As the Range Rover pulled to a dead stop in the Evermoore parking lot, wheels hogging two bays and blocking in the Mercedes to his right, Angel cut the engine. Let his head fall back against the seat. Drew in a monstrous breath that plucked up so much force it burnt the inner lining of his airway. Blowing it out wasn't the cure-all he'd been hoping for. But then again, he was hardly surprised.

When it was one of those weeks, it was one of those weeks. And so far, it was really shaping up to be one of those fucking weeks.

As he turned around in his seat, ready...