Angel and the Assassin

city in stalker mode, a combination
    of rational thought—where would a twenty-year-old gay boy new to the city and
    bored go on cloudy day—and the stillness that was like a sixth sense homing in on
    his target.
    A bar? No, not at that time of day. An Internet café to send an e-mail to his
    mum or friends in the States? Very likely.
    He walked up The Mall, busy at any time of year with tourists heading for
    Buckingham Palace. Without consciously thinking about it, he turned left at the
    east end of St. James Park and walked until he reached the Starbucks on Palmer
    Street.
    Angel sat with another boy who had a laptop open on the table. He looked
    adorable, his blond hair in that strange cut, too long and flopping in his face, spiked
    up with gel at the back. Silver-gray eyes dancing as he laughed. The other boy, with
    nerdy glasses and trendy clothes, sat smiling at him.
    They looked perfect for each other—same age, same slender build—and then
    there was him, so big half the people seated at the tables stared at him the second
    he walked in. He knew he looked scary with his bald head and granite cheekbones,
    which was why he had always used his smile to such great effect. It transformed his
    face, and he looked human again. Engagingly handsome instead of scary handsome.
    Today he was in no mood for smiling.
    The stalker-mode stillness evaporated, and rage clutched at his belly. He
    wanted to give Angel a good hiding on the spot for putting himself in danger and for
    frightening Kael because that was what he felt underneath his professional calm—
    scared stiff that harm had come to his boy.

    Angel and the Assassin
    49

    Angel looked up to see him standing at the door twenty feet away. His attempt
    at a smile was pathetic. He must know by the look on Kael‟s face that he was in big
    trouble.
    Kael crossed the space between them in a few long strides.
    “Sir, I was just going to head home.” Angel stood up, shoving his hands into his
    jeans pockets.
    Apparently unaware of the tension between them, the other boy looked Kael
    up and down, openly appreciative. “So you‟re the daddy I‟ve been hearing about?”
    Kael snatched the laptop off the table to look at the screen. To his relief, they
    were only looking at Google maps of the gay clubs in London.
    “Careful, dude.” The nerdy boy reached for his computer.
    Kael slammed it back down on the table. “Shut it! And don‟t call me dude, you
    little fart,” he said between his teeth. The boy reared back as if afraid Kael would
    slap him.
    “Sir, I…” Angel began.
    The occupants of the nearby tables had fallen silent, staring at them. They
    were already drawing far too much attention. As calmly as he could, Kael took
    Angel‟s upper arm and began to walk him outside.
    “Daddy…Sir, I was just sick of being cooped up.”
    Kael was enraged, and it was never good for the person who had annoyed him
    when he got like this. He needed to get Angel home and safely inside the flat.
    Outside on the noisy, busy street, he looked at the traffic for a cab and at the
    same time began walking in the direction of home.
    “You‟re hurting me,” Angel protested.
    “Trust me, this is nothing. I‟m going to hurt you when I get you home.”
    Angel attempted to yank his arm from the viselike grip but didn‟t stand a
    chance against Kael‟s superior strength. Kael propelled him along the street, not
    caring that they were drawing furtive looks from passersby. Knowing Londoners
    were no different than Liverpudlians in that they would walk right past a
    disturbance before joining in or calling the police, he knew he was in no danger of
    interference.
    Every cab they passed had its HIRED sign up, so Kael kept walking, his long
    stride far too big and fast for Angel to walk comfortably at his side. They were
    beside St. James Park when Angel suddenly dropped his backside to the ground.
    Kael had seen kids do this out on the street with tired, frustrated parents. Once
    they were lying on the ground, it was hard to get them up again without having to
    physically lift them.
    “Get your arse off that pavement!” Kael said, still holding tightly to Angel‟s
    upper arm. He was forced to bend almost in two to keep his grip.
    “Let go or I‟ll start screaming.” Angel looked mutinous.

    50
    Fyn Alexander

    For a man who was used to taking control of every situation and who dealt
    with disobedience swiftly and often painfully for the transgressor, he