"Ah my Princess, you 'av returned!"
The crooning french tones emanated across the busy room as a short man with a thin pencil moustache and an irritating overbite scurried towards the blonde beauty who had entered his domain. With an almost lazy smile on her face, she greeted him with air-kisses before slipping off the white mink coat she had swathed around her slender figure, tossing it carelessly to an assistant.
"Well of course I have, Dimitri," She replied in a soft, lilting voice. "I couldn't very well abandon my favourite photographer now, could I?" These words were accompanied with a light chuckle, which was echoed by several adoring assistants who were gazing at the woman with pure adoration in their eyes. And why wouldn't they?
After all, Angel Reyes was the Model of the moment, with her waist length blonde curls, glittering brown eyes surrounded by long, curling eyelashes, a snub little nose, perfectly shaped lips, natural breasts and a figure every boy wished lived next door to him. She had everything she wanted in the palm of her hand, including the hottest boyfriend the world had ever met. She loved introducing him to everyone they met, showing off photos on her phone and regaling stories of their adventures together. His name just rolled off her tongue.
"And 'ow eez 'e?" Dimitri asked as he ushered Angel into a make-up chair. "Ze famous boyfriend?" A young Oriental woman dashed forward and began to dust powder onto Angel's flawless cheeks as she turned her head this way and that way to admire her beautiful appearance.
"Oh, he's fine. He's, you know, darling as always," She laughed daintily as she let her thoughts wander to him. His beautiful, penetrating eyes, his thick dark hair, his rough, almost gravelly voice. And his name that rolled off the tongue. "He's... He's..."
Even as she spoke, Angel could feel a cold chill running down her spine. The assistants packing their things ready to leave. The photographers conversing quietly in a corner. All of them staring, staring, staring. Staring at what?
With a shriek, Angel caught sight of her reflection. Her charred, burned hair hanging in clumps around her face. Bruises covered her face and chest, her clothes were torn and dirty. And all around her sympathy reigned. Sympathetic whispers, nods. Like anybody really cared.
Angel bolted up in bed with a jerk, her thin flannel nightshirt sticking to her slender, sweating frame. Gulping in the fresh air, she groped for her alarm clock and peered at the luminous numbers through sleepy eyes.
"Shi-iit," She groaned as the numbers 02:29 came into blurry focus. For the ninth night in a row she'd woken at that exact same time, always from the same dream. Groaning lightly, she placed the clock down and fell back onto the pillows, throwing her arms in random directions. She'd had recurring nightmares before, but those had made sense to her, whereas the current ones didn't. Her mind began to wander to the nightmare that had plagued her for nearly seven months, every single night without fail.
Sitting in the hospital with cigarette burns on her arms, a broken nose, lacerations laddering her arms, cracked ribs, a dislocated jaw, the entire works. And a pair of weeping parents, claiming their unruly daughter had gotten into another fight at school with some kids older then she was. Naturally the Doctors believed them; after all, her Father was the Chief of Police and her Mother a well respected Lawyer. Why would anyone suspect otherwise?
"Of course, that isn't a nightmare." Angel rolled onto her side and stared at the photo on her bedside table. The only photo she had of her parents, Antonia and Keith. It had been taken at their prom, and they'd looked so happy. They had their whole lives ahead of them, happy and in love. Where had it all gone wrong? "It's a memory. A memory of what you guys did to me." She swallowed hard as tears threatened to fall, her eyes stinging with the effort of not crying. She hadn't cried for her parents since she was ten years old. Why start now?
"Wow, babe you look like hee-ell!"
Ethan greeted Angel in the morning with a toasted muffin and a lukewarm mug of coffee as she stumbled into the kitchen sleepily, complaining about Ethan's dog lying on the stairs again. She mumbled something in response to his lovely greeting before slumping at the table and prodding her coffee mug ineffectively. Ethan rolled his eyes before sitting opposite her and adopting his "knowing" face.
"I swear if you don't drop that look you'll be spending the morning removing my muffin from your ass," Angel warned him. The comment sent Ethan into a hysterical moment of laughter as he slapped the table-top to further express his delight at Angel's Just-Woke-Up comment. Angel found it hard to fight a smile as she shook her head. She should have known that Ethan would have taken that in a completely sexual manner. "Seriously, I'm not in the mood to talk about it right now. Just suffice it to say, I'd sell my right arm for a decent nights sleep."
Ethan made a soft sympathetic noise as he ruffled Angel's slightly bushy blonde locks before planting a kiss on her forehead. "It'll get better Princess," He promised her gently before pushing the coffee mug against one of her palms. "Come on, drink up. Will called, he needs you in early today to cover the Cum Dumpster's shift. He'll pay you double plus over-time if you can get there before ten,"
Angel cast a glance around the kitchen and smiled lightly. It wasn't as if they needed the extra money; Ethan was currently working for the Editor-In-Chief of the largest Fashion Magazine this side of the Atlantic and was making a mint. Not to mention Angel's pretty generous wages from her boss at the club. But extra money meant she could get a new Prada outfit, or a new Gucci handbag. Recently Will had been dropping hints that Angel could make herself a killing on the stage. But working behind the bar and keeping her clothes on was a much preferred career for her. Not that she had anything against the girls who did strip, but she preferred to look classy, approacheable, normal.
Hurriedly Angel gulped down the now cold coffee before leaping to her feet and hurrying for the stairs, tripping over Ethan's Labrador in the process. Chance raised a lazy ear before resuming his sleep as Angel silently cursed the animal she loved so much.
"Angel-fucking-ina, what time do you call this lady?"
Angel grimaced at the sound of her full name elongated with a delicately placed swear-word from her ruddy cheeked Boss. She ran a hand through her freshly washed-and-straightened blonde locks before blowing a childish raspberry towards Will, who emitted a booming chortle as he weaved his way round the tables towards the bar Angel was approaching. "Thanks for coming in at such short notice, sweetheart. You're one of the few girls I can always rely on to be here on time. And sorry if I ruined your day," He added softly as Angel hopped behind the black marble bar and reached for the bottle of water Will aways left there for her. When she was working, Angel drank nothing but room temperature Evian as opposed to some of the girls who secretly necked shots like they were going out of style.
"My day was going to consist of a manicure and pedicure, followed by a deep-tissue massage and some purple under-lights put into my hair. But coming to work so middle-aged men can leer over me on their lunch breaks is much more preferable," She remarked drily before unscrewing the bottle cap and draining a quarter of the contents, noting how Will became sheepish and scratched the back of his thick neck apologetically. "Will you know I love working here you big doofus," Angel laughed softly, shrugging off her short leather jacket as two young men entered the club and cast a quick glance around. One of them looked far too serious; all business by the looks of things. His companion on the other hand was looking incredibly excited, his handsome face sporting a very sexy grin. She swallowed hard and placed her bottle down behind the bar again before turning her attention to the glasses that needed stacking.
Dean's warm brown eyes fell onto the buxom blonde behind the bar, causing a wide grin to spread across his face as he nudged against Sam, indicating the woman as he did so. Sam raised an eyebrow before letting out his trademark half-laugh half-groan of despair, his long legs striding towards a table semi-close to the stage, watching as Dean made his way towards the bar. Female heads turned to stare at the young Adonis as he leant on the marble bar and cleared his throat, enjoying the view while he waited to catch the Bartenders attention.
Snug-fitting soft black leather pants clung to her slender hips and legs like a second skin, clinging to the outline of what could only be a G-string. Covering her torso was a cropped black t-shirt that was cut off high enough for him to see the ending of a tattoo that appeared to be in the shape of Angel wings. His mind drifted momentarily to Castiel and how little they'd seen of him recently. Since averting the Apocalypse and shoving Lucifer back into his cage, Castiel had been nowhere around no matter how many times Sam, Dean or Bobby called for him.
"Nice tattoo," He finally said when the girl still didn't turn around. "I dig chicks with tattoos," He added with a light wink as she turned to face him, flicking the small silver ring to the left side of her perfect pout with her tongue. "Name's Dean. And I'd like a Whisky on the rocks for me, and a martini for my friend over there," He thumbed towards Sam without looking round, his gaze too busy staring down the bartender's open cleavage.
"Unluckily for you, I don't dig men called Dean," Angel returned shortly as she reached for the required glasses, giving Dean a quick once-over. Of course she was just biting back at his remark, she could definitely dig a guy like him. Not too tall, beautifully built, handsome, deep eyes, a perfectly straight nose, beautifully white even teeth. Yep, this guy was definitely her type. "Does your friend want any specific martini?" She added in a more professional tone, not willing to upset the punter. Will wasn't exactly strict on that since most men who came into the club were half-drunk anyway, but she still adopted a professional manner around people who didn't look or smell particularly wasted.
"Uh, no he'll drink whatever's given to him," Dean replied off-handedly, still trying to tear his eyes away from Angel's inviting cleavage. "So, do you have a name? Or can I just call you Angel?" He grinned before flicking his gaze back to her face - just in time to catch a flicker of shock crossing her features. "I didn't mean to offend you. It's just, your tattoo looked like Angel wings. So I figured - ah you know what? Never mind, sorry."
"No, no it's okay," Angel placed the drinks infront of Dean and forced a soft smile to her face as she did so. "I'm Angelina. But you can call me Angel, Dean." She took the money he offered from his palm and dared to give him the slightest shadow of a wink before taking the money over to the till, battling the smile from her face as Dean took a sharp intake of breath and carried the drinks over to the table where Sam was busy working on his laptop, evidently oblivious to the throngs of women surrounding them in skimpy outfits.