Reign of Angels 1 Read online

  I’d told her sisters never kept secrets from each other. When I promised not to tell anyone, she had sobbed against my chest, saying she wanted to fly away and find Bob. She said Bob had to leave and couldn’t come back. Bob might have been her imaginary friend, but by the way she’d cried for days afterward, he was very real to her.

  “Hoover Dam,” I said. “I’m taking Jo up to the bypass bridge.”

  “You’re in Nevada? Jo didn’t make you drive straight to a casino? You’re lucky you’re still alive.” She blew another bubble, snapping it and sucking it back into her mouth in one breath. “And dude, why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve gone to Craig Ranch. I’ve been dying to go. Now you’re gone, the parental units are leaving, and I have to stay with Aunt Marmie.”

  Aunt Marmie was a close friend of the family. She was sweet, but quirky. She always said the oddest things and loved to talk about how she’d traveled the world when she’d worked as a dancer on a cruise ship. Her stories were so outlandish, it was hard to believe any of them, and her house was not a place where anyone would want to spend too much time. It was like an episode of Hoarders waiting to happen. She never threw anything away.

  “Why are they sending you to Aunt Marmie’s?”

  “Dad’s taking Mom to a B&B in the Hill Country. Second honeymoon or something. Aren’t they too old for that stuff?”

  I smirked. “You’re never too old for that.”

  Lucy shuddered. “Eww! Stop talking about it.”

  “You’re the one who brought it up.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Anyways, you’re there. I’m here. And my entire weekend is gonna blow.”

  “You’ll survive. If you fall down at Aunt Marmie’s, call me and I’ll send in the search dogs.”

  “Har, har. Very funny. Ooh, turn your phone around. I think I know that guy.”

  Startled I wasn’t alone, my eyes snapped up. A tall man wearing a burnt orange baseball cap with a longhorn logo walked across the parking lot. Most of his face was hidden beneath the cap’s shadow and I could only see the clean-shaven cut of his jaw. He kept his head low, hands jammed into his pockets, shoulders hunched forward as if he didn’t want to bring attention to himself.

  There was something about him, something different from the typical tourist. His lithe body moved across the parking lot with a quiet elegance of a professional ballet dancer.

  As if he’d heard my sister’s voice, he paused a few feet away from me. My eyes drifted to the tattoo covering his forearm. In the center of the intricate design was a dog’s paw print surrounded by wings.

  His head lifted slightly, paused, and then lowered again. Who was he? Did I know him?

  “Karenna! Let’s go, girl, before I drown in a puddle of sweat. Can it get any hotter here?” Jo stood next to an RV at the end of the parking lot.

  Longhorn Cap Guy sped away, ducking his head even lower as he passed Jo. He dashed up the steps, taking two at a time.

  “I gotta go.”

  “Play twenty bucks for me on the craps table!” Lucy yelled before I hung up.

  As Jo and I climbed up the steps, the wind gusted, sending dust everywhere. It was so strong I held onto the railing, hoping not to be blown away. I squinted, barely able to see through the thick cloud of grit.

  With her high heels, I didn’t know how Jo managed to make it up the stairs without tripping. She grumbled in Spanish under her breath, thumbs flying over her phone. Dorian must’ve said something terrible. Again. I wasn’t surprised.

  When we reached the top, we made our way through the crowd of tourists to the center of the bridge. The view was amazing. A white wall spanned the width of the Colorado River. Behind the massive dam, Lake Mead shimmered a deep blue-green hue. A thick white strip lined the rocks just above the waterline. Jagged mountains bordered the sky for miles.

  “Put that away. You have to see this,” I said, nudging her arm. Not even Jo could deny the beauty of the Black Canyon once she saw it.

  Jo’s eyes darted up for a split second then flicked down to the phone’s screen. “Water. Big rocks. Yeah, amazing.”

  I sighed. Normally she was supportive of what she called my “weird” choices of entertainment. I loved opera. She hated it, saying if she wanted to listen to screeching women, she’d visit her aunts. But last year when the Austin Opera performed Bizet’s Carmen, my favorite, she’d bought two tickets and treated me to a girl’s night out. Afterwards she’d admitted enjoying the music and had only fallen asleep once.

  “Oh, no he didn’t.” Jo’s thumbs jabbed at the screen.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She let out a slew of curses in Spanish.

  “Mira, Pendejo. I don’t need you. Take that.” She stabbed the screen with her finger. “And that.” She stabbed it again. “I blocked your sorry ass. Cabrón!”

  Finally. I was thrilled Jo had finally come to her senses about that jerk. I’d never understood why she was drawn to him in the first place. When he’d first moved into town, he’d asked me out several times. Even though he was model handsome and polite, I couldn’t get past the creepy feeling I had when I was near him. I was shocked when he’d asked Jo out and she’d said yes. She was not her spunky, outspoken self when she was around him. It was like he’d put her under a spell.

  “What happened?”

  “I broke up with Dorian. He said he”—she curled her fingers into quotes—“wanted some space. Seriously! Like being thousands of miles away isn’t enough ‘space.’ Pendejo! So I gave him space.”

  She stuck her chin up, long lashes fluttering. She hated crying and rarely did so. The last time I remember seeing her cry was when I met her in first grade. I was in the schoolyard reading when I heard a girl wailing, “Shut up.” The class bully was two years older than the rest of the class and had decided Jo would be his next target when he’d made fun of her accent.

  But the more Jo cried, the harder the bully laughed. The rest of the kids had just stood there terrified, backing away slowly as they watched. I didn’t know where I’d gotten the courage, especially because the bully was three inches taller than me, but I’d marched right up to him, and whacked him upside the head with my book. I’d expected him to fight back. I’d never expected him to fall unconscious to the ground with blood streaming down his chin. I’d been shocked my puny arms could swing that hard. Freaked out by what I’d done, I grabbed Jo’s hand and ran with her back into the building. We’d been best friends ever since.

  “He doesn’t deserve you.”

  “I know.” Hurt lingered on her face. Something about how she’d said it made me think she really didn’t know how awesome she was.

  “Okay, we’re supposed to be having fun,” she said a little too brightly. “Ugh! My hands are a mess, and there’s frosting all over my phone. Do you have a napkin or something?”

  “Yeah, hold on a sec.” I opened my overstuffed bag, and two tubes of mascara and an eyelash curler popped out.

  “What is all this and where are all my things?” I rummaged through the overflowing purse crammed with cosmetics.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Jo said, bending to pick up the makeup. “I put some of my stuff in your bag.”

  “I can see that.” I plunged my hand deeper until I finally felt the once neatly folded tissues clumped in a messy wad at the bottom. Wiggling my hand, I slowly pulled it out when a blast of wind swept over the bridge, pushing me back. I yanked my hand out, flailing as I reached for the railing. Half the bag’s contents flew out—eyeshadow and blush containers clattered on the concrete walkway. A strange mass of black flecks dotted the air.

  “What is that?” I yelled over the wind, scrambling to pick up what was left of the broken plastic containers.

  “Ah! My lashes! Grab them, Karenna, before they—” Jo stopped midsentence her dark eyes widening.

  “Holy Papasito,” she breathed.

  I shoved whatever I could back into my bag. Before I could ask what was going on, a deep, sexy voice spoke.


  “Excuse me, miss. I believe these are yours.”

  “I’m sorry, mister. The wind . . . blew . . . I . . . ”

  The ability to formulate any coherent words was lost the moment my eyes rested on the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. Broad shoulders occupied my entire field of vision. My brain hung up the “Sorry, We’re Closed” sign, slammed the door, and shut the blinds.

  Sapphire eyes held me spellbound as I slowly stood. From his faded, ripped jeans, to the black shirt covering his torso, his clothes molded to him, accentuating every muscle of his lithe body.

  He was stunning. The wind tousled his black hair, giving him a sexy, just-rolled-out-of-bed look. A light smattering of stubble lined his square jaw.

  His skin was flawless except . . .

  Wait. Is that . . . ?

  I leaned in closer to the handsome stranger, mortified by what I saw.

  3

  A handful of Jo’s fake eyelashes had managed to attach themselves to the sexy stranger’s left cheek, and they were holding on for dear life. One of them dangled off the tip of his nose, swinging in the breeze.

  “Thanks for the free makeover, but I prefer the natural look.” The stranger smiled as he peeled the lashes from his face. Teasing sapphire eyes held mine as he took my hand, placed the lashes into my palm, and curled my fingers over them. “If you don’t mind me saying, someone as pretty as you doesn’t need these either.”

  An electric current ran through my hands and straight into my stomach, waking butterflies I’d shut down long ago and wasn’t ready to feel again.

  “I, uh, these aren’t mine,” I stammered. There was something about him. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was, though—the confident smile, the obvious flirtation, the way he leaned into me, dominating me with his good looks. It was as if he expected me to be flattered by his attention.

  “They’re mine,” Jo said, giving my ankle a gentle kick. “I’m Jo and this is Karenna.”

  “It’s nice to meet the both of you. I’m Tristan.” His eyes flicked to Jo, flashing her a smile. She giggled.

  She giggled. Jo did not giggle. Right then and there, I knew something was wrong with the guy.

  “So Karenna,” he drawled, squeezing my hand and turning his attention back to me. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a girl throw fake eyelashes at me as a pickup line before.”

  My brain finally woke to the game he was playing. I knew cocky guys like Tristan. They thought they were god’s gift to women and had only one thing on their minds. From the corner of my eye, I could see other girls ogling him. And even though his eyes were on me, I sensed he was calculating which girl he would conquer next. Well, I wasn’t falling for it.

  Scowling, I snatched my hand out of his. “I wasn’t trying to pick you up.”

  “Oh my god, Karenna! How rude! I’m so sorry, Tristan. She gets grouchy when she hasn’t been fed. She meant to say thank you for saving my lashes, right?” Jo turned to me expectantly, her eyes bulging with disbelief for insulting the hot guy.

  She had a point—he was being nice.

  “Thank you,” I grumbled, watching the wheels in Jo’s head churn as her eyes danced back and forth between Tristan and me.

  Over the last year she’d been on a crazy mission to hook me up with someone, anyone who would get me out of my weekend ritual of binge watching my favorite political drama. She’d obviously reached a new level of desperation.

  She tilted her head ever so slightly, gesturing at me to say more to Tristan. What did she want me to do, ask a total stranger out on a date? No way.

  I folded my arms across my chest. Nope. Not gonna do it.

  She narrowed her eyes in response.

  The silent battle of wills was on!

  I pressed my lips into a thin line.

  Her nostrils flared.

  I shook my head.

  Her nostrils flared even more.

  I jutted my chin.

  Her eyes shrank into thin slits, threatening to take matters into her own hands. I stood my ground.

  Exasperated, she turned to Tristan, giving him her sweetest smile. “We’re heading to Las Vegas this afternoon.”

  “Great!” Tristan beamed. “I live there. Maybe I can show you around?”

  “It’s a date.” Jo snatched my satchel, rummaging through it. “We’re staying at the Pa—Hey!”

  I yanked her away, hauling her toward the stairs exiting the bridge before she could tell him where we were staying, not to mention the dozens of tourists on the walkway. “Sorry about the eyelashes. Thanks again.”

  “Are you blind?” she hissed under her breath. I could barely hear her between the noise of the passing highway traffic and the gusts of wind. “He’s hot, and he likes you.”

  “He could be a serial killer and you were going to tell him where we’re staying.”

  “Yeah, but a hot serial killer.”

  I walked faster in case she decided to yell out our hotel and my phone number to the stranger.

  “Wait, Karenna! Did I offend you somehow?” I jolted back when I nearly ran into Tristan’s chest.

  What the . . . ? How did he manage to get through the crowd so fast?

  He was so close I could see the threads running through the black buttons of his shirt. A heady scent of deep musk and masculinity filled my nostrils, and I found myself leaning closer to him.

  “I didn’t mean to,” he murmured, his voice silky smooth. “This is my first day off in months. I don’t have time to go out much or meet new people. I just thought, maybe, since you are going be in Vegas, I could take you and your friend out to dinner and a show.”

  My eyes lifted and locked with sincere blue ones. The cocky demeanor was gone, and I instantly felt myself drawn to him.

  Damn. He was good.

  I was better.

  Quickly, I looked out into the horizon, focusing on Lake Mead rather than his intoxicating eyes. I took a breath, preparing to turn him down, politely but firmly, when Jo held up a finger to Tristan.

  “Give us a minute,” she said, pulling me aside.

  “Don’t start with me. He’s trouble.”

  “Aw, come on. Live a little, Karenna. You know he’s not a serial killer. He’s just a nice guy. Don’t tell me you don’t want to jump his bones. I saw you gawking at his chest.”

  My face reddened. “That’s because he’s a foot taller than me, and I didn’t want to strain my neck.”

  “Yeah, uh-huh.”

  “He’s a stranger. We don’t know anything about him,” I argued.

  “Well, how do you expect to get to know him if you don’t at least go out to dinner with him?”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “I know my own mind, Jo.”

  “Oh, really?” She folded her arms across her chest.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re afraid to have someone like you. That’s why you don’t date.”

  “I date,” I shot back.

  Her face softened as she leaned in and whispered, “It’s been two years. Not everyone is like him.”

  An old wound in my chest ached. “He” was our high school’s quarterback. He was stunningly gorgeous and he’d had his pick of girls. So when he’d asked me out our junior year, I was shocked. For once in my life, I had decided to throw caution to the wind. And I fell for him. Hard.

  He always had the right words, like how pretty I was, and that he’d never had feelings for a girl the way he had feelings for me. Stupid me. My so-called love blinded me from seeing the truth behind the illusion. It wasn’t until I found a list of girls in our class tucked in his textbook that I realized what he was up to. His goal was to nail every single one of us. He just so happened to move onto the Ms that fall.

  I opened and closed my mouth, unable to think of one date since junior year that hadn’t included Lucy’s skater buddies or being a third wheel on Jo’s dates with Dorian. Hurt still lingered in Jo’s
eyes from the breakup. Going out with Tristan would be a perfect distraction, even if it was only for one night. If nothing else, I wanted to do this for her.

  “All right, fine,” I said, giving in. “Just don’t tell him where we’re staying. And you’re coming with us. No ditching at the last minute either. I don’t want to spend a second alone with him.”

  She squealed, weaving her arm around mine as we made our way back to Tristan. When we reached him, I did a double take.

  Tristan’s toned body leaned casually against the steel railing as he talked to what looked like a Greek god with a man bun. Man buns were not my thing, but this guy, with his close-cut beard and golden hair, made it look good.

  I could feel Jo bouncing with excitement as I scanned the bridge. There had to be photo shoot going on in the area. Mr. Man Bun’s arms and chest were massive. They strained the sleeves of his tight black t-shirt. The words “The Revelationz” with the letter “Z” shaped like lightning crossed over his well-defined pecs.

  A passing group of girls wearing UNLV t-shirts thought so too. They nudged and dared each other to approach the stunning pair.

  “You came back.” Tristan flashed a lopsided grin, oblivious to the cluster of girls whispering and pointing to him and his friend.

  His surprised expression caught me off guard, which made me even more suspicious. It didn’t matter. I was on high alert now. One dinner, a night of fun for Jo, and then it would be over.

  “Jo, Karenna, this is my good friend, Zac. And I’ll have you know, neither of us are serial killers.”

  He’d heard us? Impossible.

  “I didn’t mean . . . it’s just . . . ”

  “I get it. Two lovely women traveling alone.” He leaned in and whispered into my ear, his warm breath making me shiver. “If it will make you feel any better, Zac is an outstanding citizen, no arrest record—that we know of—and he volunteers at a senior center every week.”

  “It’s nice to meet you.” Zac extended his hand. The moment I shook it, I felt the power in his gentle grip. He held my hand as if he was afraid to break it.