Angel and the Assassin 3: Sins of the Father

never resist him when he looked directly at her and asked for something.
    “Mum, please.”
    Briefly she placed her hand on his cheek. “He was really tall. No one in my
    family’s tall like you. He was thin but very strong. I don’t remember his face.”
    “Did he have a foreign accent?”
    Surprised at the questions, she replied, “A bit of one, but he sounded posh. Like
    he’d been to one of them posh schools like you went to. At the time, I thought he was
    French.” She shrugged. “But what did I know? I left the job that day, and nine months
    later, I had you. I never told anyone what happened. My mum had died a few years
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    before and my dad—you know what a nasty sod he was—he threw me out, so I went to
    live with your Aunty Eileen until you was born, and then the council gave me a flat.”
    “It must have been difficult for you,” he said quietly.
    Difficult? It had been hell. Year after year of struggling to make ends meet,
    working like a dog, and all the time trying to give her beloved son the best she could
    manage. And she’d made the worst choices possible in men, one abusive user after the
    next. “It was, but I’ve never regretted it. I don’t care how I got you. I loved you the
    moment I saw you. And you were so clever. You could read the newspapers by the time
    you was three. People didn’t believe me when I told them, so I made you show them all
    the time. I was so proud. There was nothing you couldn’t do. You were so different
    from all the other kids where we lived.”
    Leaning down, he kissed her forehead. “I love you, Mum.”
    “And I love you. To hell with Shawn and all those useless men I put up with over
    the years. And to hell with whoever your father was.” She tried to smile, but she knew
    it was strained. “Now, is there anything else you want to know? Not that there’s much
    else to tell.”
    He shook his head and pulled her into a tight hug. She’d never in her life loved
    anyone the way she loved her Kael.

    * * * *
    As he walked out of the gates of Redmond Independent College, Angel knew

    Aubrey Carey-Fox was behind him. He had just beaten the other boy at a game of chess,
    and he knew Aubrey was unhappy about it. Given a choice, Angel would never have
    played him, but the mathematics master who ran the chess club had paired them up.
    Mr. Waterhouse must have noticed Angel’s reluctance because he had patted his
    shoulder and said quietly, “Go on, Button. Beat the pants off him.”
    Angel had indeed beaten the pants off Carey-Fox, and now Carey-Fox wanted to
    beat him. Literally. Wanting to avoid an altercation, Angel headed straight for Jack,
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    who was waiting outside the gates for him. “Angel, how’s it going?” Jack called in his
    very gay voice.
    “Hey, American boy. Do you only hang out with other queers like yourself?”
    Turning to face him, Angel looked the fat boy up and down. Just the walk down
    the front steps to the school gates had him panting and red in the face. The boy’s girth
    was probably ten times that of Angel’s slender waist, and Carey-Fox was at least two
    inches taller. “What do you want, Aubrey?”
    “I want to flatten you, you little queer,” the boy said, grinning, his cheeks pink,
    sweat trickling down his forehead.
    “Try and catch me. I can outrun you any day, lard ass,” Angel said.
    The grin on Carey-Fox’s face faltered at the insult. “You can’t run forever. I’ll get
    you.”
    “What did I ever do to you?” Angel asked as Jack came up beside him.
    “I don’t like bum boys, and I don’t like Americans.”
    There was still a chance of getting out of this without having to resort to violence.
    “Then stay away from me.” Angel grabbed Jack’s arm and began to walk away. No
    more than two steps later, he felt a stinging slap across the back of his head. Angel
    whirled around and looked up into the fat, grinning face of the other boy. “That’s it. No
    more Mr. Nice Guy,” Angel said.
    Drawing one knee into his chest, Angel paused for a split second and then thrust
    his foot into Carey-Fox’s knee with a sharp downward thrust. When the fat boy leaned
    forward to grab his injured leg, Angel balled his fist and brought it up hard under the
    idiot’s fat chins. Aubrey Carey-Fox fell backward onto the pavement, arms and legs
    splayed like a starfish.
    Jack burst out laughing. “Way to go, Angel,” he said. The two