Smoke And Mirror (Royal Angel l) S01 E41

Story 3 years ago

Smoke And Mirror (Royal Angel l) S01 E41

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 41

Devil can draw

_,__________,_______,_____,

Victoria P. O. V

“I get that you can’t keep your hands off me, Shortcake. But stalking me is illegal.”

I turned around slowly from my viewing spot behind the window. Naturally I’d zoned out for minute and Biscuit had to be standing behind me, looking like an incredibly self-satisfied statue of Adonis.

I wanted to punch those goddämn dimples off.

“I am not stalking you.” I glared at him, mostly mad at myself for getting caught. “And since when do you care about breaking the law?”

“I don’t.” He admitted. “I do however care about handcuffing criminals to my bed.”

Why was I still blushing like a neon sign at his cheesy pick up lines?

Dear hormones, can you just stop?

“Why are you here, Shortcake?” He took a moment to size up my outfit, leather jacket and all. He whistled low. “You could definitely ride more than a bike if you keep that thing on.”

Why was I here?

Besides the ultimate purpose of showing off the excellent blood flow in my cheeks, that is?

“I wanted to talk to you.” I said, after the cursory head smack. “About something important.”

He led me upstairs to a study. It had a large oak desk with neatly lined stationary, wood furnished with glass cabinets and the no nonsense air of a professional workspace.

Thankfully I had more to discuss than a petty little kiss, which honestly would’ve been insulting the room.

“So I’ve been thinking about that night.” Biscuit didn’t need a reference. “I couldn’t sleep at all the last couple of days, and I just realised something.”

“What might that be?”

“We saw the client, right?” I sat on the desk, as Biscuit settled into a chair. “Did you recognise him?”

He thought for a moment. “No.”

“But you know who might?” I said, pausing for the big reveal. “His victims.”

Biscuit arched a brow.

“Think about it.” I said. “No one would give someone ten million dollars to murder someone unless it was something personal. Someone they knew.

“You always hire an assassin when you don’t want to get your hands dirty. Because you’re too recognisable.”

“That’s a nice theory.” He said, shrugging. “Only his targets are all paying their dues to the ferryman right now.”

“Except one.” I said, meaningfully. “And he had a beer with you ten minutes ago.”

Biscuit finally had his eureka moment. Which unfortunately vanished just as soon as it had come.

“We’re the only ones who saw him. We don’t exactly have a selfie with that guy.”

I crossed my legs, smiling.

“We do however have an artist.” I said slowly. “Think you can draw him from memory?”

He nodded, cautiously.

“Well, I might need to use yours too.”

I took out a sheet from one of the drawers, and handed him a pencil, rolling my eyes.

“Like you’ve needed permission to get inside my head before.”

Biscuit did a little more than read my thoughts this time, picking through my mind so thoroughly, it was like I was reliving that night at the diner again.

His hands were precise and skilful even when his eyes weren’t on the paper. He took less than an hour to finish the sketch and somehow I knew that if he took more time it could get d--n near close to a photo.

“How are you so good at this?” I muttered, ruffling his hair without thinking about it.

Biscuit smiled, winking. “I have very patient hands.”

He was still playing that mental reel of our date in my head and it moved on to the parking lot.

“Well,” I joked. “Your patience bar was kinda running low then.”

“Some would say you burnt it all up.”

His eyes were hooded with heat, as he saw it through my eyes. I was still on the desk, inches away from his sketch. Biscuit pulled me down, so I was sitting on his lap, my legs on either side of him.

I arched a brow.

“Oh, we don’t have to do anything.” He said, stroking my hair. “This is just way more comfortable.”

I laughed. “Because at 145 pounds, I’d make a great pillow.”

“Especially since the pillow likes dirty talk.”

His arms wound around my waist and his lips traced my jaw, whispering sweet nothings. I couldn’t help smiling, looking at the sincere affection in his eyes.

“What are you doing, Biscuit?” I asked him, honestly. “You’re not allowed to look at me like that.”

“Why not?” He said, simply. “I like you. And you like me.”

“That’s not true -” I began to say.

He kissed my earlobe, and he didn’t have to read my mind to know how far gone I was.

That desperate whimper sent more signals than a fricking lighthouse.

“Ok, maybe just a little.” I muttered.

He laughed. “If that’s a little, I’d love to hear what’s a lot.”

“We can’t do this.” I told him, trying to be the voice of reason. “Well, maybe we can do that but don’t, you know, get all mushy on me.”

Because feelings were a guaranteed one way ticket to the messy shîtshow called a relationship.

“Honey, if I was after your body, you’d be on the floor right now wearing nothing but those pretty heels.” His eyes were dark, his voice husky. “I could rip off your clothes with just my teeth and you wouldn’t have done anything to stop me. Am I right?”

I nodded slowly, knowing he’d nailed it.

“A woman’s body might excite a mortal but I’m not one of those, remember?”

His lips brushed my cheek softly, his eyes telling me everything I didn’t want to know.

“So what are you after?”

“I’m your personal devil, Shortcake.” He said, kissing me. “I’m after your soul.”

The door to the study creaked open and in an odd turn of events, I was the one swearing.

Biscuit laughed, helping me up as his friend came inside. The guy looked at us, shook his head and went to the glass cabinets.

“Oh, don’t mind me.” He muttered. “The Best friend of the year award goes to you for banging the chick who tried to kill me and I do not want to hear the acceptance speech.”

“There was no banging.” I muttered.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Biscuit began. “I’d like to thank Princess Shîtty Timing here for the glaring lack of banging in my life.”

“You’re fücking welcome.” He glared at me. “Glad you dodged that bullet.”

“That bullet is going to punch you in your pretty little face and have a nice time counting the number of teeth that fall out.” I said, meaning it. “Dodge that, ässhat.”

Biscuit got up, wrapping an arm tightly around my waist so I couldn’t move.

“Let’s all just calm down, shall we?” He said. “And we have something to show you.”

“If it’s your sextape, I’ll pass, thanks.”

I squirmed out of his grip and punched him. Biscuit didn’t stop me, trying not to laugh as his friend threw his hands up.

“Well, you kinda deserved that.” Biscuit admitted fairly, but he pulled me away for good measure. He gave the guy his sketch. “Do you recognise this man?”

There was spark of knowledge in his eyes but he was confused.

“You’ve never met him.” He said, hesitantly. “How did you draw -”

“Just tell me who he is.” Biscuit said, serious. “For kicks and giggles.”

He opened his mouth to say something but then he looked at me in a “I can’t talk about this with her here” kinda way.

“Give us a minute?” Biscuit asked me earnestly.

“Of course.” I said, generously with a mock curtsy and a wide smile.

I made no move to leave because fück him and his little games. I had this idea, I sure as hell was seeing it through.

Biscuit sighed.

“Tell me.” He said. “It’s alright.”

The Prince looked at Biscuit unwaveringly, like he knew what he said would mean something significant to him.

“That’s my brother.” He said simply. “Why did you want to know?”

***

Victoria : “lik”Well, I might need to use yours too.”

I took out a sheet from one of the drawers, and handed him a pencil, rolling my eyes.

“Like you’ve needed permission to get inside my head before.”

Biscuit did a little more than read my thoughts this time, picking through my mind so thoroughly, it was like I was reliving that night at the diner again.

His hands were precise and skilful even when his eyes weren’t on the paper. He took less than an hour to finish the sketch and somehow I knew that if he took more time it could get d--n near close to a photo.

“How are you so good at this?” I muttered, ruffling his hair without thinking about it.

Biscuit smiled, winking. “I have very patient hands.”

He was still playing that mental reel of our date in my head and it moved on to the parking lot.

“Well,” I joked. “Your patience bar was kinda running low then.”

“Some would say you burnt it all up.”

His eyes were hooded with heat, as he saw it through my eyes. I was still on the desk, inches away from his sketch. Biscuit pulled me down, so I was sitting on his lap, my legs on either side of him.

I arched a brow.

“Oh, we don’t have to do anything.” He said, stroking my hair. “This is just way more comfortable.”

I laughed. “Because at 145 pounds, I’d make a great pillow.”

“Especially since the pillow likes dirty talk.”

His arms wound around my waist and his lips traced my jaw, whispering sweet nothings. I couldn’t help smiling, looking at the sincere affection in his eyes.

“What are you doing, Biscuit?” I asked him, honestly. “You’re not allowed to look at me like that.”

“Why not?” He said, simply. “I like you. And you like me.”

“That’s not true -” I began to say.

He kissed my earlobe, and he didn’t have to read my mind to know how far gone I was.

That desperate whimper sent more signals than a fricking lighthouse.

“Ok, maybe just a little.” I muttered.

He laughed. “If that’s a little, I’d love to hear what’s a lot.”

“We can’t do this.” I told him, trying to be the voice of reason. “Well, maybe we can do that but don’t, you know, get all mushy on me.”

Because feelings were a guaranteed one way ticket to the messy shîtshow called a relationship.

“Honey, if I was after your body, you’d be on the floor right now wearing nothing but those pretty heels.” His eyes were dark, his voice husky. “I could rip off your clothes with just my teeth and you wouldn’t have done anything to stop me. Am I right?”

I nodded slowly, knowing he’d nailed it.

“A woman’s body might excite a mortal but I’m not one of those, remember?”

His lips brushed my cheek softly, his eyes telling me everything I didn’t want to know.

“So what are you after?”

“I’m your personal devil, Shortcake.” He said, kissing me. “I’m after your soul.”

The door to the study creaked open and in an odd turn of events, I was the one swearing.

Biscuit laughed, helping me up as his friend came inside. The guy looked at us, shook his head and went to the glass cabinets.

“Oh, don’t mind me.” He muttered. “The Best friend of the year award goes to you for banging the chick who tried to kill me and I do not want to hear the acceptance speech.”

“There was no banging.” I muttered.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Biscuit began. “I’d like to thank Princess Shîtty Timing here for the glaring lack of banging in my life.”

“You’re fücking welcome.” He glared at me. “Glad you dodged that bullet.”

“That bullet is going to punch you in your pretty little face and have a nice time counting the number of teeth that fall out.” I said, meaning it. “Dodge that, ässhat.”

Biscuit got up, wrapping an arm tightly around my waist so I couldn’t move.

“Let’s all just calm down, shall we?” He said. “And we have something to show you.”

“If it’s your sextape, I’ll pass, thanks.”

I squirmed out of his grip and punched him. Biscuit didn’t stop me, trying not to laugh as his friend threw his hands up.

“Well, you kinda deserved that.” Biscuit admitted fairly, but he pulled me away for good measure. He gave the guy his sketch. “Do you recognise this man?”

There was spark of knowledge in his eyes but he was confused.

“You’ve never met him.” He said, hesitantly. “How did you draw -”

“Just tell me who he is.” Biscuit said, serious. “For kicks and giggles.”

He opened his mouth to say something but then he looked at me in a “I can’t talk about this with her here” kinda way.

“Give us a minute?” Biscuit asked me earnestly.

“Of course.” I said, generously with a mock curtsy and a wide smile.

I made no move to leave because fück him and his little games. I had this idea, I sure as hell was seeing it through.

Biscuit sighed.

“Tell me.” He said. “It’s alright.”

The Prince looked at Biscuit unwaveringly, like he knew what he said would mean something significant to him.

“That’s my brother.” He said simply. “Why did you want to know?”

***

Victoria : “LIKE BECAUSE LIFE GETS BETTER WITH YOUR OWN PERSONAL DEVIL”