Chapter 27 #2
I jump when Gable appears in the bathroom, rubbing the back of his neck.
“That window is small,” he says. “Lights out. Bed.”
“Wait, I need the bathroom.”
He stares at me. “Pee later.”
“I pee now, or I pee on you.”
“Why are you like this?”
I give him the finger and go for the bathroom, yanking him out and slamming the door closed.
After peeing, washing my hands and face, and giving myself a talking to in the mirror, I open the bathroom door. Gable is lying on the bed, one hand behind his head, his eyes closed. Motor is by the window, as if keeping watch, his tail lazily sweeping the floor.
God, how did I end up in this place with this person? How did falling for someone and hoping for a future with him turn into this absolute mess? I’m exhausted, absolutely goddamn terrified, but I don’t exactly know what will fix those feelings.
Going home?
Turning back time?
Following Gable regardless?
I go to take a step forward, eager to lie down and get this over with, when Gable speaks. “You’d better be wearing shoes.”
I pause, looking down at my socked feet. “No. My feet get hot when I’m nervous. They swell up and get all hobbit like. Why?”
Gable gapes at me. “Why did Asher like you?” I wonder if murder really is that terrible a crime. Killing Gable seems like a lovely idea right about now. He sits up. “Have you seen this fucking floor? People have probably pissed, vomited, and died on it.”
“Don’t be dramatic.” I go to move again, and he holds up a hand.
“If your foot touches that fucking carpet, you are not sharing a bed with me.”
I blink. “Are you being serious?”
“Am I ever anything but?”
Oh, fuck this. “Get over yourself.”
I step forward and let out an almighty squeal as Gable dashes from the bed and seamlessly lifts me and throws me over his shoulder. I immediately bust out laughing, the sound restricted by his shoulder in my stomach.
“You cannot be serious, Gable!” I cackle as he walks us over to the bed and drops me onto it. I bounce, which is surprising given the probable age of the mattress. “You really don’t like dirt, huh?”
“It’s easy to stay clean,” he says, going to the bathroom. He returns, and to my absolute horror, drops to a knee and starts putting my shoes onto my feet. I try to snatch my leg back, but he holds onto my ankle. “What are you doing!”
“Dressing you, because you’re a child,” he says, focusing on his task until I stop struggling. “One month. That’s all it is.” He starts on my other foot, and I press my lips together to stifle a laugh. “All I need to do is put up with you for one month, then I’m free.”
“But this will always haunt you,” I say, grinning as he meets my eye. “The day you dressed Ella Gibson.”
He stands and removes the space between us.
I lean back as he hovers over me, and he presses his hands into the mattress either side of my hips.
My eyes widen, and we’re a hair’s breath apart, so close that I can finally discern between the dark brown of his iris and his pitch-black pupil.
His eyes are startlingly beautiful, with dark, thick lashes, and a sharpness that I imagine only a killer would have or need.
As we share breath, I feel very much like prey.
“I’ll replace that memory with the day I kill Ella Gibson,” he says quietly. “How does that sound?”
I swallow. “Right now? Like heaven.”
A low, rumbling growl from behind me has me turning to look at Motor.
“Showtime,” Gable says, and we lock eyes. He reaches into the back of his jeans and hands me a gun, flicking off the safety. “Have you fired a gun before?” I nod quickly, ignoring the violent hammering of my heart. “Good. Whatever you do, don’t shoot me. Lie down. Back to the door.”
Trembling, I do as he says. On my side, I stare at the peeling wallpaper on the far side of the room. With the gun grasped to my chest, I close my eyes and breathe in and out, deep, even, counting.
“Motor,” Gable whispers. “On the bed.”
The dog hops up behind me.
Gable lies down on the floor beside the bed, in front of me. His gun rests casually by his side, and he isn’t counting or breathing deeply. He’s totally calm, focused.
A killer ready to kill.
I can’t help but reach my hand out. His eyes meet mine, and he doesn’t hesitate before lacing our fingers together, squeezing gently. It helps my trembling, and we keep our eyes locked as metal scrapes against metal—the lock being disabled.
Gable releases me, and a flurry of thoughts assault me.
What if this person shoots me from the door? What if it isn’t a killer at all but an innocent person getting the wrong room?
What if Gable dies? What if Motor dies?
What if I lose them, too?
A rush of cool air enters the room, but I stay totally still. The gun is hot in my grip, the metal no doubt leaving grooves in my palms from how tight I’m holding it.
Footsteps.
Slow. Careful. Deliberate.
A predator.
I, its prey.
I squeeze my eyes closed.
“Move one more inch”—Gable’s voice is low, a rumble of thunder, a promise of violence—“and I blow your fucking head off.”
I open one eye to watch Gable stand, arm outstretched. Turning, I sit up, panting out breaths at the masked man behind me, his hands up. Motor growls, ears low.
“Mask off,” Gable says.
“Just shoot him!” I squeak, then slap my hand over my mouth. Wow, my morals really go out of the window when I’m in fight or flight.
Gable keeps his attention on the killer.
“I need information first, Gibson. Mask. Off. Slowly.” The killer reaches for his mask, slowly pulling it off to reveal a handsome, young face and dark hair.
He can’t be older than me, and bright green eyes are fixed on Gable as he drops the mask on the floor.
Gable’s eyes widen, his grip on the gun loosening. “X?”
The killer rushes at Gable. His shoulder meets Gable’s stomach, and they both go tumbling back into the desk, the gun thumping onto the carpet. I scream, my hands flying to my mouth as X lands several painful-looking punches into Gable’s ribs.
“Fucking—” Gable brings his elbow down into X’s spine, making him grunt, before gripping the back of his neck, yanking him up and punching him in the throat. X’s eyes fly wide and he chokes, clutching at his windpipe as he stumbles back, almost falling.
Gable advances quickly.
He punches X in the nose, blood spitting across the yellowed wallpaper. He punches him again, and again.
“Yes, Gable!” I cheer, clapping. “Smash his face in!”
As X’s back slides down the wall, Gable pants and looks at me. “I don’t need the running commentary, Gibson. Also, what happened to these morals you were harping on about?”
“They died! Kick his ass!”
A ghost of a grin crosses his lips, but it quickly dies when the door opens again, and it’s no longer the three of us.
Motor’s growls deepen as two other men enter the room.
It’s clear right away that they’re all brothers, maybe even triplets, the only thing setting them apart their clothes.
X is in dark clothing, but the second man who enters is in a three-piece tweed suit.
He looks closer to a professor than a killer, his equally green eyes pinning me as he enters.
I instantly want to shrivel back into myself, but I keep my shoulders squared, not looking away.
Until the third man comes into view.
He’s in a black suit and shirt and is a smidge taller than his brothers. He’s also broader, almost as big as Gable, but not quite.
Still, there’s three against two, and I really do not like those odds.
“We had a fucking deal, Z,” Gable says, his attention on the bigger brother. X is getting to his feet, blood dripping out of his split lip and busted nose.
Z closes the door behind him, and he stares at me while he answers Gable.
“Our deal was that we wouldn’t kill you or Asher.” His gaze drops down me. “We’re here for her.”
My entire body tenses. Motor shifts closer to me, baring his teeth at Z, as if he understands the threat.
“Our deal was you don’t kill family,” Gable says, and this earns him Z’s full attention. X is mumbling about his nose being broken, and the other brother is still staring at me silently. “She’s family.”
Z smirks. “Oh, really? Did you marry her in the last twenty-four hours, Gable?”
“She was Asher’s, which makes her a Flynn,” Gable says, and my heart clenches at the words. He’s likely only saying it to save my life, but it warms me regardless.
“A technicality,” Z says. “I’m not passing up a million.”
My blood chills to the point of ice. “A million?” I whisper.
Gable shakes his head. “Impossible. She was half a mil last I checked.”
“Well, she’s gone up.” Z looks at the silent brother. “Y, show him the message.”
X, Y and Z. Inventive.
Y finally drags his attention from me, takes out his phone, and shows Gable whatever is on the screen.
Gable runs a hand across his mouth, his knuckles already bruising from the fight.
“Count yourself lucky,” Z says. “You’ve gone up, too. I could be cashing in close to two million, but I’m a man of my word. Grab her, X.”
Gable moves in front of me. “I’m fucking serious, Z. You cannot have her. You want her, you have to kill me first.”
Z stares at Gable, frowning gently. “You can’t expect me to walk away from cash like this.”
“If you have any respect for me, or Asher’s memory, you will.”
A moment passes between the two men, one I don’t understand, one almost overshadowed by the violent beating of my heart as my fate is decided. Because Gable will fight for me, but there’s every chance he’d die for me, and I’d be taken anyway.
I’d rather go willingly than have another Flynn life on my conscience.
Z lifts his chin. “I hope she’s worth it, Gable.”
“Are you fucking kidding?” X says, gesturing toward us. “Then what did I get my ass kicked for?”
“Shut up and get in the car,” Z says, stepping back to let his brother pass. X mumbles a few colorful words under his breath and storms out, and Y gives me a small, bashful smile before following X.
Motor relaxes but remains close. Z doesn’t leave, choosing instead to fold his arms and watch me. “Lotta people after you, little lady.”
I feel myself pale. “So I’ve heard.”
He narrows his eyes, as if examining me. “Who did you piss off?”
“She didn’t do anything. It’s a misunderstanding,” Gable says.
Z laughs. “To the tune of a million dollars? Come on, Flynn.”
“I’m being serious. She’s got nothing to do with this world; she just got caught up in this shit,” Gable says. “Why else do you think I’m protecting her?”
Z’s smirk is slow and knowing, and his piercing green gaze glides down my body.
“I can’t imagine why else,” he says dryly, and my cheeks warm. “You owe me, Flynn.”
He leaves, and I scramble over to the bathroom and throw my guts up.