Angelic Vengeance (GodHood, #1)

by Cristina Russo

To the fighters, Stay fierce.

I stood behind the bar, wiping freshly washed glasses and silently judging tonight’s guests.

Drinking wasn’t my thing; the idea of not being in control – even just for a second – unsettled me.

I wasn’t necessarily that opposed to him buying me a drink; he just hadn’t asked if I wanted a different one.

“You're cute. But not that cute.”

Sure, he was hot, but I didn’t date. I would never be able to be my real self or tell others about my past. They wouldn’t understand. So what was the point of having a superficial relationship?

I was crying – or so I thought. Looking back now I was having a panic attack.

“Stop crying. You have to be strong. Don’t ever let anybody see you hurt.”

“You’re safe now, angel.”

My mind flashed back to the handsome stranger I met a few nights ago. I hadn’t asked for his name and he hadn’t asked for mine.

I wasn’t one to dwell on the past but my thoughts kept replaying back to the encounter.

If he was fire, I...

“Careful, hermosa. I’m not a gentleman.”

“I never thought you were,”

“Smart girl.”

His eyes were cruel, harsh and unsympathetic. They carried the scars of his battles, so dark you wouldn’t dare ask him about them. And yet, his gaze never strained from a soft yet intense flame when it was on me.

Maybe I didn’t understand because I grew up poor. I hated the streets I raised myself on; so much, I’d been willing to do anything to get out of the gutters – hence the little-to-no resistance in my past profession.

I never wanted to look back. There was only going up; more money, more power.

That’s how the Su family marked their hits: two bullets, one in each eye, to symbolize no dead ends. 失明. Blindness. In other words, mind your goddamn business.

He took the life of a random man for disrespecting me.

I swore I wasn’t a psychopath, but now I wasn’t so sure.

“The girls said there was something between you two.”

“Yeah, a restraining order.”

“I mean, you did leave ...

“Because Francesca forced him to t...

“He took you...

“Did you invite ...

“What? No! I don’t even ...

“His name is Zach ...

Diablo. Huh. ...

“And he’s twenty-four. He’s like, best friends with Trevor. Known e...

“You’re Puerto Rican, he’s Mexican… You can talk dirty to eac...

“Zachary’s a drug dealer,”

“He hates it when people call him by his full name.”

I smirked. Zachary it is.

"Get in the car."

"Yeah… No."

"Get in the car, Maria."

"Say please, Zachary."

He smirked at the fact that I knew his name too. Considering I got his name – and some other information – from our common friends, I guessed he’d done the same.

Zachary Rafael Di’Ablo was the twenty-four-year-old drug lord of the Mexican Cartel – which just so happened to be the largest narcotics operation in the Western Hemisphere, as well as Australia, and most of Europe.

"Get in the car or I'll spank you until I brand my handprint on your ass.”

“Please."

“Francesca told me you were working late. She strongly suggested I give you a ride home ‘cause of the storm.”

It was either him or the storm. Fuck it. I got in.

I glanced at Zachary, to see a small smirk still on his face.

“What?”

“Noth...

“W...

“You’re ...