Acts of Salvation: An Age Gap Romance (Men of WRATH Book 2)
Acts of Salvation: Chapter 1

Life. Is. Good.

I’m driving my 1952 Jaguar XK down I-75, top down, letting the wind cleanse away the day’s work. It’s about to hit midnight and I’m on my way to meet up with one of my boys, William. Poor schmuck needs the distraction since his entire world has turned to shit. And everyone knows that a night of drinking and pussy is the perfect fix for a world turned upside down.

I exit the highway and make my way into the heart of uptown. As the resident playboy, William trusts my judgment with picking tonight’s rendezvous point. It’s the hottest bar in town, with the best drinks, and of course the best women. There’s no doubt my boy will replace someone to take his mind off of the current dumpster fire that’s his life.

I roll up to the valet and already see multiple prospects for the night. Handing over the keys to my baby, I let the man know she’s not his toy to play with.

He gets it, offering a nod. “We’ll be sure to keep her up front Mr. Moretti.”

“Good. You take care of her and I’ll take care of you. Comprendi?” I tilt my head, waiting for his verbal confirmation.

“Yes, Mr. Moretti, your girl is safe with us.”

Feeling enough assurance that she’s in good hands, I step inside to replace William. He’s at the bar, head down, staring into a tumbler of amber liquid.

“Let’s turn that frown upside down.” I pat William on the back with one hand and wave over the bartender with the other. As soon as he’s within earshot, I let him know of tonight’s plans, “We’ll be heading to the VIP area. Please transfer whatever drinks he’s had onto my tab and let the waitress know we’ll be at my usual table.”

“You don’t have to do that, Ren. I can pay for my own tab.” William rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “I’m not financially bankrupt, just emotionally.”

There’s no doubt in my mind that he can cover his drinks for the night. Hell, we’re some of the wealthiest bastards in Texas, and that’s saying something considering we’re home to one of the oil capitals of the world.

But that’s beside the point. The point is that I don’t want William focusing on anything other than good old-fashioned debauchery.

“Whatever, man. I said I’d take care of you tonight and that means you ain’t thinking about a thing. All you have to do tonight is focus your sad little eyes on beautiful ladies and whiskey.” Nudging his shoulder, I guide him toward the roped-off area of the bar. My second home.

As soon as we’re seated, the waitress places a bottle of Jack and a carafe of water in front of us. “Thanks, Cindy. You mind getting a bottle of Macallan 18 for my friend here? Just put it on my tab.”

“Of course, Ren.” Cindy bats her lashes before disappearing back into the crowd.

“Could she be any more obvious with how she was ogling you?” William chuckles.

“I’m aware Cindy has a crush on me, but there’s no way I’d act on it. I don’t shit where I eat and I definitely don’t do complicated. Banging a waitress where I come to relax is just asking for trouble.” I pour myself a rocks glass of Jack and water, my signature drink, before continuing. “Besides, we aren’t here for me. We’re here for you.”

“I’m fine. Really.” William tries to convince me but fails miserably. The dark circles under his eyes and that glazed over expression tell a different story.

“Right. That’s why you keep spacing out on me, staring into your glass of scotch as if it holds all the—” A blond at the bar catches my attention, effectively breaking my train of thought. “Normally, I’d call dibs on the beauty at the bar but since you’re in such a funk I’ll begrudgingly let you take your chances first.” I roll my eyes and shake my head. He’s done it again. Snapping my fingers in his face, I attempt to break him out of his trance. “Earth to William. Where the hell did you go?”

He slowly blinks his eyes before turning to face me. “Yes, I’m here, asshole. Just have a lot on my mind.”

“Mhmm. Well, like I was saying, there’s a hot blond at the bar. I’m heading over if you don’t call dibs.”

“She’s all yours. Not my type.”

“Since when are blonds not your type?” I start walking toward the bar, not really waiting for an answer. Frankly, the more I look at this woman, the more I realize I would not have been okay with William calling dibs.

She’s stunning. Absolutely fucking gorgeous. I honestly don’t think I’ve seen such natural beauty in a very long time.

Don’t get me wrong, she’s by no means granola. Her blond hair is styled in a long angular cut that ends just above her full breasts—breasts that I bet would feel amazing in my hands—and you can tell that she spent time on her makeup. I’m no expert but whatever she did is perfect. It all works to enhance her beauty, not mask it as most women do. You can even see her freckles poking through. Who knew freckles would be so damn sexy?

“So, are you going to introduce yourself or are you just going to stand there and stare at me like some creeper.” The blond raises an eyebrow as she takes a slow sip of her martini, piercing through my soul with her haunting hazel eyes.

My breath catches, leaving me without air. Those eyes. I feel as if I’ve stared at them before, but there’s no way. I would’ve remembered her face, those curves…

Quickly trying to recover, I slide onto the barstool next to her before delivering one of my classic lines, “Did you know that Frank Sinatra’s favorite drink was the dirty martini?”

“No, that was his favorite drink to serve guests. His favorite drink was Jack and water.” Her brows furrow as she looks at my drink. “But I have a feeling you already knew that.”

“A girl who knows her Sinatra trivia. I think I might have to marry you.”

What. The. Fuck. Did I just say that?

The blond coughs as she spits out her drink. “No, thank you. You might be hot as fuck, but that would be a hard pass. I’m not getting married. Ever.”

“Whoa there, tiger. I was just kidding. No need to get all flustered.” I reach over the bar and grab some extra napkins, handing them to her with a smile. “Tell me, how does a gorgeous woman such as yourself come to know the quirks of Sinatra’s drinking habits?”

She takes the napkins and starts dabbing at her dress. “Long story short, I worked at a blues bar in Lakewood. They used to have a Sinatra night once a week. Sinatra drinks, Sinatra music, and even his favorite foods. One of my regulars made sure to school me on everything Sinatra.” With a wink and a smile, she takes a finger and taps it to her temple. “It’s all up here.”

Well shit, could this girl get any more perfect? Reaching out, I stroke her arm with the back of my hand. Immediately, goose bumps rise across her creamy skin, letting me know my touch affects her.

“Why’d you do that?” A flush spreads across her beautiful face and I can’t help but envision her doing that very thing, underneath me, in my bed.

I blink slow and hard. What is this woman doing to me? I never take women back to my place. It’s always their pad or a penthouse suite at The Pearl.

“Well, are you going to answer my question or are you going to keep staring, taking it to next-level creeper status?” She raises a brow as if annoyed but the smirk on her lips lets me know she’s still in this.

“Making sure you’re real. For a second there I thought I must be dreaming.” I shoot her a shy smile. Another unusual reaction on my part. There isn’t a shy bone in my body, yet this woman makes me feel like a schoolboy crushing on a girl for the first time. “Sorry. I’m not usually like this. You’ve sort of caught me off-guard.” Real smooth, Ren. Why don’t you just hand over your balls while you’re at it?

“It’s okay. I think it’s kind of cute.”

“Cute, huh? Does cute buy me the privilege of knowing your name?”

In front of her, she spins a coaster displaying an ad for Angel vodka. With a smirk, she finally answers, “It’s Angel.”

This woman might have me messed up, but I wasn’t born yesterday. It’s cool. It’s all good. I silently repeat to myself. Maybe if I say it enough, it’ll actually be true.

Normally a woman wanting to keep her true identity private wouldn’t bother me one bit but that’s definitely not the case with ‘Angel.’ I need to know who she is. Who she really is.

“So, Angel—what do you like to do for fun?”

“Listen, let’s cut the bullshit and get to the meat of it.” She snickers to herself, laughing at her inside joke. “You’ve been eye-fucking me since you stepped into my personal space, so it’s clear that what’s on your mind isn’t what I like to do for fun.” Her eyes glitter with mischief as she bites her plump lower lip. “If you tell me what you really want, I might just give it to you.”

My brows knit together as my lips part in disbelief. Where has this woman been hiding? “Okay. What I really want is to take you out for dinner. Renzetti’s down the street is open until two, so how about I close out your tab and we head out now.”

“Sorry. I don’t do dates and that sounds an awful lot like a date.”

“Okay then, what do you do if not dinner?”

“You.” Angel reaches her hand out and lightly trails it up the inside of my thigh. If her words hadn’t clued me in on what she wanted, then her hungry gaze most certainly would. She looks like she’s about to devour me whole—and to be honest, I wouldn’t mind it one bit.

Angel slips a card into my pocket before getting up from her seat and placing two twenties onto the bar. Bringing her face close to mine, she whispers, “Room 111 at The Pearl. See you in twenty.”

I try to clear my throat but my vocal cords fail me, keeping me from getting a single word out. Before I know it, Angel has left the bar with only her intoxicating scent lingering in her wake.

Cassie

Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuck.

My phone displays four a.m. as I quietly make my way out of the hotel room. I never stay this late with a hookup, much less fall asleep in their arms. Their toned and very strong arms… My mind drifts off to memories of last night when those arms held me up as we tried unimaginable positions, only made possible by my lover’s incredible strength.

I roll my eyes at myself. He is not your lover, Cassie.

That man is dangerous to both my mental and physical health. I’ll be sore for a week—minimum—the lingering sensation taunting me with what I’ll never have again.

That was the best sex of my life and there’s no doubt in my mind that if I let him into my bed just one more time, I’ll turn into a dick-whipped shell of a woman, following him around like a love-struck puppy.

Yes, dick-whipped is a thing. In fact, I come from a long line of dick-whipped women. Once they’re struck, they’re down for the count.

Don’t believe me? Just ask my sister, Carmen, who instead of pursuing her dreams, caters to her man’s every wish and desire.

Or my sister, Aria, who flushed her full ride at Stanford down the drain in order to follow her fiancé around the country.

And let’s not forget the OG of being dick-whipped—my mother, Catalina.

Nope. That won’t be me. Not if I can help it.

His pull might be strong—hell, I even broke some of my own rules—but I still managed to leave without giving him my real name or number. That should be enough to ensure I never see him again.

Guilt niggles at the back of my mind as I get into my jeep, but I shove it away, telling myself we both knew what this was. A one-night stand.

Needing to put as much distance between me and this growing sense of emptiness, I turn the key and start the engine, retreating from the mystery man that’s caused it.