"what on earth are you doing, miss. johnson?"
"fixing my lashes,"
"and why, miss. johnson, are you fixing them as yushikamov's men are currently fucking firing at us?"
"so that if i die, at least i die cute,"
-------------
Angel Johnson is an aspiri...
Feeling her gut tighten, Angel croaked in question, "What did they want to do to her? Rape?"
"No. Worse-" Jackson answered tersely, "Human trafficking. My wife and I were in shock when the cops told us."
Angel released a shaky breath. Human trafficking?
"Look, I'm sorry for scaring you, but I just wanna make sure you're safe." He apologized and gave her a small smile, "Since you entered my car, the Holy Spirit has been revealing to me that you're not gonna be safe at where I'm gonna drop you off at. I got this urge to pray for you, to help you. But, I don't wanna tell you how to live your life."
"Thanks," Angel whispered in a nervous breath. The car drew to a stop in front of a beautifully modern mansion. Glass windows and fixtures filled the house and it seemed to loom over Angel.
But, it was dark and quiet. Too dark and quiet for a party.
Red flag number 1.
"You sure this is the address?" Jackson asked in concern and confusion as he looked up at the house, "I mean, this looks like the set of a horror movie for white folks."
"Maybe the party's downstairs?" Angel tried to suggest anxiously, noting the lack of cars parked in front and around the mansion, even though the gate was open.
Red flag number 2.
"Look, I can wait for you if you want," Jackson suggested, "If I hear or see anything suspicious, I'll call the cops or get you help."
Black folks gon' come through every time.
Angel looked at him in pure relief, "Are you sure? I don't want to impose or anything,"
"Nah," He gave her a bright grin, "Gotta keep our Black sisters safe, right?"
Suddenly, Angel was filled with intense gratitude for this total stranger, "Thank you, for everything. Can I use your phone?"
Jackson handed the open iPhone to Angel, who pulled out her own phone and copied Sophie's number down. Three dials later, her monotone voice filled the car.
"Hello?"
"Where are you, Sophie?" Angel replied viciously, "I'm at the party, I don't see you."
As she painted her toes with Dark Ink nail polish, Sophie answered vaguely, "Oh, I'm parking right now, there are so many cars... and things,"
I will kill this triflin' ass hoe-
Fuming, Angel tried to breathe through her anger, "THERE ARE NO CARS HERE, SOPHIE! UNLESS YOU ARE SNIFFING WHATEVER BLAZE IS SELLING!"
"Hey!" Sophie retorted stupidly, "Blaze only does coke occasionally."
A non-humorous chuckle slipped through Angel's lips as she harshly snorted, "If you truly believe that, then it seems that you and Blaze are perfect for each other; because you're both downright idiots!"
Then, with a frustrated huff, Angel ended the call and took a deep breath. Her gaze met Jackson, who looked back at her sympathetically as he collected his phone back.
"Okay, Jackson," Angel spoke up anxiously, "I'm gonna go in, tell Mr. Harvey that I have a later appointment. I will tell him that my older brother... c-can I call you my older brother?"
Jackson gave her a warm smile, "Sure, of course,"
"Yeah, I'll tell him my older brother is waiting for me outside and that I have to leave in five minutes," She reasoned, "I just want to make sure that not going doesn't hurt me and my career,"
"No problem. I'll be praying for you."
As Angel stepped out of the car uneasily, her next thought was; 'I'll be praying for me too.'
▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰
Angel had to be possessed. Or cursed.
Because she was black. Blacker than asphalt. Blacker than coffee. And no black person in their right sense of mind would willingly enter a rich, white man's quiet house alone.
She could have sworn this was the plot for a horror movie.
At this point, Dr. Umar needs to revoke my black card because ain't nothing whiter than this. Angel thought as she walked through the open front door. Why did white folks have all-glass houses and left they doors open like robbers don't exist?
The house was beautiful, yes, but the large paintings of Michael Harvey were all that could be seen. The man really loved himself. He had paintings, statues, and art pieces of himself staring down at Angel.
What in the white bejezus?
The house was quiet and Angel was shaking in her boots. From fear, yes, but the house also had a bit of breeze coming through from the open floor-to-ceiling windows facing the downtown valley. You'd think rich people had heat in they houses.
There was only one light on in the entire house, and it was in the living room. She stood at the end of the dark hallway, trying to give herself a pep talk to make her way down it.
Lord, if I die today, accept me into heaven. But, not in this outfit. It's not heaven appropriate. Let me live long enough in the hospital that I can call my mama to get me that special sundress that makes my ass look great, just in case some cute ass Angels wanna hit me up-
Thud. Grunt.
What was that? Angel thought in horror, the dull sound of something hitting another soft thing interrupting her prayer. She scurried to the closet right next to the living room with light, trying to see what was going on through the slit in the two-sided closet door. She batted away the scarves which filled the small closet, hitting her face.
Maybe it was just something small, it doesn't always have to be someone dying.
Bang!
Angel might have been living in LA for the moment, but she was born and raised in Atlanta. She knew exactly what a gun sounded like.
That was the sound of a gun.
It was officially time to panic.
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we are backkkkk...
don't it feel good!
anyways, in the next chapter, we see Daringggg and all his moodiness and sexiness in action. (fawns in excitement) and isn't Angel all of us man? she's in a whole mood.
