Angel and the Assassin 3: Sins of the Father by Fyn Alexander Page B
Authors: Fyn Alexander
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the door behind him. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to
lead you on. I really just want to go home. I’m actually in a relationship.”
“With your little friend at the bar?” The man was unfastening his fly as he spoke.
Jack! Where was Jack? How could he let the guy drag him off like this knowing he
was out of his mind drunk? And what the hell was that pill he had taken? He must have
been nuts swallowing an unknown substance. Daddy would be so mad with him. The
man had his pants down around his hips and was unfastening Angel’s fly. Angel had
worn the jeans with the buttons at the fly, and they were stiff. The dude was having
trouble getting them open, especially with Angel shoving his hands away.
“Jack! Where the fuck are you?”
“Shut your mouth and don’t shout. You wanted this, you little tart.”
“I don’t. Please!” A flash of Dudek making Angel suck his cock in his car in Paris
last year flashed into his head. He wanted to throw up. “Get your fucking hands off
me!”
Fyn Alexander | Sins of the Father
77
The hand came out of nowhere, striking him a head-rattling blow across the ear.
Angel’s head shot back, slamming into the metal partition. It was like in a cartoon when
someone gets smacked and sees stars. Everything whirled around him. He could taste
blood in his mouth. “Let me go, please.” The last thing Angel expected was to start
crying.
With his jeans finally unbuttoned, the man turned him round to face the metal
partition. Angel didn’t even try to fight him anymore. His head hurt like hell, his lip
was bleeding where he’d bitten it, and there was so much beer in his stomach he
wanted to vomit. Snot ran down his face. Mucus filled his throat. He thought he was
going to choke, but he couldn’t stop sobbing.
The man laughed suddenly. “You’ve got slave printed on your arse. Right now
you can be my slave.”
Someone tried the latch and, when the door did not open, began to kick it.
“What are you fucking doing?” the stranger said. “Fuck off. I’m busy.”
A shadow fell over them as someone climbed with scary agility over the partition
and dropped down into the tight space. Angel looked around and saw Daddy throw his
fist into the man’s face. A second later, they were outside the cubicle. Daddy landed his
fist several more times in the man’s stomach, only stopping when the man crumpled to
the floor. Then he kicked him a couple of times.
Outside the washroom, Jack waited, looking terrified. “Hang on, Mr. Saunders.
Let me pull his jeans up.”
With a strong arm around Angel’s waist, Daddy half walked, half carried him
outside with Jack following. In the cold evening air, Angel bent at the waist and
vomited profusely on the sidewalk. “Jack, the car’s across the street. Get the door
open,” Daddy said. Vaguely Angel heard a beep when Daddy pressed the remote door
opener. Jack legged it across the street while Daddy hauled Angel to his feet by the
arms. “As for you, if you throw up in my car, you won’t sit down for a week.”
Fyn Alexander | Sins of the Father
78
Angel must have passed out, because when he opened his eyes again, they were
dropping Jack off at his house and he heard Daddy say, “Thank you, Jack. You did a
very smart thing by phoning me. Good lad.”
“No problem, sir. He’s my best mate.”
The next time Angel came to consciousness, he was leaning over a garbage can in
the underground parking lot of their building. He’d never felt so ill in his life. He
couldn’t support his weight sufficiently to stand up, and after bringing up again, he slid
to the ground and lay on his back looking up at Daddy. Anger was etched into every
feature of Daddy’s face. His mouth was hard, his eyes narrowed. Leaning down, he
lifted Angel off the ground, none too gently, and carried him across his arms. It must
have been the drugs because the picture that filled his head was of the Pietà in St.
lead you on. I really just want to go home. I’m actually in a relationship.”
“With your little friend at the bar?” The man was unfastening his fly as he spoke.
Jack! Where was Jack? How could he let the guy drag him off like this knowing he
was out of his mind drunk? And what the hell was that pill he had taken? He must have
been nuts swallowing an unknown substance. Daddy would be so mad with him. The
man had his pants down around his hips and was unfastening Angel’s fly. Angel had
worn the jeans with the buttons at the fly, and they were stiff. The dude was having
trouble getting them open, especially with Angel shoving his hands away.
“Jack! Where the fuck are you?”
“Shut your mouth and don’t shout. You wanted this, you little tart.”
“I don’t. Please!” A flash of Dudek making Angel suck his cock in his car in Paris
last year flashed into his head. He wanted to throw up. “Get your fucking hands off
me!”
Fyn Alexander | Sins of the Father
77
The hand came out of nowhere, striking him a head-rattling blow across the ear.
Angel’s head shot back, slamming into the metal partition. It was like in a cartoon when
someone gets smacked and sees stars. Everything whirled around him. He could taste
blood in his mouth. “Let me go, please.” The last thing Angel expected was to start
crying.
With his jeans finally unbuttoned, the man turned him round to face the metal
partition. Angel didn’t even try to fight him anymore. His head hurt like hell, his lip
was bleeding where he’d bitten it, and there was so much beer in his stomach he
wanted to vomit. Snot ran down his face. Mucus filled his throat. He thought he was
going to choke, but he couldn’t stop sobbing.
The man laughed suddenly. “You’ve got slave printed on your arse. Right now
you can be my slave.”
Someone tried the latch and, when the door did not open, began to kick it.
“What are you fucking doing?” the stranger said. “Fuck off. I’m busy.”
A shadow fell over them as someone climbed with scary agility over the partition
and dropped down into the tight space. Angel looked around and saw Daddy throw his
fist into the man’s face. A second later, they were outside the cubicle. Daddy landed his
fist several more times in the man’s stomach, only stopping when the man crumpled to
the floor. Then he kicked him a couple of times.
Outside the washroom, Jack waited, looking terrified. “Hang on, Mr. Saunders.
Let me pull his jeans up.”
With a strong arm around Angel’s waist, Daddy half walked, half carried him
outside with Jack following. In the cold evening air, Angel bent at the waist and
vomited profusely on the sidewalk. “Jack, the car’s across the street. Get the door
open,” Daddy said. Vaguely Angel heard a beep when Daddy pressed the remote door
opener. Jack legged it across the street while Daddy hauled Angel to his feet by the
arms. “As for you, if you throw up in my car, you won’t sit down for a week.”
Fyn Alexander | Sins of the Father
78
Angel must have passed out, because when he opened his eyes again, they were
dropping Jack off at his house and he heard Daddy say, “Thank you, Jack. You did a
very smart thing by phoning me. Good lad.”
“No problem, sir. He’s my best mate.”
The next time Angel came to consciousness, he was leaning over a garbage can in
the underground parking lot of their building. He’d never felt so ill in his life. He
couldn’t support his weight sufficiently to stand up, and after bringing up again, he slid
to the ground and lay on his back looking up at Daddy. Anger was etched into every
feature of Daddy’s face. His mouth was hard, his eyes narrowed. Leaning down, he
lifted Angel off the ground, none too gently, and carried him across his arms. It must
have been the drugs because the picture that filled his head was of the Pietà in St.
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