Angelo's POV

"Okay, I'll do it. I'll work for you," Angelo succumbed. 

"Smart boy." Lucifer smiled. He put his gun away and gestured toward the other end of the apartment where the bedroom was. "You have fifteen minutes to pack your shit up. Leave the computers for last. Go."

When Angelo moved, so did the other SCR member who came with Lucifer.

The expressionless man stood in the doorway and watched as Angelo packed up his essentials. Apart from clothes and shoes, his "essentials" primarily included his manga collection, PS5, and a shoebox full of memories from his childhood.

His fingers trembled as he zipped up one duffel bag, then moved on to another.

Working for the Seventh Circle Riders as their new club hacker had not been on Angelo's bucket list. He was unprepared in every sense of the word. Not because he didn't have the skills, but because he'd never had a boss as trigger-happy as Lucifer.

Who the hell could work under such conditions?

The only silver lining was that it may give Angelo a chance to continue his mission for Phil, albeit covertly.

"Five minutes left!" Lucifer's voice boomed from the living room. "Pack quicker or I'll have Jay do it for you. Trust me, you won't like that."

With Jay, the SCR member, shadowing his every move, Angelo shoved the rest of his things into the second duffel bag, his mind racing with thoughts of what tomorrow might bring. If he's still alive by then.

Walking back into the main room, Angelo went for his electronics. No way in hell he'd leave those expensive ass computers behind.

"Don't unplug them yet." Lucifer stepped closer and pulled out the desk chair, issuing a silent order. Angelo kept quiet and sat down. "Back to this client of yours. What exactly were you able to find out about my club?"

"Nothing damaging." Angelo went with the truth. "Just copies of useless business documents and receipts."

Lucifer chuckled and glanced at Jay. "Sounds like Pax did his job, after all. Maybe I should've let him live."

"I tried to tell you not to kill him," Jay muttered. "But you never fucking listen to me."

Another chill ran down Angelo's spine.

Lucifer's reputation for being unhinged seemed well-deserved. If he would kill his club's hacker on a whim, what did that mean for Angelo's future with the MC? Would he face death for even the simplest mistake?

Lucifer turned his attention back to the computers. "Delete what you found on us."

He stepped closer, and Angelo caught another whiff of his alluring scent—leather, a hint of vanilla, and...weed? Whatever it was, it was distracting as hell. But not nearly as much as the gun Lucifer had readily available.

"And print out everything you have on the client who hired you to snoop," Lucifer instructed, eyes darting between the three monitors. "I want it all—their username, every encrypted email sent and received. All of it."

Angelo's fingers hesitated above the keyboard for a split second. He glanced over at the broken window for a beat, a vivid reminder of what happens when Lucifer doesn't get his way, then he nodded in submission.

It didn't take long to erase the files. As the printer whirred to life, Lucifer snatched the pages and skimmed them.

"So this Phil123 wanted dirt on my club. Why?" Lucifer asked, still looking over the papers.

"Phil claimed his son used to work at a gas station," Angelo explained. "Said he got into it with some of your men and...they almost beat him to death. His son could barely walk afterward. Now Phil wants revenge."

"By trying to expose secrets about me and my club? To get us, what, thrown in jail or some shit?"

"Something like that."

With a laugh, Lucifer folded the papers and tucked them into his back pocket. "This is bullshit."

"Is it?"

"Yes, it is. I keep up with everything my men do," Lucifer said. "If they beat someone to near death, I would remember that incident. The SCR doesn't start fights, we finish them. So even if Phil's story was true, it sounds like his son got what he deserved."

"How can you be so cruel?" The words tumbled out before Angelo could stop them. "I'm sorry!" He lifted his hands in surrender, eyes apologetic. "I didn't mean—"

"I thought you were smart."

"I am."

"Not smart enough. Because to me, it sounds like Phil played you with a sob story."

Angelo didn't want to admit it, but the chances of that statement being factual is 50/50.

Rarely did he fact-check the stories of his clients. He was in this profession for the money, not to play detective. Considering how things have turned out for him and Phil, perhaps he should have.

In the distance, police sirens wailed. Jay shot Lucifer a stern look. "They might be coming this way because of that shot you took. Either way, We need to go."

"Pack up the computers," Lucifer commanded, cutting short any further discussion.

Angelo's hands moved at lightning speed, disconnecting cables and stuffing everything into another bag with the help of Jay. Lucifer never once offered to help, not like Angelo had expected much hospitality from the guy who gets off on murder.

After they reached the parking lot, Angelo took one last look at his apartment complex. It was nothing fancy, but it had been his home. He'd created a lot of memories there, and taught himself many new things.

Something in his gut told him he'd never step foot in that place again.

He said nothing as Jay helped him place his stuff in the back of a large black van. The reality of his new life sank in quickly as he climbed into the vehicle and had a black bag pulled over his head.

Doors slammed, the engine started, and then they were moving.

Lucifer's voice came from nearby. "Gotta make a few stops before we reach the clubhouse. I don't need you all in my business, so that's the reason for the bag."

How am I supposed to respond to that? Does he want me to fucking thank him?

Angelo's discomfort grew with each passing mile.

At one stop, muffled sounds of an argument from outside hinted at activities that were no doubt illegal. At another stop, Angelo felt the van shake roughly when something heavy got loaded into the back with his things.

Was it a body? Bags of drugs? Weapons? His stomach twisted at every stop.

It felt as if hours had crawled by before they finally came to a permanent stop. The van door opened, and the bag flew off Angelo's head. He blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the light. His hunger and stress levels were through the roof, leaving him feeling weak and disoriented as he stumbled out of the van.

"Woah." Lucifer reached out to steady him, his grip firm on Angelo's arm. "You sick or something? Because then I'll seriously have to kill you. I don't have time to play nurse or house dead weight."

The words struck a painful chord within Angelo.

It triggered memories of Helena, the sweet nurse who helped care for his mother after her Stage IV cancer worsened, and how she always had something uplifting to share whenever Angelo got stuck in his dark thoughts.

"I'm not sick." He snatched himself away from Lucifer's grasp. "I just haven't eaten all day thanks to you people. I'm fucking starving," he snapped.

"Oh. Well, why didn't you say anything while we were out? We could've stopped somewhere for food."

"What..."

Angelo stared at the handsome devil in disbelief. How could this man flip from menacing to concerned so effortlessly? It was like he embodied a million different characters in one unpredictable package.

"How was I supposed to know you'd be so kind as to do that?" Angelo asked, confusion and sarcasm lacing his words. "Because the last time I said the wrong thing, you shot my fucking window out like a maniac."

"Your attitude is getting on my last damn nerve." Lucifer's eyes hardened as he stepped forward, backing Angelo against the van. "Maybe I read you wrong because I'm beginning to feel like you're not all that grateful about me sparing your pathetic life."

Before Angelo could muster a response, Lucifer reached into his pocket and took his cell phone and wallet. "Hey!"

"Jay," he called, walking back. "Lock him up."

"Lock me up where?" Panic seized Angelo's chest. "Please, don't! I need my computers, my phone—"

"You'll get your shit back when I'm ready to give it to you," Lucifer cut him off, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Jay will show you to your new room. If I find out you gave him any trouble along the way, your ass is mine. And I don't mean in the good way."

Angelo rolled his eyes. "What about food?"

"You'll get it."

"When?"

"When I want you to have it," Lucifer smirked, taking pleasure in Angelo's fear. "Now walk."

As Jay grabbed Angelo's arm and dragged him toward the massive clubhouse, Angelo's eyes scanned every inch of the land. Being a hacker forced him to keep up to date with the latest trends and code, so his memory wasn't shit in that aspect.

The second he had an opening, he would make a run for it.