Hell's Angel: Devil's Backbone (BK 2)

Falling for the Bad Guy

Alison's POV
(bellamysgirl)

With Frank's help, I was able to navigate my way to his ratty apartment. It was quite the trashy building. But it made perfect sense. Before we left the car, I made sure to grab my med bag. I didn't know what supplies he had on hand and I felt better with my own equipment anyway. He led the way across the street and up the stairs inside the building, then to the right apartment door. I may be stupid for going along with this.

But I was smart enough to keep a gun on me. Tucked in my belt at my lower back, under my jacket, was a 9mm handgun that I got from Turk. He was a little concerned about how easily I lost the last one, but he sold me the gun in the end. This one I bought at full price, no exceptions. I didn't mind though seeing as it wasn't actually that expensive to begin with. Frank pushed open the door and shuffled into the apartment.

The silver pitbull from when I talked to him in his car was chained up not far from the door. It jumped and barked, wagging its tail in excitement upon seeing Frank. I hesitantly took a step inside and shut the door behind me slowly. I turned back toward the rest of the apartment and paused. "Wow..." was all I could say. The whole room was filled with what looked to be hundreds of different weapons and ammunitions.

The light in the room wasn't the best—just a couple desk lamps here and there—but I didn't need anything bright to see all of it. "Are you killing street trash or arming a third-world country?" I asked, rhetorically. He sighed, petting the dog a second before shrugging off his heavy jacket. Right, I almost forgot. He doesn't do much small talk. Like ever. "Let me look at your arm."

I dropped the med bag by the first table I came to and walked over to him. He turned around just as I arrived and, without saying anything, I grabbed his arm and held it up for me to see. Though it was sudden, he held still. There was a small but deep laceration near the underside of his elbow, on his right forearm. It looked like he'd stitched it before but whatever happened on that rooftop ripped it right back open.

Then my eyes shifted farther up. A hole that I knew the look of all too well was in his shoulder. "You were shot?" I asked, my eyes rounding a bit as I looked up at him.

"Turns out Angels bite. She, uh...she said she talked to you before coming to the roof. Said that you begged her not to kill me."

I paused, suddenly feeling heat in my cheeks. "She told you that?"

"Yeah," he nodded a little. His head tilted just slightly. "Did you do it?"

I nodded with a light sigh, "Sit." I gestured to a crate of some kind of ammo a couple feet to his left. He waited a second but then stepped over and sat on the crate as told. "Why would you do that?" he asked, continuing the conversation as if nothing happened in between. "Why go to all that trouble for a psychopath with an itchy trigger finger, huh?"

"I don't think you're a psychopath. Maybe a little crazy, but not a psychopath," I corrected, with a shake of my head. I sucked in a breath. "I don't believe in just casting people aside. Knowing what exactly happened to spur this on, I can attest to the fact that you probably just need help. You don't deserve to die."

"Yeah, well, your vigilantes think otherwise," he looked over my shoulder, glancing around a bit.

"I assume you're talking about Angel?" I gave him a look and sighed. "She's had a hard year, okay? But she's not the bad guy."

He looked back at me, sarcastically dumbfounded. "Really? I mean, you could've fooled me. What's funny about all this is that you're best friends with a woman in a mask and some blue pajamas, going around killing or maiming whoever, and yet you look at me like I'm some kind of animal for doing the same thing."