Shackled (The Lord Series) by Carlos

Chapter 107

107. Reyes

EF

I take the pliers from Rin and take advantage of Luis‘ wails, and pull out one of his front teeth. “This is

for spitting on me,” I growled as I pulled another one, Rin holding his head in place for me. “And for

sending those men after Angel. They shit their pants while I was killing them.” It did not take me long

to track down the five men from the nightclub. Them spiking Angel’s drink was a mistake. They

probably thought that I was distracted by Angel riding my fingers and I would not notice when one of

them slipped something into her glass. Having a demon inside of me makes me more aware of my surroundings.

When Luis‘ mouth looks like that of a carved pumpkin for Halloween, I throw the pliers on the table.

“I will fuck Angel on your dead body and bring my child to piss on your grave every year. As for your

angel, I will make sure to send it below to the catacomb of the Blood Lodge. He, like you and every

other Duke who takes pleasure in torturing women, doesn’t deserve to be let inside the Garden of Eden.”

Rin laughs. “Damn, he really pissed you off.”

“I am a little more than pissed.”

What would have happened if we hadn’t made it in time?

The urge to be with Angel, to be inside her, to possess her, and to fix the bond is overwhelming. “Make

sure he does not bleed to death,” I say to Rin before going to Angel.

I expected to find her alone, but Stefan is with her, his right hand covering her stomach while the other

is rubbing her back, as he is whispering something to her. Months ago, this sight would have filled me

with joy, but it only angers me.

I had many talks with Stefan about his behavior towards Angel and what does he do? Almost gets her

killed.

I will have to tolerate him until the bond is fixed, so him leaving right now is not an option. But if he says

anything to her or refuses to put effort into salvaging the bond, he is out. As long as I have Angel, I

don’t need him nor the

connection with him as blood–brothers.

They don’t hear me entering as loud classical music comes from his phone. Not wanting Stefan to

touch her anymore, I march up to them and snatch her from his arms, startling them. She looks at me,

her face wet with tears. Did Stefan say something to her to make her cry?

A growl leaves my lips. I will rip his fucking heart out of his chest and eat it while it still beats.

Then, another thought crosses my mind. What if something is wrong with the baby?

I put her on the bed, kneel in front of her, and reach out my hands to lift up her t–shirt, but she bats

them away. Why

won’t she let me look at her stomach?

Stefan turns off the music.

“What’s wrong?” I ask her. She shakes her head, her palm covering her mouth, and I glare at Stefan,

my anger returning in full force. “What the fuck did you do this time? And didn’t I tell you to stay the fuck

away from her?“.

“He didn’t do anything, only help me stay calm,” Angel snaps at me. “This is your fault. So don’t take it

out on

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Stefan.”

Angel is defending Stefan from me? This is a first.

“My fault?” I want to be sure. “What did I do?”

“Tortured my father.” I frown. Did she think I would let him get away with what he did because he is my

father–in–law? The thought of that makes me want to puke. “Look, I know he deserves to die, but

couldn’t you, I don’t know, not make him scream so much? And there is blood on you. Are you hurt?”

How she looks at me–with concern–makes me love her even more. After realizing she was pregnant,

there have been moments when memories of Roxanne came to my mind, and I wondered if Angel

would hate my child, but seeing her hand resting on her belly, protecting our baby, tells me what I need

to know of her as a mother.

“No.”

She blinks. “Don’t tell me the blood belongs to my father.” I want to reply but she stops me. “If he is

dead, I don’t want to know,” she groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. A yelp follows. “I almost forgot

I smashed it against the floor.”

Stefan runs his fingertip over Angel’s left cheek on the wound caused by the bullet. Maybe I should

also play Russian Roullete with Luis? See if he likes it. Stefan touching her makes me wonder if he

truly cares for her or only wants to

win Alekos and my forgiveness. Despite my anger towards him, the bond won’t be fixed without him.

So, Alekos and I will have to tolerate him until Angel forgives us.

“When we reach Tazacorta, we are taking you to the hospital,” he says, and for the first time in four

months, I agree

with him.

“Talking about Tazacorta, how did you guys find me?” Angel wants to know.

Stefan taps on the screen of his phone as he speaks, “After learning you disappeared and almost

having a few heart attacks because I couldn’t find you and Reyes threatening to feed me to the sharks,

I received an email,” and shows it to Angel. “A link to a webpage that shows your real location at all

times.”

Angel touches the back of her neck. “I forgot about the tracker. When my father showed up at my Property © NôvelDrama.Org.

house, soon after Stefan left, with a gun in his hands, all I could think about was to not get myself

killed. Not for me, but for the baby.”

Roxanne might have been a piece of shit, but Angel will be an excellent mother.

“What tracker?” I ask while I try to look at the spot she is touching. While I don’t see anything unusual,

I do feel something under her skin. I will have to ask Cirro to take a look at it and see if it is safe.

“After I was saved, a tracker was implanted right here,” her finger gently pushing down on her flesh, “so that if I am kidnapped again, what happened in the Celestial Heaven won’t be repeated.” Then, in a low tone, she adds, “But I don’t know why she sent you and not Beetle.”

“Who is Beetle?” I want to know, although I have an idea, as some cameras from the city caught the moment Angel left with the helicopter. Three other women were on the helicopter, but the

shadows hid their faces. Cirro is trying to clear the images, but if they are part of the Sisterhood, their identities will continue to remain a mystery.

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