Chapter Eleven Gambit #2
The animosity simmering beneath his cool facade unsettles me.
I avoided him over the years because I knew the reckoning would damn near kill me.
Blinking away tears, I plan. Now isn’t the time for a breakdown.
Once I get through this, I’ll return to Louisiana to lick my wounds and process life now that everything’s been turned on its head.
I don’t know what comes next for my sister and me, but it’ll be full of light and freedom.
This is giving me a clean slate. I can hold out for a few weeks in return.
My attention is pulled to Gambit once more.
He’s a magnet attracting me with his very presence.
This is the last time I’ll experience a relationship with the man I know was destined to be my forever.
Maybe, if I close my eyes and empty my head, I can pretend.
It's been ages since I allowed myself to tap into the needs I shelved years ago.
Friends with benefits, arrangements with fellow hospital workaholics were the things that scratched my itch.
With my home life and unresolved emotional issues, it was all I could have.
Constant crises, money shortages, and playing the parental role took everything I had.
Who the hell am I now with the world stretched out in front of me?
The blank page in my mind is terrifying.
I thrive and survive by being two steps ahead of everything.
Squirming in my seat, I breathe deeply, catching the mahogany, juniper, and black aroma that’s always been pure Gambit.
Leaning against him, I bask in his body heat.
Memories play out in my mind. Snapshots of us young, in love, and full of hope.
It was a golden time. A moment of bliss stolen among the brambles and thorns that made up our hard scrabble life.
Joy is an act of rebellion, not a situational byproduct.
In some ways, those years felt like the last time I was free to truly live for myself.
Letting the happy mental imagery play, I allow the smooth ride to lull me into a relaxed state.
This is the furthest I’ve ever been from home. Maybe it’ll be a fever-dream vacation.
I realized I was very wrong. Not like a vacation at all, I think two hours later, as I dodge the fast-moving travelers, struggling to match Gambit’s determined strides.
My stiff joints and muscles scream in protest of the abuse.
Hefting the bag onto my shoulder, I beat back the overwhelm creeping in around me.
Hovering over me like a ghost, weakness waits for an opening to break me down.
On its busiest day, the hospital doesn’t have nearly half the number of bodies crammed into this terminal.
Squaring my shoulders, I crowd Gambit’s personal space, using him as a buffer. We exit, stepping out into the mild night air, and I exhale.
Gambit smirks down at me. “We aren’t in the bayou anymore, huh, cher?”
“I noticed,” I croak.
“Life moves a lot faster round these parts. But you’ll catch on quick enough.” Wrapping an arm around my waist, he pulls me to his side.
“Starting already?” Do not forget this is an act.
“First rule. Eyes are always watching.” Leaning down, he brushes his lips across mine.
I use my peripheral vision to scan the area. Paranoia creeps in. What has he gotten me into?
“Showtime, darling. Act like you love me,” he whispers against my lips.
Yielding, I apply pressure, moaning when his rich flavor with a hint of mint teases my taste buds.
Winding my arms around his neck, I lose myself in the kiss.
Body pressed to his, I rise on my tiptoes, drinking him down.
I have to make every moment count. Tilting my head.
I deepen the tongue tangle. A woman starved, I can’t get enough.
Gambit cups my ass. I gasp. He slips his tongue between my parted lips, taking the lead.
Hooting and wolf whistles douse me like a bucket of ice water.
Cheeks heated, I pull back, placing palms on his chest, to steady myself.
Gambit offers a middle finger to the two massive men in worn black leather vests a few feet away.
“Never thought I’d see the day,” the giant covered in tattoos with a rockabilly vibe barks.
“The raging Cajun hitched his star to one woman?” The gruff voice has a heavy weight that demands respect. The salt and pepper in his dark hair and neatly trimmed beard, paired with the lines on his face, put him somewhere in his mid-forties.
“Didn’t expect to see you at a pickup,” Gambit says, releasing me. He steps forward to clasp the man’s hand and bring him into a side hug. They clap each other on the back and step away.
“I guess we’re both surprised then,” the bulky man drawls.
The men focus curious gazes at me. I stand up straight. There are times you have to fake it till you make it. My granny’s voice echoes in my mind.
“This is Rowan. Had bad flooding back home. I couldn’t leave her in unsafe positions,” Gambit explains. “Ro, this is my president, Stone.”
The president’s face softens. “Damn, that’s right. Your hometown got rocked by the hurricane down south. Sorry to meet under such shit circumstances.” He nods at me, and I return the gesture. “Is your sister good?”
“Yeah, she lives outside the affected areas. Gonna be a while before the water recedes and things return to normal. Insurance drags its feet on ponying up.” Gambit shakes his head.
“So, she’s here for a while?” Stone asks.
“Yeah. She’s solid. We grew up together. Childhood sweethearts and all that sentimental shit.”
“She the southern girl you mentioned?” The edgy man with cold eyes asks.
Gambit nods. “That’s the one.”
“I trust your judgement, brother. Hell of a time to bring her in, though.” Stone snickers. He holds out a calloused hand. I shake it.
“Call me, Ro. I appreciate the hospitality.”
“Welcome to San Diego.” Stone jerks his head to the man studying me like a playbook in a championship football game. He towers over us like a gargoyle. “This is War.”
I see that. Unable to speak around the lump forming in my throat, I nod a greeting, instantly intimidated.
He returns the gesture, making no move to shake my hand.
I’m oddly grateful for the distance he’s maintained.
There's wildness to him that makes me wary.
Why the hell was Gambit talking to him about me? Unease spreads through my body.
“Don’t scare the girl off before she meets the rest of the club,” Stone says.
War grunts, looking away.
“Walk and talk with me.” Stone steps forward, and Gambit releases me.
I lag, feeling like a live prisoner being transported with a guard as War trails behind us, bringing up the rear.
We remain far enough to give Stone and Gambit privacy as we cross the road and enter the parking lot.
I marvel at the tall palm trees lining the peninsula and admire the dry air so unlike the humid heat of the south.
Red and blue lights flash, blinding me in the low-lit parking structure. Woop. Woop. The sound bounces off concrete. I freeze.
“Be cool.” War’s deep voice slices through my mental fog.
I give a quick nod of acknowledgement. Two cars angle around us, blocking us in.
The doors swing open and four officers step out, guns drawn.
Legs wobbling, I drop my bag and raise my hands.
I won’t give any trigger-happy officers a reason.
It’s clear from their expression that they’re nervous.
“Can we help you, officers?” Stone asks, taking the lead.
“We had a report of armed men matching your description,” one explains.
“Feel free to check us over, mone ame. It’s your time you’re wasting.” Hands raised with guns aimed at them, it’s still clear who’s in control. The officers exchange a look I can’t identify.
“Hands behind your heads. Get on your knees.”
Heart in my throat, I comply. The tough ground digs into my sensitive flesh. Heat rises from the blacktop, scorching me through my pants. Hands grip my wrists tight. Wincing, I flinch as pain jolts me. Rough hands run down my body, patting and digging into my soft spaces.
“She’s clear.” The officer yanks me to my feet. I sway as blood rushes to my head.
“Hey,” the men cry out in protest.
Locking my knees, I steady myself.
“Mind how you handle her,” Gambit’s voice is heavy with the promise of violence.
“I’m fine,” I assure him. They’re waiting for an opening. My hands are roughly yanked behind my back. Cool metal snaps around my wrist.
“Let’s go.” Shoved forward, I’m guided to a squad car. Opening the back door, the cop forces me onto the seat. “Identification?”
“In my bag.” I raise my head, meeting his beady dark eyes. My record is clean, and I have three witnesses ready and willing to speak up on my behalf. It’s not the worst position I could be in.
“What are you doing in California?” Officer Wright asks.
“Visiting with my boyfriend, Benoit Le Blanche.” I watch as his partner retrieves my wallet and pulls out my driver’s license. I study his shiny badge in the overhead light. Wright leans against the car, blocking my view of the outside.
“We can’t help you unless you tell us the truth,” he whispers.
I arch an eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”
“You don’t have to be scared of them. We see trafficking all the time, and you’re a pretty girl. It’s not a huge leap.”
Jaw dropped, I stare at him. Is he serious? “I don’t have anything to tell you.”
“Is that how you want to play things?” His face morphs into one of anger and disgust. Moving back, he slams the door shut and moves to join his partner, who’s digging through my things.
Leaning forward to take the strain off my back and wrists, I peer out the window. I watch the other officers speaking with the men. After gathering their identification from their chain wallets, they seem to be rapid-fire questioning them. The officer in the front seat radios in my information.
A missing report is filed for Rowan Breaux.
“What? That can’t be right.”
“Got ‘em.” Wright grins.
“No. There has to be a misunderstanding.”
“You’re distraught, ma’am. Try to relax. We’re here to help now.” Wright moves to the passenger seat, and his partner, Brown, starts the car. I rest my face against the glass.
“I’m coming for you,” Gambit mouths. I believe him. I have to.