A Lick and A Promise (Avenging Angels #5)

Chapter 1

ONE

HE WANTS YOU

I shouldn’t be here.

I knew I shouldn’t be here.

But when Raye called, even though my mind said one thing (that I shouldn’t be here), my body (okay, my heart) said another.

So I was here.

The good news: I was just one more body in the mix, so it wasn’t like I was the cast-off chick hanging around, embarrassing herself pining for some dude.

In other words, that hospital waiting room was a crush seeing as all the Hottie Squad was there, all the Angels along with Tex, Nancy, Shirleen, Marjorie. Even Tito was there.

So I was just another person in a sea of people worried as fuck Knox got shot.

That was the bad news, Knox had been shot.

Twice.

He’d been shot…twice.

Oh yeah.

That was the way bad news.

He did not get shot while conducting Nightingale Investigations & Security business, which it was my understanding was a possibility, if not a probability in their line of work due to them not being your average, everyday private investigations and security business, but a whole lot more.

He got shot because his family was a nightmare.

More good news, the surgeon came out and told us he was out of surgery, stable, resting and no lasting damage had occurred. Though he’d need some time to mend and do physical therapy to regain full strength in his shoulder and leg.

Okay, so that was mixed good news because, absolutely, no lasting damage was obviously a good thing.

But he had to recuperate from two gunshot wounds he got because his family was borderline ready for their episode of Evil Lives Here, and that totally freaking sucked.

More of that mixed good news, my staring contest with Cheyenne was over.

Although I sensed why she hated me—even though it was lame as hell, since she’d had him for a while, and I didn’t (well, I did, but it wasn’t a very long while)—what I didn’t know was why she was there at all.

They’d broken up.

But by damn, when the surgeon came out, the bitch popped out of her seat like a demented jill-in-the-box and shouldered even Cap and Mace out of the way (respectively, Knox’s best bud and his boss) to belly up to the doc.

She also lied and said she was Knox’s partner, so she got to be the first to go back and see him.

Usually, the dudes were super cool with chicks.

Lots of patience (needed), lots of understanding (also needed—what could I say?

we were a bunch of nutso broads), all kinds of room to be who we were and do what we did (as, of course, it should be—save Knox in that scenario, but that was a longer story).

But when Cheyenne did that, everyone got pissed, and even the dudes didn’t hide it.

And when she did it, Raye took my hand (again, she’d been holding it on and off for the last three hours), and Brady shot me a look.

Truth: Brady and I had screwed the pooch.

Honestly, it seemed a good idea at the time.

Okay, not a good idea. A demented, in-your-face, heartbroken idea. But when you were heartbroken, demented ideas often seemed like good ones.

Then again, I was learning not to lead with the heart. Though, admittedly, I was learning this by messing up royally because I’d done something stupid at the edict of my heart.

My heart had me sitting right there, benched, because I meant nothing to Knox except being a member of his friend posse.

A distant one.

Someone he was around who he tolerated.

And that was it.

And my heart led me to pretend-flirt with and, okay, semi-kinda fake-date Brady (really, it was just two friends hanging out, but we wanted Knox to think it was something else) after Knox got together with Cheyenne.

We did this so he might feel a little bit of what I was feeling since Cheyenne was suddenly at all of our AAHS shindigs (Avenging Angel/Hottie Squad, for your information, of which I was a member of the former, and for more information, that former was unprofessional, unpaid chicks who stuck our noses in places they shouldn’t be, but someone had to do it, and the latter was professional, trained, skilled badasses).

And since Knox scraped me off, and he knew where I was at with him, he had to know how that would sting.

Sure, he’d made himself clear, and as such, I had no claim, so who was I to engage in some harebrained fake-dating scheme to make the guy I liked (right, okay, dammit…loved) jealous?

The idea was doomed from the start.

Why I couldn’t get a guy like Cap, like my bestie Raye did—a man who struggled with our whole Avenging Angels vigilante gig, but he got a lock on it because he knew how important it was to his woman—I did not know.

Or an Eric or Gabe, my other friends, Jess’s and Willow’s dudes, who were super chill and didn’t kick up a fuss at all.

Or even a Javi, who, like Cap, wasn’t all fired up about it, but he knew he could probably exert some pressure on Harlow and she’d totally cave, but he didn’t because being an Angel was an important part of who she was.

And he wanted the woman she was, not the woman she sacrificed bits of herself to be for him.

But noooooooo.

It was me who got the one who gave me an ultimatum.

Give up the Angels and have me, or stay with the Angels and lose me.

I stuck with my bitches.

And lost Knox.

So, uh…yeah.

I shouldn’t be here.

I shouldn’t care.

What he did was messed up.

But here I was.

Because fuck me, I was in love with the guy.

It was on this thought that Cheyenne showed, returning from her visit with Knox (and it wasn’t a very long one), and the room went wired.

Partly because she showed and everyone wanted news about Knox, but probably also because she had a look on her (very pretty, damn it) face that could curdle milk.

And it was aimed at me.

She stomped right up to me.

I braced.

Raye, on my right side, shifted like she was going to get up and shield me (or get in a catfight—with Raye, anything went). Cap, Mace and Brady started to move in. Jessie, on my other side, straight up took her feet, definitely to be my shield.

But Cheyenne just shot daggers at me with her eyes and spat, “He wants you.”

And with that, while my insides froze solid in stunned surprise at hearing these words, and Harlow whispered, “Oh my,” and Shanti muttered, “Well, all right,” Cheyenne marched away.

My head screamed, Don’t go see him!

My heart had other ideas.

Therefore (because I might be learning, but I hadn’t actually learned), I got up and started walking.

I stopped and turned to look at Mace. “Do we know what room he’s in?”

“Three west,” Mace said.

I turned and started to hoof it to wherever three west might be.

At the T of the hall, I began to go left, but Cap called, “Right!”

Okay, I should have paid attention to where Cheyenne headed. Then again, I didn’t think my feet would be taking me in this direction, and as a rule, I tried not to pay too much attention to Cheyenne.

I shifted right.

Three rooms in, to the right again, was three west.

I stopped at the door.

He wants you.

I felt my heart flutter, and I took a breath to prepare for what I might see.

He wants you.

I pushed open the door.

When I entered and saw Knox in the hospital bed, I was surprised.

I was ready to witness tall, built, handsome, vital Knox Chambers with a tube down his throat, more in his arms, his skin pale, his affect haggard.

He was none of these.

So he was a little pale.

But mostly, he just looked asleep.

Just asleep in a hospital bed with the covers folded carefully over his boxed abs, his magnificent and perfectly hairy chest bare, his shoulder bandaged, an IV in his arm, and one of those heart monitor thingies on his finger.

That was it.

He looked like he could get up, tug on some clothes and take a hike or go for a run.

Okay, so he’d have to cool it and not go gung-ho due to what was under those bandages.

But still.

Jesus.

I mean, what was with these Nightingale guys?

I walked to the side of his bed and whispered, “Hey.”

His eyelids rimmed by those beautiful fans of dark lashes didn’t even flutter.

Did he fall asleep in the few minutes between Cheyenne leaving and me arriving?

Well, he’d been shot (twice). That would take it out of a guy. Even a Nightingale guy.

“Knox?” I called quietly.

He didn’t move.

I didn’t like this.

Knox was a mover.

Even when we were at someone’s pool party, he was not the one who lounged on a float and sucked back a margarita.

He was the one who suggested pool volleyball.

Or he tried to round up a touch football game.

When he sat, one of his legs bounced, like he had other things to do and many places to go, and he had to be ready to go those places and do those things.

He was a man who was made for the military, the first part of his career.

So he was also made to be a private investigator, what he was now.

He was a man in motion.

A man of action.

Though, I’d seen him motionless. Watching some game at a sports bar or during a Superbowl party. He got pretty intense when he watched sports.

Or asleep in bed, at my side, and in those times, I’d watched him for what felt like hours, mesmerized.

Un-hunh, yeah.

I didn’t like this.

I took his hand, leaned toward him and whispered, “Hey, baby. You awake?”

Again, nothing.

Shit!

I was starting to freak out.

At this point, a nurse came in.

I turned to her as she headed to the monitors on the other side of his bed.

“He’s not awake,” I pointed out the obvious. “We were told he was out of the anesthesia.”

“He’s pretty drugged up,” she replied, moving from the monitors to the IV to check that. “He woke from anesthesia, but still, he’ll fade in and out for a while.”

“So he’s okay?” I asked.

She focused on me and gave me a small, professional smile. “He’ll be fine. But he lost a lot of blood and had surgery, both are traumatic. He needs to rest.”

I nodded.

“But even resting, company is good,” she encouraged.

I nodded again.

She moved to the laptop she’d rolled in, hit some keys, sent me another professional smile, and she and her laptop rolled back out.

I looked down at Knox.