Angelo emerged from the bathroom feeling refreshed, his hair tied back and mostly dry. The hot water had soothed his tense muscles, but didn't fully calm his nerves.

He was still anxious about being alone with Lucifer, not a chance in hell of him escaping. Hope seemed to come and go, but for now, Angelo clung to it. He had to in order to keep his mental from crumbling. 

After hiding his bag deep in the bedroom closet, Angelo followed the smell of food to the kitchen. He found Lucifer standing at the stove dressed casually in a plain white T-shirt and grey sweatpants, looking focused and handsome as he seared two steaks in a cast iron pan.

Knowing it was best to stay on Lucifer's good side while they were alone with no one else around as a buffer, Angelo decided to play nice.

"Need help with anything?" he offered.

Without turning around, Lucifer asked, "Depends. Do you want potatoes with your steak?"

On cue, Angelo's stomach let out an embarrassingly loud growl, answering for him.

"I'll take that as a yes," Lucifer teased.

"Where are they?" Angelo asked.

"Cabinet next to the fridge."

Angelo found the bag of russet potatoes and prepped two of them, poking holes and microwaving them to make quick baked potatoes. As they cooked, his mind wandered about Lucifer's history with this place.

"Who else have you brought out here?" Angelo leaned against the counter with his arms crossed, his eyes studying Lucifer's movements. "I can't be the first."

"You are," he answered.

"Oh." Angelo blinked, unsure what to make of that revelation. He quickly changed the subject. "Thanks for cooking. I like my steak well done, by the way."

"Ugh. I knew you couldn't be trusted." Lucifer glanced at Angelo and finally cracked a smile that looked genuine.

They fell into a light, easy banter as they plated up their food and settled at the kitchen table to eat.

After a few moments of appreciative silence, broken only by the clink of silverware, Lucifer pinned Angelo with an assessing stare.

"I'm surprised you haven't had a complete meltdown yet," he said. "Like a needing-to-be-placed-in-a-straitjacket kind of meltdown."

"Well, it hasn't been sunshine and rainbows taking jobs on the dark web," Angelo answered honestly. "I've seen some shit. But I've also been gaslighting myself that things aren't as bad as they seem with you."

"True. You could've been killed a long time ago."

"Exactly."

A beat passed.

"Do you ever plan on letting me go?" Angelo asked quietly, his voice carefully neutral even as his heart hammered against his ribs.

"Thought we were past asking stupid questions," Lucifer replied.

"And I thought we were working on earning each other's trust," Angelo shot back, meeting Lucifer's gaze.

Heavy silence enveloped the kitchen.

Angelo refused to drop his stare, even as Lucifer's icy eyes seemed to rattle his soul.

"Fuck it." Lucifer leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "I'll make you another deal."

"I'm listening."

"If I give you something, then you have to give me something in return. Quid pro quo."

Shock rippled through Angelo. Was Lucifer really agreeing to this? He licked his suddenly dry lips.

"Deal."

"Finish your food," Lucifer said, "then we'll move this to the living room."

Angelo cleaned his plate before Lucifer did, which earned him another grin. They cleaned up their mess and then moved to sit on the couch in the living room, facing each other but still having the appropriate amount of space between them.

"You start, since you're so damn curious," Lucifer said. "What do you want to know?"

Everything. "Is there a story behind why your parents named you Lucifer?" Angelo asked.

"Yeah, a dumb one. It all came down to a game of rock, paper, scissors."

"You're joking."

Lucifer shook his head, smiling. "According to my old man, he liked the name Lucifer because it sounded edgy and cool. My mother, my biological mother, wanted to name me Logan, but she lost the game."

"Damn. Wasn't expecting that answer," Angelo chuckled. "I'm named after my grandfather on my mother's side. Nothing cool or edgy about Angelo."

"Nothing gets cooler than being named after the King of the Underworld," Lucifer said. "So how did you really get into hacking and the dark web shit?"

"I-I told you before, didn't I? It started as a hobby—"

"Nah. Bullshit." Lucifer interrupted, shaking his head. "I remember exactly what you told me back at the diner. Never said I believed any of it."

Angelo remained quiet.

"If we're going to have a little heart-to-heart tonight and work on trust, then you need to be completely honest with me," Lucifer said. "We have a deal."

Scared to dig up the old memories due to the pain attached to them, but having no way out of this hot seat, Angelo broke eye contact and complied.

"You're right. I wasn't being honest back then."

"So what's the real story, angel?"

"I got into hacking to help pay for my mother's treatments," Angelo confessed. "She'd been a heavy smoker all her life, and as I was getting ready to go off to college, she got diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer."

"Shit." Lucifer's voice softens. "Sorry to hear that."

"Thanks. We, uh..." Angelo swallowed the knot in his throat while picking at a loose thread on his shorts. "I was nineteen at the time. Had a full-ride scholarship. But Mom's insurance only covered so much, and my dad couldn't work any harder than he was to keep the bills paid around the house. It was obvious what I needed to do."

"You skipped going to college to help take care of your mother and her medical bills," Lucifer finished.

"Yeah, by taking on jobs through the dark web."

Which is how Angelo ended up meeting Maxxx, who helped him through some of the darkest moments of his life simply by listening to him vent. Not that Lucifer needed to know any of that.

Taking a slow breath, Angelo continued his story.

"In no time, I became the infamous hacker known as Kai. I worked for anyone willing to pay big money— organized crime syndicates, corrupt corporations..." His voice turned hollow. "My ethical boundaries blurred with every job I accepted, and throughout it all, I rationalized my actions with the desperate need to provide for my dying mother. It was—is—fucked up."

"It's not. You did what you had to do," Lucifer said. "No one can judge you for that."

"I guess. But I'm sure some of the work I did led to people getting hurt or even killed. Took me a long time to accept the thought that my hands aren't entirely clean. I'm just as bad as people like you—no offense."

Lucifer chuckled. "None taken."

"And that's why I haven't had that breakdown you mentioned. Because like I said, I've seen some shit."

Lucifer surprised him by placing a comforting hand on his thigh. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"Me too." Blinking back tears, Angelo continued, "Because it only kept Mom alive for a few more years. She passed the day before my twenty-first birthday. Six months later, my father committed suicide."

"Fuck..."

"I've been on my own ever since. Just trying to survive." He hastily wiped at his eyes, desperate not to cry in front of Lucifer. "So, how did your parents die?"

"Ah..." Lucifer cleared his throat, looking pained as he gathered his words. "My biological mother died from an overdose when I was thirteen. My father eventually moved on and met Faye, my stepmother. He had every right to look for love again, but I still gave him and Faye hell when they first started dating."

A sad smile tugged at Angelo's lips. "I can only imagine."

"Faye was a good woman, though," Lucifer continued, his eyes far away as he stared into the flickering flames of the fireplace. "She never lashed out at me, no matter what I said or how badly I acted out. We grew close over time, and... truthfully, I came to love her. Even looked at her like a second mother. Things were great until the day she and my father were murdered."

Angelo stilled. "Murdered?"

"That's my story, anyway." Lucifer sighed heavily. "They were out at a rental cabin celebrating their anniversary when, according to the police, a gas leak caused an explosion that killed them instantly. I was told they never stood a chance."

"I'm so sorry," Angelo whispered. Then he asked cautiously, "So you don't believe the cops' story?"

"Fuck no." Lucifer's face twisted in disgust. "I was taught to never trust pigs. Plus, Faye and my father loved going to that cabin. They'd gone out there numerous times before and nothing ever happened. Add on to the fact that my old man wasn't a saint and had a list of enemies longer than the Eiffel Tower..."

"You believe they were targeted by someone," Angelo finished grimly. 

"It's the only thing that makes sense."

"And idea by who?"

"No. Fucking pigs closed their case way too fast despite the thousand red flags." Bitterness dripped from Lucifer's words, his hands balled into fists. "Even when I had a few rats from the department on my payroll, none of them could get access to my parent's file. Almost like it was being guarded by God Himself."

At a loss for words, Angelo could only offer his condolences again.

"It wasn't always a shit living after my folks passed," Lucifer continued. "Westin, my father's best friend, helped raise me after they were gone. He taught me everything my father hadn't gotten the chance to."

"That's good. At least you had someone to depend on."

"Yeah, Uncle Wes became the President of SCR after my old man died, and then when Westin passed from old age a few years back, the role got passed on to me."

"Right. So who gets the title after you...die?"

"Probably Jameson. Everyone loves him, and I'd be lying if I said he didn't deserve it."

"He's your friend, right?" Angelo asked. "Like, more than just a member, but your best friend? I've seen the way two move. No one else has the guts to stand up to you like he does."

Lucifer smiles. "Yeah, he's my brother for life. That club, all those men who pledged their lives to protect it, it's everything to me. My father's life's work. This is why I refuse to let anyone take it away from me. So if I have to put a bullet in the mayor's fat head just to get him off my ass, then that's exactly what I'll do."

Deadly conviction hardened Lucifer's features.

Angelo had no response apart from the chill that ran down his spine. He knew Lucifer meant every word. The man would happily go out in a blaze of glory protecting his MC, no matter the cost.

In truth, this heart-to-heart they were having, and whatever connection Angelo thought he felt between them, meant absolutely nothing. Because if Lucifer ever discovered Angelo had been playing him this whole time, he wouldn't hesitate to end Angelo's life.

"You know what's been bothering me?" Angelo asked, changing the subject to something lighter.

"I'm sure you have a list of shit that bothers you."

"Yes, actually." Angelo smirked. "But I'm talking about something else. All your men wear cuts except you. Why is that?"

"Take a wild guess," Lucifer replied.

"You think you look better in leather instead of denim?"

Lucifer laughed. "The leather jacket belonged to my father. It was a gift from my mother, something she gave him before she got hooked on drugs. Some days, he'd wear his cut out. Some days, he'd wear the leather jacket." Lucifer looked away, whispering, "He didn't leave much behind, so that jacket is one of the few things that helps me feel close to him."

"Wow." Angelo sighed, feeling lighter yet more stressed. "Seems we're more fucked up than I thought."

"Evidently," Lucifer chuckled. "I don't know about you, but I'm over this therapy session. Ready for bed?"

Angelo's heart kicked into overdrive but for all the wrong reasons. "I think I'll sleep out here tonight," he replied, feeling proud when his voice remained even.

"Suit yourself." If Lucifer was disappointed by his answer, it didn't show. "I'll grab you an actual pillow."

As Lucifer disappeared down the hall, Angelo sagged against the couch and let out another shaky exhale.

Their conversation had humanized Lucifer, if only slightly. Seeing the ruthless biker in a new light, and learning about his tragic past...it shifted Angelo's perspective. And if he continued down this path of trading secrets with Phil, he wouldn't just be stripping Lucifer of the only family he had left.

He would be killing him, in every sense of the word.

Angelo had enough trauma haunting him, so what the hell was he supposed to do now?