Monster:Angels of Chaos MC(6)

By: Zoey Parker

“You’re welcome.”

We sit in silence for a while, then I remember something.

“Shit. Is your land line working? I didn’t have any service on my phone, then it went dead. I couldn’t call my parents, and they must be worried by now. Especially if they heard about the blizzard.”

“Oh, yeah.” He gets up and fetches a handset mounted to the wall by the backdoor. I take it and dial, hoping the lines are still up and I can get through to my mom.

“Christina! We’ve been worried sick!”

“I’m sorry, Mom, really. I got stranded in the snowstorm out here and…had to pull over at a motel for the night.” I glance at him and notice the way he grins when he hears my lie. I roll my eyes, assuring Mom that I’m safe and I’ll call her in the morning.

I hang up, now at a total loss for words. For better or worse, I’m stuck in a secluded farmhouse with a total stranger. What do I do now?

Chapter 4


The whiskey loosened up her tongue and now she won’t shut up. If I’d known she’d be a talker, I might have left her out in the snow.

Okay. I wouldn’t have left her out in the snow, but maybe I’d have bought myself some earplugs before the storm. Something to help me deal with her incessant talking.

I know it’s because she’s nervous. We’re strangers, and I’m sure that to Little Miss Coffee Shop I’m the Big Bad Wolf. I remember how she looked at me when I first walked into her place last week. Her eyes went round before she could stop herself. Her skin was already fair, but it turned so pale I could see the freckles standing out against her nose and cheeks.

I’m used to getting that reaction when people first meet me, though. It’s nothing new.

She’s not a bad person, of course. She was genuinely nice to me. But that was because she didn’t know me. She had no idea that I really am the Big Bad Wolf.

Now she’s nervous, alone in the house with me. I notice the way she hesitates before taking off her coat, and I know it’s because she’s still slightly afraid of me. Even though I saved her damn life, she’s still afraid.

This isn’t exactly an everyday thing for me either. I haven’t spent this much time alone with a woman, awake and with our clothes on, in years. Ever since…

“Do you live here alone?” she asks, looking at me with those big green eyes. Innocent eyes.

“Why? You think the house needs a woman’s touch or something?”

“No.” I think I see a little bit of a blush on her cheeks. “I was going to say just the opposite. It’s a really nice house. Cozy.”

“Thanks. It was decorated by, uh, a woman I knew.” I look down at my hands. It’s still hard to talk about her, even after all this time. The girl is smart enough to not ask any questions.

“I just realized something,” she says, laughing. “I don’t even know your name!”

“God, of course not.” I’m laughing now, too. “I’m Jax. Jax Fairbanks.”

“Christina Reardon.”

“Christina Reardon, you make a mean blueberry muffin. I’ve been meaning to tell you that for a week. Really, it was excellent.”

She definitely blushes this time. “Thanks.”

“You’ve been there how long now?”

“Six months.”

“I bet the town considers you a pleasant change from Ricky.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Ricky was, you know, a guy. And not the handsomest guy either.” As a matter of fact, he looked like a troll. But I keep that to myself, not wanting to come off like too much of a prick. “The first thing I thought when I walked in was that it was a nice change of pace, seeing you behind the counter instead.”

She scowls, and I wonder what the hell I said to piss her off. “So what you’re saying is that because I have tits, I have customers?”

“That’s not what I said at all. I’m gonna chalk it up to the whiskey.” But there’s no backing down from her. She stands up, hands on hips.

“No, that’s exactly what you meant. I’m a girl, so people come to my shop. If I was a guy—a plain, average-looking guy—they wouldn’t be as likely to come in.”

“What the fuck difference does it make either way? Why are you getting so worked up over this? Either way, it works in your favor. You’re pretty. You’re nice. I’m sure people like visiting the shop and seeing a pretty, nice girl smiling at them. That’s all I meant.” I hold up my hands, surrendering. Christ, she’s tough.

She’s still simmering, but she sits back down. “My pastries are good.”

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