2006

Well, where was she supposed to go? It was her place. If she tried to kick him out, he'd probably hit her again. Worse.

And by then, she loved him.

She didn't deceive herself. Even later, when he crawled into bed beside her, kissing her and whispering his apologies, she knew it wasn't going to be the only time. She even knew it was only going to get worse.

But it didn't seem to matter.

He'd been dazzling when first they met. Handsome, charming and well-dressed in tight fitting tee-shirts and jeans that showed off his impressive physique, he had a shining mane of dark hair and his Afro-Dominican features were chiselled perfection. She wasn't even sure where he came from, except all of a sudden he was always around those few human friends she had and all the guys wanted to be him and all the girls just wanted him – except for her. Yeah, he just thought he was a little too hot stuff for her. He had an indolent and arrogant manner to him that rubbed her right up the wrong way. Funny how a slick smooth talker who moved weight for men who never got their own hands dirty seemed all guff and bluster when you knew a group of elite trained ninja.

Then one night when she was out working, he passed her by, his green eyes locking with hers and sending an icicle of pure fear trickling through her gut. There was only one reason she'd be loitering on that block at that time of night. She knew it, he knew it and, she figured, now everyone else would know it too.

But days passed and no one treated her any differently. No one asked her any strange questions. No one shot her any dirty looks. Though her heart stopped with every vibration of her phone, though she jumped every time her name was called as she walked through the neighbourhood, the worst simply never happened. He hadn't told anyone.

Still, when he slid into the seat opposite her at the crowded local diner one morning when she was having breakfast, she didn't do more than raise an eyebrow at him and return her attention back to her magazine.

"So why ain't your man takin' better care of you?" he didn't bother with any preamble and she snorted, flicked her hair back. From the kitchen, the sounds of plates clattering and the ding of the bell indicated orders were up.

"Who says I need a man to take care of me?" she retorted brashly and took a sip of her coffee, giving him a quick peek over the rim of the cup through thickly lashed eyes.

A grin spread over his handsome face and she felt a little twitch in her heart despite herself.

"Well, I do, baby," he said, all sparkling teeth and flashing eyes, leaning cockily back against the booth, the bustle around him seeming to dim by the radiance of that smile. "A woman like you should have a man to give her just anythin' she could ask for."

She replaced the cup in its saucer with a clink, folded her ringed hands over each other on the table and gave him a bored look. "Who're you I should give a damn, anyway?"

His grin just spread wider and she tried not to look into his eyes. They were a startling green, reminding her too much of Raphael. And Raphael had Amber now.

"Come have dinner with me tonight," he said.

Angel rolled her eyes, looked out across the diner. "No thanks. I can buy my own burger 'n fries," she drawled, but the smile never left his face.

"That's why I figured we'd go Dirty French."

She can't help it. Her eyes slid back to his. But she doesn't lose her cool.

"Like they'd give you a table," she retorts and he reaches across the table and takes her hand in his and a jolt sparks right through her.

"Come out with me and you'll find out," he says calmly, his thumb stroking across the back of her hand. It feels nice and it's been a long time since she was with anyone and sure as shit no man has ever taken her out anywhere fancy, or even classy, before. And she just can't get that encounter with Amber out of her mind, the cold blue eyes in the vicious little face or how that smile transformed her into something she abruptly, dismally comprehended how Raphael could love.

"There better be cocktails included," she replied, as though there was nothing at all special about Dirty French, like she wasn't already trying to decide between Versace and Moschino.

"Naturally, baby," he said easily, still cradling her hand in his and holding her gaze and the deep green depths of his eyes started her heart thudding hard.

He didn't even try to fuck her that first night, though by the end of it she was liquored up and buttered up enough to have said yes the second he asked. And for a while, it was like living in a fairy tale. When she finally recalled most fairytales got ugly, she was already hooked and his hold on her was like a spell.

By the time she finally hated him, despised him with a venomous and savage fury that scared her sometimes with its ferocity, she was a trembling husk of her former self, cowed and terrified, all the hatred she felt like a tumour on her heart, growing harder and more suffocating every day.

The day he was arrested, she wept in relief and joy.

She ignored the call asking her to post his bail and the next she heard, he'd been sentenced to five years.