If Only

Chapter Two

I slowly backed away from him, until my back hit the armoire that stored all of our booze.

I had spent months becoming untraceable. Getting new IDs, an unlisted phone, and moving halfway across the country.

But somehow Jeremiah was here.

"How in the hell did you find me?" I asked him.

"Oh, Angela, it was easy really." A sadistic grin spread over his chiseled face, and a tattoo of my name flashed from under the sleeve of his shirt as he reached into a cabinet to grab a glass, which he then filled with bourbon.

Some things never changed.

I reached into the armoire and grabbed my pocket knife. There were things you knew to do when you were engaged to the head of a drug cartel.

Were.

The word rang through my mind as Jeremiah sauntered closer to me.

I slowly reached for his tumbler, and took a long swig of the brown liquor. God bless that liquid courage.

"Well, Angie, wouldn't you agree that New Orleans really is the best place to hide? I mean, here I am, thinking SoCal's the place to be, seeing as you refused to ever leave, and I get a call from my buddy, Johane, who said he saw you at a bar, whoring around with some common folks. Honestly, Ang, did you think you could get away from me?"

I considered his question for a moment. It was true that I loved Los Angeles. It was the city of my people, after all. But how could I love a city, named for angels, but run by demons?

"I could've gotten away. In fact, I did run away. It's taken you eighty years to hunt me down. So, yes, thank you, I could've, and did, get away." I ran my finger over the blade of the knife that was held behind my back, prepared to slash if Jeremiah got any closer.

"Angie, Angie, Angie. Baby, we both know that in immortal years, 80 is nothing. We've lived through millennia together. Obviously, things have changed somewhat-" I cut him off as he plopped down onto my sofa.

"Damn right things have changed! You got me kicked out! What the hell am I supposed to do when the kid I'm supposed to be guarding literally falls under the influence of Satan?! And what the hell happens when the kid gets so hopped up on coke and LSD that he can't tell the difference between laundry detergent and a freaking fountain beverage?! What the HELL am I supposed to tell the archangels then?!"

I was seething by this point, my hand holding so tightly to the knife that my knuckles turned white.

"Get the HELL out of my apartment, you bastard, before you break someone else. And don't, under any circumstances, EVER show your face again!" I marched over to the door and held it open, waving for him to exit.

"We're not done here, Ange, trust me. It's only over when I say it's over." He slammed the door as he exited, and I clicked all three of the deadbolts into place.

I sighed, and trudged over to my room. With a final grunt of defeat, I resigned myself to the welcoming arms of sleep.