Fallen William
Authors: Tiffany Aaron
Fallen: William
Tiffany Aaron
(c) 2004
Fallen: William
Tiffany Aaron
Published 2004
ISBN 1-59578-071-8
Published by Liquid Silver Books,
imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis,
Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2004, Tiffany Aaron. All rights reserved. No part of
this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or
otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
Manufactured in the United States
of America
Liquid Silver Books
http://lsbooks.com
Email:
Cover Art
by Fabiano Fabris
This is
a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of
the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance
to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Chris, my dreams would be
nightmares without you.
Bill and Kelly, you raised a
wonderful son and I thank you for him.
Doug
and Jamie, thank you for repopulating the world so we don’t have to.
Wendy
and Shane, may your new life be filled with occasional storm clouds so you
appreciate the sun more.
Char,
again you managed to clean up my act. Thank you.
Sandy,
thanks for those lunchtime walks and helping me think my way through an idea.
And
finally to the man with the pipe and the trash bag I see every day while I go
to work. Every day you break my heart and every day you make me smile with your
determination.
William
Bradford took a peek at the two cards the dealer gave him. Damn, the queen of
hearts and the two of spades. Studying his opponents, he wondered if he should
try to bluff his way into the pot or just cut his losses. Maybe if he checked,
he would get the chance to catch something on the flop.
He knew
he could cheat and read their minds to see what kind of hands they had.
Shuddering, he wasn’t sure he wanted to do that. There was no way of telling
what kind of slime lurked in their brains and just because he could read minds
didn’t mean he should. There had to be a rule somewhere in the Enforcer code
stating “Thou Shalt Not Cheat.” Sometimes being a fallen angel didn’t live up
to the hype. One of the men raised the pot. He threw his hand in with disgust,
pushed back his chair and climbed to his feet.
“I’m
calling it a night, guys.” He smiled at the other men around the table as he
gathered his chips.
“The
night is still young. You usually don’t quit until the sun comes up,” one of
them said, even though William knew they were thrilled to see him leave.
“I flew
in early this morning and came right to the tables. I haven’t seen my own bed
in a week and I’d like to reacquaint myself with it.” He nodded as he left.
Strolling
through the Golden Phoenix casino in Reno, William wondered what kind of
desperation drove these mortals to gamble away their money and their lives.
What flaw in them made them long to bet everything on the roll of the dice or
the turn of a card? He had seen that moment happen so many times—the moment
when the addictive haze cleared and horrified guilt took its place for a while.
He had seen grown men weeping on street corners with no money and no way to get
home.
He used
to give them money to help them out and then he realized they would go and
gamble it away again. Now he did nothing for them. Maybe as an angel, although
a fallen one, he should comfort the most beloved of God’s creatures. Mortals
might be God’s favorites, but he hadn’t seen much proof of their willingness to
accept comfort from Him.
Heading
to the bar, he wished he could drown his thoughts; unfortunately whiskey didn’t
have any effect on him. The bartender recognized him and had his drink ready
for him by the time he sat down.
“Cards
not falling your way, Mr. Bradford?” the bartender asked.
William
laughed because except for that last hand, the cards always fell his way, which
explained why he chose to make his living as a poker player. “I’m just tired.
I’ve been busy for the last week and need to catch up on my sleep.”
Burt
looked slightly surprised and he realized those two sentences were the most he
had ever spoken to the man. He shrugged. He didn’t like talking to people. The
only person he had ever felt the need to spend time with was Celeste, but now
that she was attached to that arrogant mortal, Adam Montgomery, she didn’t need
him anymore. Burt seemed to be a good listener, but then wasn’t being a good
listener a requirement to be a bartender? Burt set another whiskey on the
counter.
“I’m
not done with my first,” William pointed out.
“It’s
not for you.” Burt nodded towards the door.
He
swung around and felt his lungs deflate as he took in the woman walking towards
him.
She was
petite with an hourglass figure he would love to get his hands on. Her amber
hair sparked with burgundy highlights and was the color he had always
envisioned hell fire would be. A black and white bandana kept her hair off a
face meant to break a man’s heart. Her eyes were wide, reminding him of the
richest Swiss chocolate. Her creamy skin was flushed and he could feel the
anger rolling off her.
A green
t-shirt filled with lush breasts he knew would be featured in his dreams bared
her stomach and he caught a hint of glitter at her belly button. Jeans hugged
her hips with loving accuracy and delicate toes painted a blood red peeked from
black high-heeled sandals. As he ran his eyes down her legs, he imagined them
wrapped around his waist as he thrust into her. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
Flinging
herself down on the stool next to him, she grabbed the whiskey and slammed it
back. Burt had another shot ready when she set the glass down.
“Slow
up a little, Abby,” Burt said as the redhead slammed the second one back just
as fast as the first.
“I
swear if the pay wasn’t so good, I’d blow this fucking job.” She ignored
William.
“Thompson
do it again?”
“Yeah,
he grabbed my ass. He can’t believe I’d turn him down. What is it about you gamblers?”
Her brown eyes shot knives into William.
He
didn’t think she was looking for an answer so he kept quiet. Obviously some guy
had groped her and it pissed her off. Standing, he reached into his pocket to
pay his tab.
Abby
reached out and grabbed his arm although she wasn’t sure why she was talking to
the man. His bloodshot blue eyes said he hadn’t slept for days. He had all the
markings of a professional gambler and was just the kind of man she had always
sworn never to get involved with. The hard muscle flexed under her hand as she
met his glare.
“I
asked you a question.”
Burt
shook his head and moved down the bar. The stranger raised an eyebrow.
“You
did? I thought you were stating a fact. I’m sure you weren’t looking for my
opinion.” His voice came out smooth and lit a fire in her stomach.
It’s
just the whiskey, she thought. “You’re a professional, always on the lookout
for the next game. Do you know the meaning of the word no? Do you force your
attentions on women?”
“Darling,
no woman I’ve ever wanted has turned me down.” He gave her a slow bone-melting
grin.
No,
I’m sure they haven’t
.
Giving him the once over, Abby found she liked what she saw. By the way he
towered over her he had to be around six-four. A wrinkled blue t-shirt covered
bulging chest muscles. His faded jeans were sinfully tight, letting her know
that it wasn’t just his muscles that were bulging. Scuffed cowboy boots completed
the package.
Almost
everything about his face shouted angelic perfection until she met his eyes.
Even though they sparkled with blue fire because of her thorough inspection,
their cynical darkness held a hint of pain. The man beside her had been to hell
and was still haunted by his visit there.
Angry
at her thoughts, she jerked her hand away. “Damn arrogant men. Why do you think
that if a woman works in a casino, she must be a whore?”
“I
never thought they were.” His quiet statement cooled her anger.
She sighed. “I’m sorry. I
shouldn’t have lit into you like that. It wasn’t fair.”
“No,
you shouldn’t have. Just as all women aren’t whores, neither are all gamblers
arrogant ass pinchers.” He threw a bill on the bar and left.
“Great
job,” she muttered. “Insult the best looking guy you’ve seen in forever.” Burt
came by to grab the money. She saw it was a hundred-dollar bill. “Big tipper
tonight. He must have come out ahead.”
Burt
laughed. “Bradford always comes out ahead, girl.”
“Bradford?
You mean I managed to insult the infamous William Bradford?”
At his
nod, she groaned. She was in for it now. If that jerk Thompson didn’t report
her for slapping him, Bradford surely would for taking an attitude with him.
There were few things people knew about William Bradford, but one was that he
didn’t suffer fools and she had acted like an ass in front of him. Damn her red
hair and loose mouth. Someday she might figure out how to keep them from
destroying her life.
“This
might be my last night here. Especially if Bradford is as pissed as he
sounded.”
“Pissed?
Bradford wasn’t pissed. You’re thinking too highly of yourself if you think
that a man like that will remember or care about anything you’ve said to him.”
He chuckled as he pocketed his tip.
William
sighed as he flipped on his back for the fifth time. He had gotten home two
hours ago certain he was going to fall asleep the minute his head hit the
pillow. His bedroom was dark with no hint of the glaring Reno sun. His suitcase
was flung into one corner and his clothes and boots balanced precariously on
the edge of the trunk resting at the foot of his bed. The images flashing
behind his eyelids were becoming twisted nightmares featuring the woman from
the bar. He couldn’t take it anymore when an image of Abby lying in a pool of
blood exploded in his mind.
“Damn,
is this a fucking test or something?” He launched out of bed and grabbed his
jeans on the way into the living room.
“You
really do need to watch your mouth.” A melancholy voice came out of the
darkness.
He
didn’t turn to see the man join him. He knew Mika’il would take a seat on the
couch he had placed in front of the fireplace and that the archangel would be
dressed in a pair of tan khakis and a linen dress shirt. He knew all this
because it was how Mika’il always dressed when he came to see him. He looked
down at his bare chest and barely zipped jeans. Hell, who cared what the prick
thought? He didn’t feel like impressing anyone tonight.
“What
the hell do you want, Sir?” His voice was sarcastic with a hint of respect. It
didn’t pay to piss off the Father’s top man.
“What
seems to be your problem?” Mika’il leaned back and crossed his legs.
“Un-fucking-believable!
I’m not even back a full day and you’re hounding me. I need to rest, Mika’il.
You know what punishing a fallen does to me.” He scrubbed his hands through his
hair leaving locks sticking out.