ANGEL'S WRATH by SK (SIN CITY HEAT) Read Free

you’ve ever wanted, Savannah. I don’t want it to be said that I’m depriving you now. Fuck all you want.”
            Understanding hit Savannah as her attention shifted from Angel to the men staring at her like a pack of hungry wolves who hadn't eaten in days. She started kicking and screaming, pummeling her fists against the unyielding chest of the man carrying her towards them, but it was no use.
              “No! Nooo ! Angel!! ”
            An older man watching from a corner of the room started towards the crowd of men with the intention of putting an end to the sick debauchery about to take place.  
            “Don’t.”
              Angel's terse directive stopped him in his tracks. Oscar Munoz sent Angel a hard look of disapproval which was resolutely ignored. His men wouldn't let things go far, he'd given them their orders, but Savannah didn't need to know that. He wanted her scared shitless before she was thrown into the streets.
              Angel glanced at Oscar and held back an impatient sigh. Oscar was his mentor and right hand man, had known and guided Angel for over twenty years. Oscar was the only person Angel trusted implicitly to have his back. Although he was older than Angel by almost two decades, the two men were extremely close, more like family, and like most families, there were times when they disagreed.
            "Angel, you have to take some responsibility for this. You spoiled Savannah from the moment you brought her here. Your indulgence led her to believe she could get away with almost whatever she wanted. Don't do this."
          “She did it to herself, Oscar. She's little more than a whore to me now, so she’s being treated like one.”
            Ignoring Savannah’s cries, he turned around and walked out of the room, not bothering to look back. As far as he was concerned he was done.
     
     
    Five a.m.
     
            The continuous thumping of the treadmill kept a steady pace as Angel did his daily forty five minute run before hitting the weights. The early morning exercise always started his day off right and prepared his mind to deal with the challenges ahead.
            His chest bare, the only article of clothing he wore was his black biker shorts and a pair of running shoes. The tendons in his thick arms and biceps tightened and contracted as he pumped them back and forth, and his muscular thighs kept a constant momentum which allowed his feet to pound the treadmill in solid, even steps. Throughout the workout, he barely broke a sweat.
            Angel’s attention remained fixated on three flat screen televisions mounted on the wall opposite him as he tracked the Asian, European and North American Stock Markets. He cursed under his breath when he saw the pitiful return his current investments had yielded. Angel made a mental note to call his broker later this morning and light a fire under his ass. He was in the business of making money, not having it squandered away because of bad business decisions.
            A feminine whine sounded from the bed behind him, indicating the noise from the treadmill and the television was disturbing her. Ignoring her obvious attempts to get his attention, Angel glanced at his watch and pressed the button on the console of the treadmill to speed up the pace. He constantly pushed himself to the limit, always determined to be faster. Better. Smarter.
            It was one reason why he was still on top in this game. He didn’t plan on playing much longer, but until he bowed out, he was staying ahead of everyone else. There was always some young punk nipping at his heels determined to bring him down, make a name for himself, and take his spot. He knew the drill well because the young punk used to be him... only he’d succeeded. He couldn’t afford to slow his hustle and put his guard down. Any sign of weakness was a death wish.
            “Baby, pleeeease. I’m trying to sleeeep…”