Angel
“Another fucking warehouse has been hit,” Nico says, slamming his hands down on his desk.
Images of my Koukla sitting on my lap, whispering my name, flicker through my brain.
“This one is brazen,” Luc comments, shuffling through papers as he takes account of what was in our warehouse.
“Yeah, he fucking is. And he’s dead. He just don’t know it. Angel?” Nico says my name.
The way she melts into me whenever I kiss or touch her.
“Angel?” he repeats, louder.
Shit.
“How much damage we talkin’?” I ask.
Focusing on the task at hand, I compartmentalize. Thoughts of Giselle need to subside for now.
But she’s not gone. My Little Doll is always there. Always circling the periphery of my brain.
“Give me a sec,” Luc says, and I know he knows what I am really asking for.
It’s not about the money for me. It’s about how much of our not so legitimate business is gonna take heat for this from the feds.