Rated M for drugs, sex, and rock and roll -- Except a little less rock and roll, and a little more gratuitous profanity and violence.

Contains/mentions of m/f, m/m, f/f, m/m/f… You get where this is going, right?

It's a work of fiction. Duh. Pretty much any character you recognize does not belong to me.

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Book 1: Angel

Raymond Fernandez.

Keith Franke.

Sherri Schrull.

I read the names on each gravestone as we walk. We're on one of our occasional midnight strolls through the cemetery before joining the boys at The Station. Angel is a few steps ahead of me, silent as usual. The guy talks less than I do, and that's saying something. He stops walking suddenly and stands with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing up at the sky. I take a seat on one of the larger headstones and turn my eyes upwards as well.

You don't see this kinda thing back in the city. Of course, I spent most of my time underground, in a cage when I lived there but that's besides the point. Out here, there are few street lights and a huge blanket of stars covers the sky. It's really quite lovely. I snort as I realize I just used the phrase 'quite lovely' seriously. The boys would kick my ass for that. Or not. They know better than to mess with me.

Angel is still standing there like some damn philosopher or something. He looks pale in the moonlight. Well, paler than normal. I'm pretty sure if he was any whiter, I could strip him down and pass him off as one of them Greek statues. He sure as hell has the body for it. Actually, I take that back. His dick is way too big. Seriously, what's the deal with those statues anyway? I smirk a little as I remember that time Trish dragged me along to the museum with her.

"Large penises were considered comical back then. That's why all the statues look the way they do," she very eloquently explained to me.

"Well, I s'pose it's good that I didn't live back then." I could already see her starting to frown, seeing where I was going. "I woulda been the biggest laughin' stock in the entire town with my--"

She yanked on my shirt with one hand to bring my head down to her level, and slapped her other hand on my mouth to shut me up.

I can still vividly recall the look on her face. And the one on the old lady that was standing next to us. Heh.

"Promise me you'll take care of her," Angel says suddenly, turning to look at me.

Her who? Did I miss something here? Seeing as being caught daydreaming wouldn't do well for my badass reputation, I decide to play it cool and look down between my legs at the gravestone under me. "Of old Phyllis here? I think it's a little late for her."

One corner of his lips turns upwards slightly and he glances down at my crotch. "You named your dick Phyllis?"

I roll my eyes at him and he turns his gaze upwards again. Silence. Now, I know I said that the stars looked nice, but they ain't that interesting. There's nothing else up there anyhow. Minutes tick by and it becomes apparent he's not going to say anything so I repeat my question out loud, "Who's her?"

"She'll come to you one day, Mark."

My eyebrows shoot up of their own accord. It's not too often I hear my name said. Hell, only a handful of people even know my real name.

"I promise," I say, even though I have no idea who he's talking about. He's never asked me for anything before. Ever. After all that's he's done for me, I figure I owe him a hell of a lot. Every single one of us living in his house does.

Angel looks at looks at me with a sad smile for a moment before turning and heading back to the car. I get up and follow him.