damaged hand spasmed with pain before he could get a good grip on the handle.

“Don’t.” Lux peered up at him with a strange, serine smile. “I’ve got this.”

In a move too fast for Damon to follow, Lux freed himself from Sonny’s hold and plucked up the needle. He twisted, holding it in both hands, and stabbed it into Sonny’s throat.

The syringe alone wasn’t enough to do much damage, but Sonny froze, features strained with shock. His body sank into the sofa, the drugs meant to turn Lux into a mindless fucktoy leaving him helpless.

Straddling Sonny’s lap, Lux slipped a small razor from the waistband of his snug white shorts.

And sliced a long red smile across the center of Sonny’s neck.

Blood spurted, Sonny weakly knocking Lux to the floor as he writhed and gagged. Clumsy hands slipped in the crimson spill in his desperate attempt to staunch it. His unfocused eyes locked on his little prize in horror and betrayal.

Which would’ve been funny if Lux wasn’t surrounded by powerful men who’d make him suffer for what he’d done.

Frozen by his side and just as stunned as Damon, Frankie gave his head a hard shake.

Pulled out his gun and aimed it at Lux.

Diving over the sofa, Damon covered the smaller man with his body. Fiery pain exploded in his shoulders, his back, and his thigh. He struggled to keep his weight off Lux, but his strength pooled out as his blood joined the dark puddle already spreading around them, slicking his hands as he braced them on the wood floor.

Shouts came from everywhere at once, along with loud blasts. The air filled with the stench of gunpowder. A familiar voice called out his name.

The cavalry had finally arrived.

Too late for him, but…but not for Lux. Rapid breaths and gentle pressure against his chest told him the little guy was still alive.

Aspen…Aspen will take care of Lux .

But what about the purple-haired devil?

“Tell your friend…” Damon bowed his head, not sure Lux could even hear him, but needing to get the words out. “Aspen…he’s good. He’ll get you…get all the slaves…to safety.”

Lux crawled out from under him, rolling him to his back, his bottom lip trembling. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry, please don’t die. You weren’t supposed to… Elliot, help him!”

“Shh, it’s okay.” Damon sputtered out a wet laugh, tasting blood on his lips. “Getting shot was on my list.”

Enjoying his freedom for a bit longer would’ve been nice, but at least he didn’t have to face another day hating himself for his worthless life. He’d finally done something to earn the sacrifice…the sacrifice he’d never deserved.

In the darkness stealing across his vision, he struggled against the strap holding him. Cold water rushed in, splashing over his face. Choking, he tipped his head to gasp in as much air as he could. Stared into eyes that matched his own. The strap released and strong hands shoved him out the partially open window.

Muscles burning, he swam to the surface. Flashing lights blinded him from above.

A firm grip dragged him out of the water.

“Let me go! Fucking let me go, I need to go back!”

No one else had come up.

Why weren’t they coming up?

Maybe, in death, he’d get his answer. Maybe they’d be waiting for him.

And maybe…just maybe…

He’d finally get a chance to ask for forgiveness.

For leaving them behind.