Angie | Will Trent

"Of me?"

"Lenny." She took a long, slow swallow from the bottle. "He found out I was working a CI in the Bluff. Said I was 'making him look soft.' Got a little hands-on to prove he wasn't." will trent angie

She stared at him, and for a long moment, the anger flared—the hot, familiar rage she used as a shield. But then, like a candle drowning in wax, it flickered and went out. Her shoulders sagged. A single tear, traitorous and silent, traced a clean line through the grime on her cheek. "Of me

Angie’s hand dropped. For a second, the mask slipped—not the tough-girl mask, but the one underneath. The one that was just a scared, broken kid from the Home who never learned how to be loved without being hurt first. But then, like a candle drowning in wax,

"I've got you."

And for the first time in twenty years, Angie Polaski let him.

For a while, there was only the sound of the old building settling and the distant wail of a siren on Ponce. Angie reached out and touched the scar on his cheek—the one shaped like a question mark, the one he never talked about. Her fingertip was cold and trembling.