Chapter 11
Gable
Idon’t fucking like brunch.
It’s pointless—a meal made up by people who need an excuse to drink before midday or people who sleep in too damn late and don’t want to admit they missed breakfast. It isn’t for people like me. So why am I at one?
But fuck, mimosas are delicious.
“Just be nice,” Asher reminds me for the tenth fucking time.
I stare at him, eyebrows low, patience wearing thin, and Ella isn’t even here yet. “I don’t do nice. When have I ever done fucking nice?”
“Learn,” Asher says, matching my expression.
This is becoming more and more of an issue. Asher is still dating Ella, and it’s been over two weeks. We shouldn’t even still be in California, and we definitely shouldn’t be living in the apartment of the guy we killed.
We aren’t returning to the crime scene; we’re fucking camping out at it.
And the worst thing is, Asher is enjoying himself.
Okay, not the fucking worst thing—it is nice to see him happy or whatever, but this can’t go on forever.
This is a temporary relationship, a fake one, so getting in this deep is not going to end well.
Asher will be heartbroken, and that makes our plan to hightail it out of here pretty fucking depressing.
“We shouldn’t even be here,” I bark. “Why don’t you just invite her dad, too?”
Asher avoids my eye, and when realization hits me, I grab my brother’s collar.
“Asher Flynn, if her father walks through that fucking door—”
“He wants to make sure you’re not a fucking serial killer,” Asher whispers.
I stare at him. “Oh, my good God, what do you think is going to happen here?” I hiss out the words, face hot, about to fucking leave.
“Are you gonna sweep all your kills under the carpet, have two kids, and drive a fucking SUV? Barbecue with cops on the weekend and pray they never ask for your fingerprints or DNA?”
“We have to do this. For the drive.”
“This is not for the drive anymore, you lying piece of—”
Asher shoots to his feet. “Ella.”
Ella grins as she walks over to us, almost dancing. “Hiya. Dad’s parking.” She kisses Asher. “You look so nice.”
Asher beams. “So do you.”
Fucking happy prick.
I’m going to kill everyone at this table with a fork. It’ll make headline news, and I’ll gladly be known for it. Gable Flynn: Fork Assassin.
Ella throws me a bored glance. “Gable.”
“Gibson.”
“Be nice to my dad,” she warns, sitting. “He can arrest you.”
“I bet he could,” I say, smiling sweetly. I finish my second mimosa because fuck everyone, I’ll enjoy a goddamn mimosa if I want to.
“He’s nervous,” Asher says, kissing the back of Ella’s hand.
“He should be. He’s not very likable.”
I glare at her. “Well, your dad has you for a daughter, so he must have some semblance of patience.”
“Careful, Gable. You’ll use up the small amount of humor you have,” she says. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?”
“I don’t even want to be here,” I snap. “I hate brunch.”
“That’s convenient, because I hate you.”
I lean forward. “And I—”
Asher clicks his fingers. “Stop it, both of you. Brunch is supposed to be fun.”
Ella glares at me. “It would be fun if Gable were just nice. The only reason we’re here is because my dad is convinced you”—she points her fork at me—“are suspicious as all hell.”
“Why? Because I’m not salivating at the idea of being around a fucking cop? I don’t like cops.”
“That’s unfortunate.” Guy appears at the table and sits. “I’m quite fond of them.”
This is a fucking nightmare.
I don’t date. I don’t like the idea of being exclusive to one woman; it’s never appealed to me, and it never will.
Some therapist would link it back to my piece-of-shit mother bouncing between one piece-of-shit boyfriend to another until she eventually abandoned me, but whatever.
Regardless of the reasons, I don’t date, and I don’t meet parents, so why the fuck am I meeting my brother’s fake girlfriend's dad? I don’t want to impress Guy Gibson; I don’t want to ease his worries about who I really am. It isn’t my fucking issue.
The only reason I’m here is because I made the unfortunate mistake of meeting Asher twenty years ago and now see him as family.
Stupid fucking twelve-year-old Gable.
“So,” Guy says. “You don’t like cops?”
“Exclusively,” I say.
Asher sighs. “Gable, just be polite.”
“It’s okay,” Guy says. “Not a lot of people do. I’m not gonna hold it against him.” He opens the menu. “Probably.”
Asher exchanges a look with Ella, and guilt twists in my gut. I know that look. He’s apologizing to her for my behavior.
Fuck, stupid feelings. This is why love is an issue. If I didn’t love Asher so damn much, that look would mean nothing. But he’s the only family I have, and even if he’s only going to be happy temporarily, I should support that, right?
Fuck.
I clear my throat. “I’ve just had bad experiences with them, so they make me nervous. That’s all.”
I don’t look at Asher, because I don’t want a silent “thank you,” either.
“What experiences?” Guy asks.
A lie is easier to tell when it’s woven with the truth, but the truth is difficult to talk about when your life is Trauma 101.
“My mom had a boyfriend who was a cop. He didn’t like me,” I say, focusing on the menu.
“And he decided to take that dislike out on me after a drink.” Not brunch etiquette, but fuck brunch.
I order three more mimosas while the Gibsons absorb this new information.
“So yeah. I see the uniform, I get skittish.”
“I’m not in uniform,” Guy says.
“No, but you were the first time I met you. That shit sticks.”
Okay, maybe I’m losing any ground I’d gained but … baby steps.
“You’re foster brothers, right?” Guy asks.
“Kinda,” Asher says. “We met in a foster home when we were kids and kept in touch. When we got out of the system, we stuck together.”
I fidget in my seat, staring hard at the menu but taking nothing in.
“Ever been in trouble with the law?” Guy asks.
“Dad!”
“I’m just asking, Ella.”
“Yes,” I say. “I got arrested twice when I was fourteen. Once for shoplifting, and another time I stole a car. I’m not proud of it.
” Lie. “But I’m not gonna hide it. I was an angry kid, so I did stupid shit.
I also did stuff I didn’t get caught for.
” I look at Guy. “Cops that don’t notice shit are my favorite kind of cops.
” We stare at each other, a silent standoff, one that I couldn’t give less of a shit whether I win or not, which is probably why I’ll win.
“Except chickenshits who let their girlfriend’s purse get stolen. ”
Guy laughs, loud and clear. “Good fucking point, Gable.”
I grin. Shit. That was pretty easy. “Thanks.”
“Very funny to bring up my ex right now, Gable,” Ella snipes at me.
I smirk, leaning back into my seat, pretty damn proud of myself. Asher didn’t make Guy laugh.
I did.
Winner.
“Well, that went better than expected.” Asher drops the keys onto the kitchen counter and leans against it.
Motor hops up beside me on the couch. “Please, I’m charming as fuck when I want to be.”
Although, I have to admit, I’m surprised just how well it went. We shifted away from the ex-boyfriend talk, and Guy isn’t a total prick. If I could forget he’s a cop, it actually wouldn’t be horrifically awful hanging out with the guy.
“He’s pretty cool,” I say, leaning back into the couch cushions and watching my brother. “A shame we have to kill his kid.” He tenses, and that tells me everything I need to fucking know. I grit my teeth but keep my temper. “That is still the plan, right?”
He nods. “Of course it is.”
“Because she’s an easy fifty k.”
He nods again, focused entirely on the ground. He folds his arms. “Aren’t you curious what she did, though?”
“No.”
He shifts his gaze to me. “She isn’t our usual target, Gable.”
“People lie all the time, Ash. She’s hiding something, or she’s done something, and that’s why people want her head. I don’t care which it is; I just care about getting paid.”
I gave up looking for the deeper meanings behind these bounties a long time ago, in particular after I had to kill a woman who, on the surface, seemed totally innocent. Except her side income was luring kids into cars to traffic them.
Now, I trust the jobs are for people who deserve a knife in the throat.
Ella Gibson is no exception.
“You want my advice, brother?” I ask, and his light blue gaze meets mine.
I see the war behind them, one he’s only fighting because he got deeper into this mess than he should have.
“Go over there right now and ask about the drive. Make up some shit if you have to, but get what we need to know, and then come back. I’ll take care of the rest.”
My brother stares at me, the tendons in his arms flexing as he clearly fights the urge to pace. “You’re saying you’ll kill her.”
“Yes. I’ll make it quick. Let’s just go, Asher. I’m bored of this fucking city.”
Motor pants in my ear, and minutes pass before Asher speaks again.
“No, I’ll do it,” he says, straightening up. “She won’t even let you in the door. And I’d rather find out for myself what she did to deserve this.”
I give him a thumbs up. “Don’t take too long.” He goes to the door. “Oh, and I find a neck snap works wonders, if you’re in a hurry.”