37. GABRIEL skinny tort and interr
The bed is too big without her. That's the first thing that hits me. Ridiculous. I've slept in this bed alone for years without a second thought. Never cared. Never noticed. Now?
Now it feels wrong.
I drag a hand over my face, exhaling slowly as I stare up at the ceiling.
Her smell still lingers, as does the scent of sex.
Shit. That was the best sex of my life. But it's not just that.
That would be easier. Easier to compartmentalize.
To dismiss. To file away as chemistry and move on.
This isn't just physical. It's the way she looks at me.
Fights me. Pushes back when most people would fall in line.
The way she feels in my arms, like she belongs there and hates it at the same time.
There's something between us. Something real. Something I don't fully understand yet, but I sure as hell recognize it for what it is. Dangerous and very, very addictive.
I shift, restless, and the sheets tangle around my legs. She's down the hall. One door. That's all that's between us. I could get up. Walk over. Take what I want. She'd fight me. Maybe.
Maybe not.
A low breath leaves me. No. I close my eyes briefly. That's not how this goes. Not with her. I gave her my word. I don't break that. Even when it's… inconvenient. Even when every instinct in me says otherwise.
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, dragging a hand through my hair again.
She needs time. I get that. Doesn't mean I have to like it. Because this waiting? This is worse than any fight I've ever been in. At least there, I move. Act. End it.
This?
This is just sitting still, ignoring how everything in me is wired to go after what I want.
And I want her. More with every passing hour.
More with every look, every word, every damn second I spend around her.
It's not slowing down. It's getting worse.
A humorless huff escapes me. If I could skip time forward—a day, a week, a month—I would.
In a heartbeat. Because right now? This is excruciating.
Knowing she's here. Knowing she wants me too.
And choosing not to cross that line. Yet.
My eyes open again, staring into the dark.
"Tomorrow," I murmur to myself.
It's not a question. It's a promise. Because I'll give her space. I'll give her time. But not forever.
I must have dozed off, because the next time I open my eyes, a few rays of sun are making their way in through where I left the curtains partially open.
With a groan, I swing first one leg, then the other out of bed.
Waking up with a boner is no fun when there is no woman to take care of it.
And there is only one woman I want to take care of it.
Unfortunately, I don't think she'd be up for it if I came knocking right now.
So I take matters into my own hands, so to speak, while showering, killing two birds with one stone. The problem is that after sampling her, my hand isn't just good enough. I'm already stiff again by the time I'm dressed.
Thank fuck the strong scent of coffee is distracting enough.
And there she is. Standing by the kitchen island, cup in hand, looking as beautiful as ever. Despite the dark cloud furrowing her brows.
"Good morning."
"I want to go see Kelly today."
Ah, no good morning back then. Fine. I walk past her, taking a long, surreptitious inhale of her sweet scent while doing so and making my way to the coffee maker. Espresso it is. Seems like I'm going to need it.
"Why?" I ask, while the grinder does its thing with the beans, filling the air with more coffee aroma.
She faces me, her brows still knitted, and I can see bad decisions and guilt written all over her features. "I owe her an explanation. I owe her the truth about her son's death."
I quirk an eyebrow. "And what would you tell her?"
There is no way in hell I'm letting her go right now, but I'm curious.
"The truth. That Pete dug into cartel business and got killed over it."
"So you're gonna tell her that her precious son's fingers littered the ground?" The words are harsh, but just the mention of Saint Pete makes me see red. Especially when his name comes out of her mouth, which should only be screaming mine.
She winces, blinks a few times. "That was… crude. But no. I just want her to know that he died quickly."
I squint at her. "So you're going to lie to her?"
"God dammit, Gabe." She sets the coffee mug down so hard on the granite counter that I'm sure it cracked. She brushes a hand through her hair and sends me the evil eye. God, she's so fucking beautiful in her exasperation. I want to sit her down on the counter, spread her legs and?—
"It's okay to lie to a grieving mother," she interrupts my dirty thought. Fuck, but I'm already hard again. That woman is going to be the death of me.
"Yeah," I nod, "Not going to happen." A hiss announces my espresso is done.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she challenges, coming at me with blazing eyes.
I lean back against the counter. "That it's too dangerous for you to leave the hotel. Salazar is still out there." I take that first delicious sip. Not as good as her pussy, but beggars and all that….
With a slap I honestly didn't see coming, the coffee cup leaves my hand and crashes against the fridge. Did she just slap my espresso out of my hand? Fuck, she's hot.
"You can call her," I offer while blood leaves pretty much every part of my body to fuel my tortured cock.
"I can call her?" she mocks, disbelief in her voice, and her hands pushed into her hips.
I nod. "Yes. You can give her all the reassurance you like, and?—"
"I. Need. To. See. Her," she spells out. "In person. I owe her that."
"You don't owe her anything," I clarify. "And I need you alive. I'm not letting you risk your life over something so stupid."
The moment the words are out of my mouth, I know I made a mistake… then again, the last time I got her this enraged, we ended up having the best sex of my life.
She growls, yes, literally growls at me, "I already told you that you won't be letting me do anything, so that's not going to fly with me."
I step closer, a wide grin on my face, willing my dick to stay at least somewhat confined in my pants.
"Oh, no." She pushes against my chest, which, honestly, is rather useless, given our size and strength difference. She seems to come to the same conclusion, and I guess I must not be very successful at hiding the lust in my eyes. She huffs, turns around, and stalks out of the room.
I would have followed her, but just then, my phone buzzes. If it wasn't Kale, I wouldn't have answered it, but this is probably about the e-mail from a few days ago. Catarina's screams echo in my head and kill any pleasure I might have derived from antagonizing Audra further.
"Talk," I press out.
"I got into the email account," he doesn't waste time.
My grip tightens around the phone. My sister's face flashes in front of my eyes. Her voice. That recording… I shut it down. Now's not the time.
"The email was sent from a burner phone."
Naturally. He wouldn't be bothering me with that, though.
"They got sloppy, though, and accessed it twice," Kale continues. "Once to send you the email."
"And the second?" I ask, already moving towards the front door before he answers.
"They made a call."
That's all I need. "Trace it."
"Already did," he replies. "Another burner phone. But?—"
I check my gun, make sure it's locked and loaded and that I have a spare in my inside pocket. "Location," I cut in.
"An internet café on the southside."
"Active?" I ask.
A smug little laugh is followed by, "Yeah."
Everything in me stills for half a second. Then snaps into place. Now.
"They're there right now," Kale confirms.
A slow, dangerous calm settles over me. "Send me the exact location."
"Already—"
I hang up, not bothering with niceties. This has to be done quickly. Catarina. I stop only for a second. That email—the way her voice broke—something sharp twists in my chest. That's all I allow before calling Mauro.
"Yeah?"
"Get the car ready."
No hesitation.
"No suits," I add. "Just you and me. Now."
No discussion. "On it."
I end the call and step into the hallway.
The elevator ride down feels too slow. Too quiet.
My reflection stares back at me in the mirrored walls.
I look controlled, composed. But underneath?
Everything is locked and loaded. Years ago, Massimo and I ended the bastards who took my sister and tortured her.
No matter what we did to them, we never found out why.
Now, dealing with El Recaudador, I see everything in a different light.
If Catarina died because of that asshole…
I'll find out, and I'll make him wish he'd never set his greedy eyes on her. I'll make him pay.
The doors slide open, and I stride through the casino floor until I reach the Valet area. Mauro is already there. Escalade running. Driver's door open. Waiting. He slides into the passenger seat, and the door slams shut with a solid thud.
"Where to?" he asks, buckling while I pull out.
I open the map to the address Kale has already sent. He glances at the screen at the highlighted route.
"Want to fill me in?" Mauro asks, eyes still on the map.
I do. "Got an email earlier. You know the guy who has been calling everyone?" Mauro grunts a confirmation, and I continue. "He's known as El Recaudador."
That gets his attention. "Yeah?"
"It had footage of Catarina in it," I confide quietly, merging into traffic without hesitation.
His body tenses as the city blurs past us. "You got a lead on the bastard?" He guesses.
He knew Catarina; everyone did.
"I got a lead on a bastard the asshole called from the same burner." I speed up to get past a van going ten miles under the speed limit. In the left lane, of course.
"That's the guy we're grabbing?" he asks.
"Yep."