DIRTY ANGELS
J L FLETCHERwhat happens in the red room 50 shades of greythe scent that made him mineher scent, his sinit took me by surprise the hatred in his eyes
Lila saw through it in ten seconds flat.
Thirty four, rich as sin, class dripping from every gesture. She’d walked into the underground fight club where he was bleeding on the mat, handed him a silk handkerchief for his cut lip, and said, “You’re wasting talent on these animals. Come work for me.”
He’d laughed.
She hadn’t.
Five years later, they were married.
Two years after that, Dirty Angels opened its doors, velvet ropes, crystal chandeliers, music that beat like a heartbeat.