Page 220 of Evil Hearts

Chapter 6: Eva

“ T his is all your fault, you know.”

“Go ahead. Repeat the same sentence five more times. Not like I’m about ready to cut off my own ears,” Quinn says in a bitter voice. He throws a pillow over his face to muffle whatever else he’d been about to say.

I let out a breath, shake my head, and walk away from the couch.

Ever since Quinn’s sentencing to watch my soul as a Guardian Angel five days ago, he’s made himself comfortable in my studio apartment. He’s been a pain in the ass most of the time, but it’s nice having someone nearby instead of moping in silence.

Whenever he complains about having to be here, I remind him he’s the one that decided this fate. If he hadn’t killed me, then I wouldn’t have to deal with his insufferable attitude. Not like it’s some walk in the park for me.

Thankfully, the gunshot wound had been healed, so while I’ve had to deal with Quinn, at least the pain in my leg is gone. When you’re soul isn’t supposed to die, I guess there’s perks to going to heaven at least.

I stop at the kitchen sink and run the hot water. After a few minutes of washing my dishes in silence, I glance over my shoulder. He’s got the pillow still pressed over his face, and his dark brown hair is tousled from laying down constantly. His large black wings take up half the space of the living and bedroom. Studio apartments are nice, except for when there’s a freaking Fallen Angel in your space.

“You can stop eyeballing me to death.” I jump a little at the sound of his voice. He’s still got the pillow over his face.

“I wasn’t—” I clear my throat several times. “I wasn’t staring at you.”

“Nice try,” he muses and drags the pillow away from his face. He sits up and turns to glare over at me. “You were trying to burn me to death with your eyes.”

“Actually, I was glaring at your wings.”

“What about them?” Quinn rolls his shoulders, and his wings stretch. One clips the edge of my nightstand table and knocks over my lamp.

I let out a loud sigh. “They’re always knocking into everything.” I walk over and pick up the broken lamp.

“If you whine this much, I can’t imagine what your boyfriend must think of you.”

I shoot him the middle finger and walk back over to the sink. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” I tell him and set the lamp on the counter. “Not that it’s any of your business what I do in my spare time.”

“Besides talking to empty graves and all,” he adds.

I scowl down at the soapy water. My jaw tics several times. Go to hell.

“I do have a life.”

“Not a very sociable one, if you ask me.”

I whirl on my heels and glare at him. He’s lying back on the couch and stares up at the ceiling. “Not everyone has to go out to a club or get laid.”

“I’m wounded.” He presses a hand to his black crumpled shirt. “You think so little of me.”

My hands ball into fists. I’m severely tempted to bash the broken lamp over his head. Even if it doesn’t injure him, it would bring me great pleasure.

He lifts his head to look over at me. Whatever he sees on my face gives him some sort of amusement, and he lowers his head back down but not without having given me a crooked smile. The smile almost makes me dizzy in the knees. Almost. “Someone’s a bit testy.”

“Go to hell.” I turn back around, shove my fingers under the hot water, and scrub the already clean dish in the sink.

“Already been, and let me tell you. It’s boring and hot , undeniably hot down there. Or maybe it’s just my devastating good looks.”

I roll my eyes and turn to place the dish on the drying rack. Great, another jock. Except this one has wings.

“Are we really going to be sitting ducks in here today? Or were you actually going to go outside and, I don’t know, get a life?”

I lift my head and stare out at the small window above the kitchen sink. The outside world is bathed in golden colors. Autumn had arrived in early October, and the holidays were right around the corner.

There’s a warm breath at the curve of my ear. I shudder and turn around, my face smacking against Quinn’s chest. When I tilt back my head, he’s got a single dark brow arched and smirks down at me. “W-What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” He rolls his eyes. “Getting your attention, Miss Zoner.” He ducks his head so our faces are mere inches apart. I back up, my spine hitting the edge of the counter. A low hiss escapes between my clenched teeth at the sudden burst of pain. “Well?”

“Well what?” I snap up at him. My pulse thunders in my ears and echoes so loud I might as well have been at a drummers-only concert.

“Are we going outside?”

I swallow hard and, ever so slowly, nod. His gaze had shifted to briefly glance at my mouth before meeting my eyes. He’s still got that crooked smile on his lips, and all I can think about is wiping that smirk off his face.

Quinn straightens and backs away, his wings spanning out so they almost reach to both sides of the apartment walls. “So, where are we headed?”

I shake my head and clear whatever thoughts that had been darting through my mind. My gaze darts from him to the calendar on the refrigerator. There’s something circled in red ink. I walk over and peer at my awful handwriting before letting out a soft sigh.

“Gracie, I’m waiting,” he calls.

“My name isn’t Gracie!” I snap at him over my shoulder.

He gives me a sly grin and folds his arms. “You’re right. There’s nothing graceful about you.”

I splutter at him and whirl on my heels. “What are you—”

“You couldn’t even run gracefully. Your arms were out and flapping like some flightless bird.” He snorts. “It was too easy to shoot you down.”

I muster up my best glare and turn, storming to the bathroom and slamming the door hard on its hinges. I lean against the closed door and wipe at the tears building up in my eyes. My bottom lip quivers as I slide to the floor and bring my knees to my chest.

I bury my face into my knees and try to reign in the quiet sobs. Why is he being such a jerk? His words hurt. Are all Angels this horrible or just him?