Chapter 20 - Gabriel
I’ve spent decades building a legacy, and I’m about to spend one night correcting the biggest mistake I ever made.
Cohen sits across from me, a leather folder open in his lap and a glass of bourbon dangling from his fingers. The house is quiet around us, but the energy in my office is intense as we finalize our plans.
Spread across the surface of my desk are the instruments of a public execution: financial reports, sworn affidavits, and high-resolution photographs that detail every one of Ryder’s sins.
I don’t know if I’ll need all of them in public or if I can just speak all the truths out loud and that’ll be enough. In this town, with how much the elites love to watch their own fall and then pick at the carcasses like vultures, I’m guessing I won’t need any of it.
But I’m not about to be called a liar and not be able to back up my claims.
Cohen looks tired. Orchestrating the total collapse of the Thornton empire and the surgical removal of my own heir in the span of a few weeks is taxing work, even for him.
Plus, he’s got a toddler and a new baby at home, and the lack of sleep is etched into the lines around his eyes.
His phone buzzes on the arm of the chair. He snatches it up immediately, his indifferent mask slipping into a soft, devoted expression that looks entirely out of place on a man known for being an absolute demon in the courtroom.
And then there’s the way he absolutely destroyed his ex-wife and took the spoils of her kingdom for himself.
"Emerald?" I ask, leaning back in my chair.
"Always." He types a quick reply, then shoves the phone back into his pocket. "She sent a video of the baby.”
I smirk at him. "Speaking of the little guy, I’ve been meaning to tell you that you look like shit." I nod at the dark circles under his eyes.
Cohen huffs a laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. "I spent the morning destroying a man’s life on paper, and now I’m watching a video of my son learning to blow raspberries."
"The duality of man," I drawl.
"It’s absurd," Cohen agrees, shaking his head. "We’re monsters, Gabe. We ruin people for a living. We cut throats for a living. Metaphorically, mostly." He gestures to the phone. "And then we go home and play peek-a-boo like we don't have blood under our fingernails."
"We do it so they don't have to," I say. It’s the justification I’ve used for years.
"Maybe." Cohen’s expression turns serious. "Or maybe we just found the only people on earth who can look at all the blood and not run away."
"Blair won’t run," I say, the certainty of it settling in my chest.
"Neither will Emerald." Cohen taps the stack of files. "So let’s finish this. I have nap time to get home to, and you have an heir to destroy."
He leans forward, sliding the files from his lap over to me.
"It’s all here. Forensic accounting on the forty-two grand Ryder siphoned from Blair’s accounts.
Documentation of the client sabotage, complete with the emails he sent from her server.
A lovely portfolio of his extracurriculars at the Mulberry motel.
" His lip curls up in disgust as he tosses a glossy photo on top of the pile. Ryder, looking sloppy and smug, walking out of a grimy motel room with a woman who isn’t Blair.
"And the police report from the accident. The state trooper is prepared to testify whatever you need him to, if it comes to that.”
"Good." I pick up the photo, my thumb tracing the outline of Ryder’s face that looks so much like his mother’s.
Maybe if I’d felt anything more than indifference toward her, things would’ve been different.
"I don't want him to have a damn thing left. He can’t have any possible way to spin this or weasel out of it. "
"He won’t. After tonight, the only thing he’ll have is the clothes on his back and a criminal record, if you choose to go that route.
" Cohen closes his folder. "The disinheritance papers are filed and sealed until your announcement. Thornton is a smoking crater. All that’s left is to light the match on the next bomb. "
"And our guests?"
"Emerald is looking forward to it. Cole and Fallon are coming.
Beckett and Ellery, too. Xander and Romeo are flying solo.
" Cohen leans back, a grim smile on his face. "It’s a full house. A show of force. Anyone in that room who ever thought about crossing you is going to piss themselves when they see who’s in your corner. "
"I want witnesses. I want everyone who matters in this town to see what happens when you cross me."
On a tablet next to the files are the notes for my speech. It’s not long, but every word is a bullet.
It’s a comprehensive demolition. A kill shot I plan to deliver in a twelve-thousand-dollar custom suit.
"Thornton is still coming," Cohen says. "He’s trying to save face, rally support."
"Let him come. Let him watch his protégé fall."
The office door creaks open.
Blair stands in the doorway, a vision in another one of my cashmere sweaters and leggings.
This has become her favorite way to dress when we’re at home.
Her hair is in a messy bun, and she’s holding a mug of tea.
She looks soft, comfortable, and completely out of place in this room full of violence and destruction.
Even if right now, she’s the reason for all of it.
"Hey," she says, her eyes flicking from me to Cohen. "Am I interrupting?"
"Never."
She offers Cohen a warm smile. "Morning, Cohen. How's Emerald and the baby?"
"Perfect," Cohen says, his voice softening. "Emerald sends her love. She’s threatening to kidnap you for a girls' day after the holidays."
Blair and Emerald have only met in passing, but I get the feeling they’ll be good friends, which I’m happy about. Blair needs friends in her corner. She has Harper, but Harper isn’t in this world.
"Tell her I’m in." She looks at me, her gaze steady. "Are you two almost done plotting world domination?"
"Just about," I tell her.
She doesn't ask for details. She doesn't need them. The trust in her eyes is absolute. It’s a weight I’ve never carried for anyone before, and it settles in my chest, heavy and hot.
"Okay. Well, I’ll let you finish." She starts to turn away. "My dress is steamed. I’m ready when you are."
She disappears down the hall, leaving the scent of her tea in her wake.
Cohen watches me watch her go.
"She’s good for you, Gabe," he says quietly.
"Yeah, she is."
The rest of the meeting is brief. Cohen gathers his documents, sliding them into his briefcase.
"I’ll see you both tonight," he says at the door. "Emerald’s looking forward to meeting Blair properly." He pauses, his hand on the doorknob. "You sure about this? Once you pull this trigger, there’s no taking it back."
My gaze drifts toward the hallway where Blair disappeared.
"Stop asking me that." I say, my voice cold enough to freeze the blood in his veins. "After what he’s done, the only thing I regret is not doing this sooner."
Cohen nods once, then he’s gone.
I find Blair in the kitchen, staring out the window at the snow-covered pines. She’s refilling her mug, the steam warming her face.
She looks up when I enter, a soft smile on her lips. "Cohen gone?"
"He is."
I cross the room in only a couple of strides, crowding her against the counter, caging her in with my arms. My hands find her hips, pulling her flush against me.
"Tonight’s going to be intense," I murmur into her hair.
"I know."
"You don’t have to do anything but stand there and let them see how incredible you are. Be my wife. Let me handle the rest."
"I know." She tilts her head back, her blue eyes searching mine. She kisses me then, a soft, trusting press of her lips that makes me ache. "I trust you."
That’s all it takes.
The control I’ve maintained all morning snaps. Adrenaline and possession surge through my veins. The need to mark her as mine before we walk into that fucking ballroom is vibrating through my bones and won’t be ignored. When she walks into that room tonight, she’s going to be full of my cum.
"Up," I growl, my hands gripping her thighs and lifting her onto the counter.
Her breath hitches as her legs part to wrap around my waist. She grips my shirt and yanks me closer. The cashmere of her sweater rides up, exposing the pale skin of her stomach. My hand slides underneath it, relishing in the heat of her skin, the way it’s so soft compared to mine.
"In a few hours," I say, my voice rough as I unbuckle my belt, "everyone in that room is going to know you belong to me."
"They already know," she breathes, her fingers fisting tighter in my shirt.
"Not like they will." I shove my pants down, freeing myself. I’m hard. Aching. "Tonight, they’ll see you’re not just my wife. You’re my queen. And you’re carrying my heir."
My cock is in her before my next breath.
She cries out as she arches into the unforgiving press of the marble. It’s not gentle. It’s not romantic. It’s a fucking claiming. It’s the eve of battle, and I’m branding my territory.
I set a brutal, punishing rhythm, my hips slamming against hers. My hand tangles in her hair, pulling her head back so I can watch her face. Her eyes are blown wide, dark with a mix of lust and shock.
"You feel that?" I snarl, driving deeper. "That’s me, inside you, where no one else will ever be again."
"Gabriel," she sobs, her nails digging into my shoulders.
"Tonight," I pant, leaning in to bite the soft skin of her neck, "when Ryder looks at you, I want him to see this. I want him to know that while he was trying to break you, I was putting you back together, piece by fucking piece."
She comes undone around me, her internal muscles clenching on my cock, squeezing me with a series of violent spasms. The raw, animal sound she makes pushes me over the edge.
With a final, guttural groan, I empty myself into her, pouring every ounce of my rage, my obsession, my victory into her body.
We stay like that, tangled together on the counter, chests heaving, until our heartbeats slow. I press my forehead to hers, breathing in the scent of her, of us.
And then I kiss her.
The rest of the day is a blur of preparation.
Blair disappears upstairs to begin the long process of transforming herself into a goddess of vengeance. I retreat to my office again, going over what I want to say one last time.
The house is filled with a tense, charged anticipation.
It’s Christmas Eve.
In a few hours, the gala begins.
In a few hours, Ryder's world ends.
I stand in front of the mirror, adjusting the knot of my black tie. The suit is custom and perfect, new for the occasion.
The man in the mirror is someone I recognize. He’s the man who clawed his way out of the gutter with his bare hands. The man who built an empire from nothing but sheer, bloody-minded will.
Tonight, he’s the man who will cut the dead weight from his legacy without a flicker of hesitation.
Because tonight, everyone in Emerald Hills will finally learn what it means to threaten what belongs to Gabriel Hollis.