12.

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Saunders lowered close to the ground to lift the unconscious man. "He's heavy." He groaned. "I think maybe I need to start bench pressing more."

He chuckled lightly and laid the man in the back seat. Angela climbed back there with him, lifting his head onto her lap as she pressed the fabric into his wound.

"We've got to find out where he's taking her." Holmes mumbled.

"First, we've got to get August to your house." Saunders spoke as he claimed the driver's seat. "And then we need a plan."

—-

"How long was I out?" August asked groggily as he sighed and opened his eyes.

"About an hour." Holmes told him.

She had been cleaning his forehead, her eyes falling to the large gash that was left there.

"Did you go after him?" He flinched as she dabbed the rag onto his skin again.

She nodded. "We found number 10 instead. On an outdoor track field." She spoke softly, attempting not to add any pain to the man's already throbbing head.

"And her note?" He asked.

"I guess so far I've been quite clear, so number 11...well I've made her disappear." Holmes spoke, having memorized the note. "I read it quite a few times."

August furrowed his eyebrows and shut his eyes once more. "Made her disappear?" He repeated. "What the hell does that even mean?"

Angela shrugged. "No clue. But Saunders is rounding up the other five possible victims as we speak. He should be back soon."

"Where are we?" He asked.

"Wow...we break up for three years and you suddenly forget what my house looks like." Angela joked with a slight laugh.

August shook his head, smiling only slightly. "The couch wasn't here last time. And that's new." He pointed to her coffee table. "The old one was wooden, not glass...and it was warped because you refuse to use coasters." He playfully rolled his eyes.

"It's my table. Coasters are for visitors." She shrugged. "If I want to ruin my table, let me."

"Yeah okay." He returned. "In my house, coasters are used."

"Well this isn't your house, now is it?" She replied with a smirk.

"Valid point. How's my head looking?" He asked, groaning as he sat up slowly. His hand found its way to the bandaged wound that had been stitched up on his side.

It was only then that he realized that he was shirtless. "And where's my shirt? That was an expensive shirt."

Holmes raised her eyebrows. "I have a feeling you won't want that back." She admitted. "And it looks like you'll need stitches here too." Her eyes drifted down to his exposed abdomen. "When did you get the tattoo?" She asked him.

It was an intricate tattoo with the initials A and H, intertwined with his own. It rested on his left shoulder. He gave a soft shrug and ignored her comment about his tattoo.

"It's that bad?" He asked, referring to his head injury. "And why wouldn't I want my shirt back?"

"Well...you had a wife beater on so I guess you could have that back. But the dress shirt is kind of ruined." She admitted. "But you changed the subject. When did you get the tattoo?"

"Ruined how? And who's stitching me up?" He asked, still ignoring her tattoo comments.

"I am...and I may or may not have torn it to press it to your side wound so you didn't bleed out. I'll be right back." Her eyebrows rose and she hit his shoulder lightly. "You changed the subject again." She complained. "The tattoo? When did you get it?"

"I liked that shirt." He mumbled, still neglecting the tattoo topic. "But I guess I like living too so it's whatever." He shrugged slightly as Angela stared intently at him. "What?" He asked.

She shook her head and he narrowed his eyes. "Ang, you know I hate that." He spoke, sitting up even more despite the pain he felt. He rested his back against the arm of her couch and stared back at her. "Ang, what?"

"The tattoo." She spoke, making him roll his eyes. "When did you get it?"

"Why?" He asked.

"I want to know." She returned. "Are those our initials?" She leaned closer to look at the tattoo and he covered it with his hand.

"It doesn't matter Angie." He sighed.

She raised her eyebrows at him and then sighed as well, dropping her gaze from his to the floor. "I'm sorry Santo." She spoke quietly.

He chuckled. "No you're not." Was the bitter response. "I loved you with everything in me, Ang....everything. Why don't you understand that? Why don't you understand that I just wanted you! I just wanted to be with you! I just wanted to wake up next to you every morning, go to bed next to you at night....have some beautiful babies! That was all I wanted! You were all I wanted!" His voice had raised to a yell and Angela flinched slightly at the unexpected increase in volume.

"But I love you." She told him, glancing up at him.

He let out another bitter chuckle. "Let me guess, you want sex?" He asked rudely.

"Chresanto..." she started.

"Ang...just stitch me up so I can get out of here...please." He mumbled, letting his eyes fall to his hands which were folded on his lap.

Angela cast another glance at him as she rose from her seat and left the room to retrieve more supplies to stitch his wound shut.

He watched her leave. His eyes fell to her ass and he sighed softly, licking his lips before tearing his gaze away. He missed her...a lot more than he cared to let on. He still wanted to marry her. He still wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. He loved her.

But since the feelings weren't reciprocated, he'd just have to play the game...just like she had.

When Angela returned, she quietly claimed her seat once more. He could see that she had cried while she was gone. She had attempted to rid her cheeks of tear stains...and failed.

"Ang...I'm sorry." He mumbled as she prepared to begin stitching. She glanced up at him, but her gaze quickly returned to the needle she was preparing.

"Santo, just forget about it." She returned, her voice shaky as if she were going to cry again.

With steady hands she prepared to begin stitching. He just watched her face intently, drawing in a breath when she began to stitch.

He could see all over her face that she was hurt. Maybe she did love him like he loved her....maybe. But then again...playing the game was what she was best at. So who's to say?

"I got it the day we broke up." He told her, referring to the tattoo she had asked about so many times. "That morning...before we broke up." She paused her stitching, her eyes lowering to meet his. She remained silent and then raised her gaze to continue stitching. "I was gonna show you." He continued. "Right before you broke up with me."

"I didn't break up with you." She returned in a mumble.

"You said you thought we were too exclusive and you needed some space to breathe." He recalled. "That's breaking up in my book."

"But you were the one who said we should break up." She retorted.

"Yeah. After you basically said you were sick of me and that I made you feel suffocated." He snapped back quietly. "You would've broke up with me had I said that."

She finished stitching and set the needle aside, bandaging the stitches as she spoke again. "You were acting weird." She defended herself.

"That's because I was gonna propose!" He yelled. "I was nervous!"

"Why? You knew that I loved you!" She yelled back.

He rolled his eyes. "Clearly you didn't." He returned. "Not enough."

"Chresanto, I loved you!" She yelled at him, furious. "Hell, I still do!"

He fell silent for a moment, watching the look of anger on her face with one of his own. This time, it was him that leaned in first. He pulled her down on top of him and she straddled him with her legs on either side, careful to steer clear of his wounds.

When they breathlessly pulled away from the kiss, she glanced down at his waist. "I missed you." She told him.

He chuckled, rolling his eyes playfully as his gaze followed hers to his pants where he was beginning to grow hard. "I missed you too." He told her. And this time....he was the one telling lies.

They were shed of their clothes in minutes, nothing separating them but the fabric of his boxers and her panties. She quickly and hungrily tugged at his boxers, watching him spring to life in her face. A smile fought its way onto her lips and she shed her panties, wrapping her fingers around him and stroking him slowly. She rose, lining him up with her entrance and sliding down ever so slowly.

Her head went back, her eyes shutting as she bit down on her bottom lip. She had forgotten just how good it felt for him to be inside her.

She began to rock her hips against his, sliding up and down his hardness. His hands found her hips and she leaned down, pressing a kiss to his lips once more.

And even with her on top of him...her body rocking against his, only one thought played through his mind.

'What the hell am I doing?'


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