An Angel Wears Hightops [A Sequel to The Devil Wears Girl Jeans]

An Angel Wears Hightops (Chapter 17)

“What the hell?” I muttered groggily the next morning, sitting up and looking around the room with half-closed eyes.

I was sprawled out  in the middle of a large, very soft bed, with a massive plasma screen TV hanging on the wall across from me. The entire room looked ridiculously expensive, and I had a feeling that if I were to open the heavy curtains across the room, the view would probably confirm that we were far, far from home. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed another bed , immaculately made, except this one had a dark, vaguely human shaped figure perched on it, watching me.

“Where am I?”

“In a hotel room.” a masculine voice replied, and for minute, I was alarmed, until suddenly I remembered who it was. Blake. Right. I'd forgotten about him.

“How did I get in here?”

“I carried you up.”

“Oh.” I blinked, surprised that he'd managed to get me out of the car, up all those floors, and into bed without waking me up. I was impressed. “Well, thanks.”

“No problem, kiddo. But now that you're awake, I though we could order room service and then plan out what we're going to do next. You down for some pancakes?”

Normally, I would've said no, because pancakes always seem like a good idea until you eat one, and then you definitely don't want the other 7 on your plate. But instead I just nodded, completely thrown off by what he'd just said.

“Wait, we? You're letting me help you?”

Blake stared at me as if I'd grown a second head, and paused, his finger hovering over the keypad of the hotel phone as if he was too taken aback to continue dialling.

“Uh, yeah. You're their friend, aren't you? I though you'd want to help.”

“No, no, I do! Mickey just wouldn't let me before.”

Blake grinned, and held the phone up to his ear, waiting for whoever was in charge of room service to answer, and bring us up our wheelbarrow full of pancakes.

“Well, Mickey isn't here, now is he?”

And for the first time in a long time, I felt hopeful.

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“So how do you afford all this stuff?” I asked, motioning around the room with my fork. The pancakes had actually turned out to be delicious, and Blake had even taken the time to order me an entire jug of orange juice, all to myself. Even more incredible, he'd ended up paying someone extra to run to the store and get it for me, since the hotel was only able to sell it in tiny cups that I was able to finish in roughly one sip. I was starting to really like this guy.

“I'm a organ harvester. I sneak into people houses while they're asleep, drug them, take out some organ that they won't miss too much, leave 'em in a bathtub full of ice to heal, and then sell their liver or whatever on the black market. A full human body can get a few million.” he said casually through a mouthful of pancakes, and I nearly choked.