All Chapters of DIRTY ANGELS: Chapter 71 - Chapter 77

It was barely dawn when Vince’s eyes snapped open. Sleep had always been a stranger. The doctors called it ADHD years ago, but he liked the constant hum in his veins. It made him sharp. It made him dangerous.Beside him, his wife let out a soft, rhythmic snore she’d deny to her dying breath. He smiled in the half-light. She was cute, messy, and his.The perfect wife. And he played the perfect husband, right down to the bone.He slipped out of bed and padded to the bathroom, cock already half-hard with the promise of the day. He pissed in a clean, golden arc, a small fart escaping at the same time. Nothing elegant about mornings. He liked it that way.A million thoughts slammed through his head while he brushed his teeth and dropped into twenty quick push-ups on the cold tiles. Lorenzo. Marisol. That fucking nutcase Remy. Meetings. Lies. Alibis. He had to keep all the plates spinning.Back in the bedroom, his wife was still sleeping, one bare leg kicked out from under the covers. He cr

Vince punched in Marisol's number one last time, then Ethan's. Dead air both ways. No voicemail, no ring-through, just silence gnawing at him.Lorenzo picked up."Just in a meeting," he lied smoothly into the phone. "I'll swing by, grab you in an hour and a half.""Fine," Lorenzo clipped back.Vince strode into the health club like he belonged there; his sharp suit blended seamlessly with the Botox crowd and their quiet money.Sven waited at the entrance, a towering slab of Viking god, blond beard trimmed precisely, skin glowing fresh-scrubbed, like he'd just stepped from a fjord. That pristine shell hid the filth he unleashed behind closed doors. And those hands... callused just enough from God-knows-what rough work, yet palms silky from endless oil and heat."Good to see you," Sven rumbled, professional mask locked tight.Vince followed him into the massage room, dim lights pulsing low. Sven charged five hundred a pop, and every cent bought paradise.His clothes hit the floor in a h

Vincent’s eyes darkened as he read the results, his gaze fixed on the screen a moment longer than it needed to be, as though the words might shift if he gave them enough time.“Just give it to me straight,” Ethan said, his voice rough and strained, every word edged with pain and impatience. “I have to know.”Vincent lifted his head slowly, meeting his gaze, holding it just long enough to make it feel deliberate, before glancing back down at his phone as if confirming what he already knew.He let the silence stretch, not long enough to draw suspicion, but long enough to tighten the air between them, then looked up again and gave a faint, almost careless wink.“In the case of Remington Smith,” he said, his tone measured, controlled, “you are.....He paused for dramatic effect.“... not the father.”Ethan stilled for a heartbeat, the words hanging there, and then the relief hit him all at once, breaking through the tension that had been sitting on his shoulders since he’d woken up in tha

Ethan awakened slowly, dragging himself upward through the grogginess, awareness returning that didn’t quite fit together at first, his body registering before his mind caught up.Pain.That was the first thing that made sense.It sat low and deep, spreading through him in slow, steady waves, dulled at the edges but still there, still real, still enough to make his jaw tighten as he tried to move.The second thing was the room.Dark.Not pitch black, but close enough. The TV had been shut off.Ethan heard footsteps; someone was pacing.A shadow moved back and forth across the room, steps restless and uneven.Ethan blinked, forcing his eyes to adjust. Despite pain, he slowly turned his head, trying to get a clear look at who was pacing at the far end of the room.“Vince?” he rasped, his voice rough, dragged through dryness and confusion.The movement stopped instantly.Then Vince stepped into the faint light.His hair rumpled, shirt half-untucked, sleeves unevenly rolled—done absentmin