He Might As Well Be The Devil.

                                        

                                              
CHAPTER: 39
**


Angel.
Desk duty was hell.
No, scratch that. Hell would've been more exciting than this slow, agonizing death by paperwork and side-eye.
The Bureau didn't feel like the Bureau anymore. It felt like a zoo, and I was the newest exhibit—The Fallen Golden Boy.
Agents passed my office door pretending they needed to be somewhere but all of them threw the same glances through the glass, ranging from curious to pitiful, and then, judgmental.
By noon, I'd had enough. I walked over to the door and slammed it shut with more force than was necessary. 
A few heads snapped up outside, but I didn't care.
At least Dan wasn't around. He had been reassigned temporarily, partnering with another agent on the field. Thank fuck for that. 
If I had to share oxygen with him right now, I wasn't sure I wouldn't put a bullet through his knee.
Oh shit, my firearm has been seized. Forgot about that for a second.
The Mendez case—the one I had literally taken a bullet for—had been ripped away from me without so much as a debrief. There were no updates either, just silence.
And the worst part of it all was that the day I had gotten shot, I knew I had been close to a lead. 
I had been so close that it made my fingers itch now, as I'm stuck behind a desk while someone else tore into my case.
And then, there were the damn check-ins. I had mandatory meetings with Cyrus every day, sitting across from him while he reviewed my files, my hours, and my fuck-ups—like I was a kid who had stolen candy and was now being lectured about why it was an offense.
I loved Cyrus, I really do. But lately, I hated those meetings more than anything. And today—thank fuck—it was finally Friday.
The moment I got home, I threw my keys onto the kitchen counter and kicked off my shoes.
I was so exhausted, and tired of the whispers. I was tired of feeling like a caged animal, of pretending I wasn't slowly coming apart at the seams.
I collapsed onto the couch and tilted my head back, staring blankly at the ceiling. I hadn't seen Mask since Tuesday and I hated myself for noticing. 
I hated myself even more for missing him, but fuck, I did. I missed his presence, the way he was possessive of me, like I was something precious he couldn't afford to lose.
I even missed the goddamn way he annoyed me.
Maybe I should go to Ecstasy, I'll probably catch him there.
But then, what would I do? Fall into his arms like a desperate idiot? Let him kiss me breathless again, while my career burned to ash behind me?
Or maybe, I should draw his attention by going out with someone.
I scrubbed my hands over my face as shame and guilt threatened to swallow me alive. Where on earth did that thought come from? Have I really stooped that low?
I was still berating myself mentally when I heard the unmistakable sound of a car, pulling into my driveway.
My whole body went still just for a second as I hoped against hope that it was who I thought it was. 
Because what are the odds that I was just thinking about him and he appeared, just like that? Was he the devil?
He might as well be, a little voice whispered.
The doorbell rang a second later, and I stood up fast, almost tripping over the coffee table in my rush.
I stopped just short of the door, with my hand hovering over the knob. I could already feel him on the other side. I knew it was him.
Mask.
My heart thundered against my ribs, but I forced my expression into a blank mask of my own.
The doorbell rang again, and I took a deep breath, forcing down the stupid hope clawing up my throat.
I waited some more. 
Let it ring once more before I opened it, since I didn't want to look desperate.
"If I have to ring this doorbell one more time before you open it, little Falco, you're not..."
I didn't let him finish before I yanked the door open and there he was, wearing a baseball cap under a hoodie, and dark jeans. 
A lazy smirk was playing on his lips and I so wanted to wipe it off. Keeping my hand braced on the door, I glared at him.
"What the fuck are you looking for?" I asked.
He chuckled and pushed his way in. Once he sat on my couch, he looked at where I still stood by the door. The cap hid his eyes and all I could see was the bridge of his nose and his lips.
But those lips! Fuck!
They were rosy and all I could think about was crushing my lips to his, savoring the taste of his mouth like a drug addict that hadn't gotten a fix in days?
Because isn't that what this is?
"I brought you a present, Angel."
I raised my brow in suspicion. 
"I'm not sure I'm going to like it. Let's just say your presents so far have been..." I stopped, thinking of a word to describe it.
"Romantic?" He offered, making me scoff.
He laughed as I slammed the door and sat down with a huff next to him. 
I could get used to this, I thought.
"So, where's the gift?" I asked, feeling excited all of a sudden.
He removed the hand that had been in his pocket all these while, and produced a very familiar black box.
"Uh uh... that better not be what I think it is," I said, even as I tried to hold back the nausea building in my throat.
He just shrugged nonchalantly, confirming that it was indeed what I thought.
"But who?" I asked.
He leaned in closer and dropped the box in my lap. 
"How's your shoulder, little Falco?"
I was a little shocked that he remembered my wound but then, this was someone obsessed with me. I mean, what did I expect?
I nodded and replied, "It's healing."
"Well, it should heal faster now, since the person that shot you is dead."
His face was so close to mine that I could feel his breath on my lips, but I couldn't see his expression.
"Wait, does this mean the gift this time is the shooter's finger?" I asked, still not sure I wanna open the box at all.
"Yes, love. The box contains his fingers..." he said, his hand below my chin as he raised my face up, "...all ten of them."
I wasn't sure who made the first move, but the next second, I was holding his face with both hands as my tongue played tango with his.
We both came up for air and I traced his lips with my fingers.
"Fuck. Go to my room now. I want you naked and lying on my bed, face down. I'll be there soon."
And then, I went to pour myself a fucking glass of bourbon.