Angels Landing (Katie's POV) Ch. 01

This story is told from Katie's point of view. For the other side of this experience--told through Jacky's eyes--check out "Angel's Landing (Jacky's POV)" by Jackhawk. We're writing from opposite ends of the same story, so be sure to follow both for the full experience.

Opening my eyes to the sound of waves crashing, my little tent rustles around me as the morning breeze creeps in, salty and cold. I pull my shirt tighter around my thighs--this old white button-down is the only thing I have that still feels clean. It belonged to someone once, a man who'd wanted something in return; they all do.

I sit up slowly, muscles sore from sleeping on sand, and stare out past the flap of the tent to where the sky is starting to shift. Feeling the crust of salt on my skin, the itch of yesterday's sweat. Hating the feeling of being dirty, I didn't grow up like this.

Back then, I had a mom who brushed my hair and a dad who called me his little angel, kissed my forehead goodnight, and lifted me up like I was the most precious thing in the world... but that was before. Before the accident, before the light went out of our house and the bottle moved in. Before my dad's grief twisted into something monstrous--before the nights got scary, and the touches stopped being innocent.

I left the morning of my eighteenth birthday, stuffing what little I had into a backpack that still smelled faintly like laundry sheets. I didn't look back. Just stuck out my thumb on the highway, hoping the world would be kinder than the man who used to tuck me in... It wasn't.

You learn quickly out here. You use what you've got. Learn to look hungry but not helpless, sexy but not cheap. A look, a laugh, a touch--they're currency, just like cash. Some know how to play the game better. But I'm learning.

My stomach growls. I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon, when I managed to charm a sack lunch off some surfer kid who called me "baby" like he was offering the world. He wasn't as bad as some, though.

At first, it was always the older ones--truckers with potbellies and sour coffee breath, hands that shook with desperation. The kind you smile at because you have to. Because they're the ones who stop. The ones who don't ask if you're okay--they just ask how far you're willing to go.

But I'm learning. The cute ones will give you things too, if you look at them the right way. If you let the strap of your tank top fall just a little too far down your shoulder. If you let your tongue peek out when you laugh. You don't have to fuck them. Sometimes, you just have to let them imagine you might.

Sometimes, though... you kind of want to. Like with the surfer.

God, he was beautiful. He caught me watching him wax his board--broad back golden under the sun, salt-slicked curls falling into his eyes, abs tight and cut like they were carved from the sand itself. He smirked at me like he already knew he had me.

"Hey, sunshine," he said, stopping just a few feet away. He gave me a once-over. "Did you eat today?"

I didn't answer. He pulled out a sandwich from a paper wrapper, paused, then tore it in half, taking his half and wrapped the rest back up, and tossed it to me.

"Here," he added, almost like an afterthought. "It's turkey."

I caught it clumsily and unwrapped it slowly. The first bite hit like a punch to the chest--I hadn't realized how hungry I was.

"Just waiting for someone?" he asked casually, like we were two strangers at a bus stop.

"Yeah," I said. A lie, but one I could sit inside comfortably.

He dropped to the sand across from me, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on my mouth as I ate.

"Bet I could make you moan just like that," he said when I licked a smear of mayo off my thumb. I raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"Only one way to find out," I whispered.

Taking my hand, he pulled me into the old lifeguard stand behind us--sun-faded, half-collapsed, but still standing.

Pressing me against the wall, he kissed me like he needed it more than air. His hands slid under my shirt, fingers rough but careful, gasping as he found the soft, slick heat between my thighs.

"You're soaked," he murmured against my neck, voice thick with hunger.

My legs parted for him, bare toes curling. His fingers teased me open, slow and delicious, stroking me until my knees trembled and I was grinding down against his hand like I didn't care about anything else.

Opening my shirt, his mouth found my nipple, sucking it until it peaked, and I moaned--sharp and raw.

"God, you're perfect," he whispered. "You like that, baby?"

I nodded, unable to speak, my body humming with every filthy, perfect flick of his fingers. He worked me harder, faster, curling deep until I came, soaking his hand and my thighs.

Spinning me around gently, he pressed my chest to the wall and pushed my panties down my thighs. I braced myself against the peeling wood, breath catching as I felt him behind me--hard and eager.

Guiding himself against me, he let his tip slide through my slickness, teasing, until my hips arched back toward him on instinct. I gave in the second he felt me open for him, pushing into me in one thick, primal thrust that made me cry out. His soft edges vanished in that moment. Gripping my hips tight, he pulled me back onto him, every stroke raw and deep and wild.

"Oh, fuck," he growled, forehead resting against the back of my shoulder, pace quickening. "You feel too good..."

I moaned as each thrust knocked the air from my lungs--fast and filthy and desperate. He fucked me like he needed it. I felt him start to lose control, his hands trembling, breath ragged.

"Fuck--" he gasped.

Tightening his grip, he spilled inside me in hot pulses that left us both breathless. He stayed there, buried deep for a moment, then eased out with a low groan, leaving behind a slippery heat. His fingers grazed my thighs, moving to my hips as he pulled my panties back up, adjusting them with a gentleness that nearly undid me again.

I turned to face him, cheeks flushed, still catching my breath.

He smiled--a little crooked and dazed--then tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear like we were something real, just for a second.

Pulling back, fixing himself, he headed for the door and walked away like it was nothing.

It wasn't love, but it was more than pity.

"See you next time," he called over his shoulder as he disappeared, leaving the rest of his lunch behind.

The sound of waves pulled me back to the present. The sun had climbed higher, slanting golden light through the edges of my tent.

A month. A whole month since I left, surviving night by night until I ended up here--this crumbling tent behind the forgotten lifeguard station. A month of flashing quick smiles at men just long enough to get what I needed--but never long enough to let them think they owned me. Nobody owns me. Not anymore.

I tried to back out of the tent but my foot caught in the sleeping bag--of course it did. I muttered a low "damn" as I struggled to free myself without eating shit. No luck.

One desperate tug and gravity won. I fell out ass-first, landing with a dull thud on the wooden slats, legs splayed, shirt riding up, panties flashing. The morning air hit my bare thighs and I groaned--half from the sting, half from sheer embarrassment.

My head tilted back, and yep, someone saw.

Six feet above me, sitting on a bench, he sipped his latte like a goddamn scene out of a rich-old-man fantasy. I could tell he liked the show.

He looked like power--tall, silver hair slicked back with just enough rebellious wave to hint he didn't give a damn about age. Everything about him screamed dangerous money. Older, sure, but not soft.

I pushed my long dark curls out of my face--it was a lost cause, tangled wild from sleep--then sat back on my ass, brushing sand off my legs. My shirt barely reached mid-thigh, soft against skin.

But embarrassment? Not anymore. Not really. And the way he was looking at me--like I was some puzzle he was halfway through solving? I smirked.

I stared straight up, my green eyes bright despite the exhaustion. I knew exactly what I looked like--young, dirty, but still damn desirable.

"Go ahead, old man," I said, chin tilted high. "I'm not new to any of this."

He smiled slowly, a practiced, just-slightly-dangerous kind of smile. "Well, my dear... My name is Jacky. It's nice to make your acquaintance. Can I offer you some assistance?"

My eyes flicked to the sandwich in his hand. My stomach clenched.

He lifted his latte and took a slow sip. "Would you like to finish this for me? I'm full," he said, motioning with the sandwich.

Men like him--they're used to being looked at. Used to being obeyed.

Still, he was alone. And I was starving. So I smiled--the pretty smile that melted most men, the one I'd learned to wear like armor. Time to see what I could get.

Pushing my pride aside, I hurried up the ramp.

His eyes followed--not pity, not like the cops or creeps or do-gooders who pretend to care. No, his gaze was sharp, curious. Like he was assessing something. Like he'd just found what he was looking for.

He stood solid, grounded, like the whole world shifted around him.

Handing me the sandwich--still warm--I sank onto the bench beside him, not asking questions, just devouring it.

"Maybe a drink to wash that down, dear?" He held out the latte.

The coffee was amazing--sweet, hot, heavy--and I drank it fast enough to burn my throat.

"Careful, darling... it's hot!" he warned.

I didn't care. For the first time in days, I wasn't cold or hungry.

Leaning back with a soft moan, I let out a burp before I could stop it. I slapped a hand over my mouth, giggling.

"Sorry... Mr. Jacky, was it? I was just... very hungry."

He chuckled, low and smooth. "Perfectly understandable, sweetie. That coffee stand over there has more... and I happen to have a pocket full of money. Let me feed you."

I blinked, still clutching the cup like it might disappear. He didn't feel real. None of this did. But my feet were already moving, my body recognizing a good thing when it saw one.

"Can you give me a second?" I asked, hopping down the ramp.

I dove back into the tent, digging out a pair of cut-off shorts and a hairbrush. The brush got halfway through my curls before I gave up and stuffed it back. The shorts barely covered my ass--I knew exactly what I looked like, and I knew it would keep his attention.

I climbed back up, grinning. "I'm ready."

Except I wasn't. Not really.

The thought of ordering off a menu, of getting something without giving something back in return, made my hands shake.

We walked to the stand together, the wind tangling my hair, the sun rising over the ocean. He told the guy behind the counter, "Anything she wants. It's on me."

I wondered what 'on me' was going to cost, but I still ordered.

The first thing I noticed about him wasn't his eyes or the tailored shirt he wore like a second skin.

It was the way he looked at me.

We sat at a table facing the waves. Wrapping both hands around my cup, I let the heat bleed into my fingers.

The hot chocolate tasted like childhood--like safety--like something I hadn't felt in way too long.

He asked my name.

I could have lied--I usually did.

But something about the way he said it, gorgeous, like it was a secret only he got to know, made me want to tell the truth.

"... Katie," I said, brushing hair from my face, suddenly aware of just how much of a mess I must look like.

Like I was a question he already knew the answer to.

Like I wasn't just some barefoot, sunburnt girl with sand clinging to her thighs and hunger written all over her.

We were just a block off the boardwalk, at a coffee stand, sitting across from him, my hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate.

He told me to order whatever I wanted. I didn't ask twice--I devoured it all: toast, fruit, pastries--and licked the last of the icing from my fingers.

He watched me eat--not like he wanted something, but like he was amused, intrigued.

I glanced down at the empty plates in front of me.

"Thanks for breakfast. I'm... not used to people being nice unless they want something."

He just nodded, like I'd passed some test I didn't even know I was taking.

I could feel it--everything was about to change.

And I wasn't sure if that excited me or terrified me.

Crumbs dotted my thighs, chocolate smeared the corner of my mouth, and the silence hanging between us felt deliberate.

Then he spoke.

"Now let me guess... you came here thinking you'd be an actress, but things didn't pan out... and now you're living in a tent on the beach... doing ungodly things to eat. Does that sum it up, honey?"

I sighed, sad but honest about how true it was.

"Yeah, that's pretty much exactly how the story of my life is going--except I have no intention of pursuing the acting dream anymore."

"Well, Miss Katie," he said, like I was somebody already. Like I mattered. "How would you like an opportunity to make more money than you could ever dream of?"

I blinked. Not because I didn't hear him--just... what? People didn't say things like that to girls like me. Not without strings tied around wrists and ankles.

He must've seen the look on my face because he added smoothly, "Before you think I'm just another player trying to work you--maybe you've heard of a corporation called Angel's Landing?"

The name hung there, weighty, important. I gave him a soft smile and tilted my head.

"Should I know what that is?" I asked, genuinely curious. No challenge in my voice, just a girl sipping cocoa with a full belly for the first time in days.

He didn't miss a beat. "I own it," he said.

It's the 25-story glass tower a few blocks from here.

Angel's Landing was the heart of a vast empire--exclusive events, multimedia productions, shaping desires worldwide. But none of that clicked for me yet.

My eyes went wide without meaning to.

That building? I'd passed it a hundred times. Never once imagining someone inside would look twice at me.

I glanced down at myself--barefoot, tangled hair, sand stuck to my sunburnt skin.

I must've looked like a stray he'd just scooped off the beach.

My cheeks flushed, but I didn't drop the act. Sweet got further than sharp, always did.

"If you're serious..." I say, looking up at him with big, honest eyes, "and there's even a chance I could be something more... then maybe I'd like to be considered."

Then I smile, shy and warm. "You're not gonna make me do anything too crazy, are you?"

He lets out a belly laugh, loud and real, like I've genuinely amused him.

"Oh, we land on the wide side of outrageous," he says with a wink. "But nothing crazy. We're a multimedia company with a very specific niche. If you decide to give us a try--and if you make it through our training and evaluation, everything will be explained."

He leans forward just slightly, voice firm but not forceful. "I need you to decide now, though. I only have one spot open. What do you say, Miss Katie?"

I stare down at the dregs of my hot chocolate, watching them swirl. My chest feels tight, like it doesn't know how to hold this much hope and suspicion at the same time. I'm not stupid, but he's handing me something, maybe not a promise, but a window. And windows don't stay open long in this world.

I look up and meet his eyes.

"... Okay," I say softly. "I'll give it a try."

His smile widens, and mine follows, nervous but real.

"Just don't disappear on me and leave me tied to a chair in some weird warehouse," I tease, trying to keep it light as I stand up and brush the crumbs off my thighs.

He chuckles again, and somehow that eases something in me, a little.

"Give me five minutes?" I ask, already backing barefoot through the sand. "I just want to grab a couple things. Promise I won't be long."

He nods once, and I take off, half-running down the beach, heart pounding like I've already leapt off some cliff.

Sliding my sandals on and looking under the sleeping bag for my mom's box with our picture in it, I shove it into my bag and head out of the tent. My fingers hesitate just a second on the zipper, like maybe this is one of those choices I don't get to take back.

You'll be back tomorrow, I tell myself. When it turns out to be too good to be true, but something about the way he looked at me, like I wasn't just another street girl, makes me pause. Maybe this time it's different, maybe not, but for now let's just see what I can get.

I shake my head and climb back up the ramp, cheeks flushed from more than just the climb. He's still there, waiting. Stopping in front of him, heart in my throat but smiling anyway.

Ready to see what this is, ready for something, anything, other than the life I've been living. Maybe this is the start of everything changing or maybe it's just another story I'll survive. Either way... I'm not running from it, not this time.

"I'm ready," I say, giggling before I can stop myself.

His eyes flick down to my face, then to my mouth, like he's memorizing me. "Perfect," he says. "It's just a short walk from here."

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thick roll of cash, like it's nothing. He peels off a stack of hundred-dollar bills, folds them in half, and presses them into my hand.

"Here's a little walking-around money," he says, casual like this is normal. "Just in case you need something... or see something you might like. Consider it your first day's pay."

I look down at the money, trying to act like I've held that much before. Like my hand isn't shaking. I follow him, my legs move before my brain catches up.

As we walk, he talks, his voice smooth, even, like none of this is strange or overwhelming or too much for me to handle.

"When we get to Angel's Landing," he says, "I'm going to introduce you to my personal assistant. Her name is Julia--she's also my second in command. I trust her completely. She actually wrote our training and evaluation program. She'll escort you through the rest of the day."

My stomach flutters at the word training, but I don't ask what that means.

"You and I won't see each other again until this evening," he adds. "Dinner, seven o'clock, in my penthouse."

He points upward toward the tallest building in sight, glass, steel, and clouds. "Top floor."

The walk isn't long, but every step feels like it's taking me further from the girl I was, and closer to... I don't know, something new.

When we arrive, they're already waiting for us.

The man is massive, tall, broad--the kind of presence that fills a space without saying a word. His suit is tailored but can't hide the military cut of his posture or the way he watches everything. Ex--special forces, maybe? He looks like he could end a fight before it starts.

And the woman next to him... Jesus. She's all blonde hair and bone structure, icy confidence wrapped in designer heels and a pencil skirt that looks painted on. She doesn't smile. Just gives him a look, one of those silent glances that says Really? This one? Like I'm a stray puppy he dragged in from the street.

"This is Katie," he says, unfazed. "She's interested in our training program."

He nods to the man. "This is Marvin, our concierge and head of security."

Then to the woman. "And this is Julia. My assistant, second in command."

Julia steps forward like she owns the whole damn world. Her heels click across the marble, each step precise and sharp.

And just like that, it's real, whatever this is... it's happening.