Chapter 17 Wren
Only his head is visible above the propped-up hood of a car, though the lone, naked light bulb hanging from the tin roof spreads his shadow along the breadth of the brickwork behind him. His gaze clashes with mine for a single heart palpitation before narrowing on my mouth.
Probably because of the sob that escaped it.
An awful scraping sound bounces off the walls, and a metal chair skids along the length of the car, stopping by the back tire.
“Sit.”
He ducks back out of view.
Nausea roils through me, my chest tightening with every ragged breath. I should go back out the way I came, but I won’t make it that far. It’s either faint, vomit, or sit, and the latter seems like the least embarrassing option, so I stagger over and sink down into the chair.
The cold metal burns the backs of my thighs. The sight of my slippers pulsating in and out of focus makes me feel even more nauseous, so I squeeze my eyes shut and silently beg the world to stop spinning.
It doesn’t and it’s relentlessly loud. The rain pounds down on the roof, and the wind rattles the roll-down door, desperate to be let in.
A voice slices through the chaos, as smooth as butter dripped in sin. “Hector Fisher owns a cabin on the lake.”
What? Mild annoyance grates my skin. I couldn’t care less about the Mayor of Devil’s Dip’s property portfolio, especially at a time like this. Like, hello, I’m dying over here.
“On the last Friday of every month, he kisses his wife and kids goodbye and spends the weekend down at the cabin.” The clanking of metal fills his pause. “Ask me why.”
I shake my head, choking on my next breath.
“Ask me why,” he repeats, his tone tightening.
“W-why?” I grit.
“To meet escorts.”
My ears prick up, an eye pops open, and my curiosity has me looking over to the shadow shifting along the wall. “H-he’s cheating on his wife?”
“Mm. With men.” An inked hand reaches out from beneath the hood and curls around a wrench on the roller cart beside it. “He pays them to dress up in his wife’s underwear, and then he fucks them.”
A cool breath fills my lungs, and I exhale it in slow disbelief. “Does she know?”
“Of course not.”
Wow. Hiccupping, I drag my sleeve under my nose and sit back on the chair. The midnight email has loosened its chokehold now that I have fresh gossip to feast on.
Mayor Fisher—who would’ve thought. He’s such a charming family man. I always see him walking along Main Street hand in hand with his beautiful wife.
I guess even the nicest people have secrets.
I ponder why Gabriel’s even telling me this, but then he steps out from behind the car hood and suddenly, it doesn’t even matter.
The sight of him wipes my brain clean of thought. Muscle upon muscle carved into a never-ending mass and shrink-wrapped in ink.
Had I known he was behind the unlocked door, I’d have hesitated before crashing through it. Had I known he was also shirtless, I’d have run in the opposite direction.
It’s rude to stare, especially so brazenly, but jeez, what else is a girl to do?
My gaze slides down his chest. To the angel wings spread across his sternum, and the lone square-inch of bare skin between them.
Then it slides down his torso, snagging on every symbol, scar, and ab before settling on the taut skin between a prominent V.
Heat rises to the surface of my skin and blooms into a fluster.
With a hard swallow, I find just enough sense not to let my gaze drift below the low-slung waistband of his joggers and force my eyes back up to his face. For once, it’s the safer place to look.
Gabriel’s looking at me too. Though without the slacked jaw and bulging cartoon eyes, of course.
Wiping his hands on a rag, he regards me with indifference, as if I’m just another inanimate object taking up space in his garage.
“You good?”
I’m far from good. My blood is humming at a different frequency around all this skin, but if he’s talking about the panic attack, then sure, that’s a distant memory now.
I consider nodding and rising to my feet, but then that would mean leaving, which every cell in my body doesn’t want to do.
I guess men his size have a stronger gravitational pull than everyone else.
So I let out a weary sigh, press the back of my palm to my forehead, and puff out my bottom lip. “I think I’m having another funny turn. I better stay here until it passes.”
Gabriel’s mouth pulls taut, as if he finds my distress positively irritating, but then he gives a curt nod and disappears beneath the car hood again.
Running my hands down my thighs, I sit with a straight spine, all too aware of every clink and clunk disturbing the relentless hammer of rain.
Though I can’t see him, his looming silhouette on the back wall is a constant reminder of his presence.
It shortens when he dips his head and expands when he reaches for another tool.
Everything shifts and flickers, except for the broad outline of his shoulders, which stays perfectly still.
Time doesn’t pass easily. I cross my legs. Uncross them again. Tie my hair up; let it back down and rake my fingers through the kinks. I want to poke him in the ribs, like he’s a lion at the zoo. Come on, do something.
When a restless shudder gets the best of me, I curl my robe tie around my fist and squeeze it for moral support.
“What cha’ doin?”
His reply is dryer than the Sahara. “What’s it look like?”
Sucking in my cheeks, I scan the length of the car. It looks old, but in a rare and collectible way, not a passed-down-from-your-grandma-and-will-probably-leave-you-stranded-on-the-freeway type of way.
“Cute car. Is it yours?”
The silence that follows makes my bones cringe. In an attempt to shake it off, I rise to my feet and pad over to the other side of the garage. Investigating the contents of a toolbox, I try again. “How’d you find out about Mayor Fisher?”
“I’m nosy.”
Well, that’s one thing we have in common, at least.
Gnawing on my bottom lip, I slowly walk the perimeter of the wall, brushing my fingers over the row of different-sized screwdrivers hanging from it. As I near the front of the car, Gabriel’s bicep comes into view. Then his forearm, then his hand resting on the engine block.
When I take another step, it curls into a fist, and the shadow behind him stills.
My nerve endings tingle. I reach for the closest thing to busy myself with: a cardboard box wonkily stacked upon a handful of other boxes.
I lift the flap and rise onto my tiptoes to peer inside.
I couldn’t say what’s in it because the heat of Gabriel’s stare climbing the backs of my thighs makes my vision dim.
“You touch everything that doesn’t belong to you?”
My breathing shallows. “I like touching things,” I mutter.
The last syllable tastes like regret and heats my cheeks. That somehow sounded … sexual, and I swear, I feel the air grow thicker behind me.
The sound of metal scrapes down my back, and an answer laced with bitterness chases it. “I’ve noticed.”
What’s that supposed to mean?
I turn around, making the mistake of not bracing myself for the view.
Gabriel’s profile is razor sharp and just as lethal. Corded muscles flex and contract; his tattoos dance beneath the light. His bicep must be as thick as my waist, and I can’t help but stare at the bulging vein running down the side of it when he tightens something with a wrench.
I clear my throat. In response, Gabriel readjusts the AirPod in his ear, seemingly irritated, before reaching deeper into the hood.
I hover for a moment. No small talk in my locker, not a cohesive thought in my brain. I settle for turning around and looking in the box again, but my hand holds a tremor, and when I tug back the flap, it topples sideways and crashes to the floor.
It’s only cable ties. They’re made from light plastic, so the deafening clap of metal makes little sense.
No sooner does a breathy “Oops” leave my lips do large hands grip my waist and drag me backward. A low growl grazes the sensitive spot behind my ear.
“Stop. Touching. Things.”
The garage spins in a yellow haze. I fight against the wall of black closing in on me. I’m all elbows and ragged breaths—stuttering heartbeats and heat. I move to strike his ribs like he taught me, but he catches my wrist, then grabs the other as it flies past his face.
With a viselike grip, he holds them above my head in one hand, pulling me so taut a burning sensation spreads between my shoulder blades.
“Get off me,” I squeal, my heels rising and the toes of my slippers scraping against the concrete.
In response, his free hand curls around the knot of my robe tie, and he yanks me closer.
My chest collides with his bare torso, and the impact ignites something ungodly within me.
I’m spinning, spiraling, so focused on the pressure of Gabriel’s knuckles digging into my stomach that I can’t think straight.
He flexes his grip on the knot and flashes me a look of molten resentment.
Then he pulls.
“No—”
It’s too late. The tie slides out from my belt loops with a friction-filled sweep, and my robe falls open.
A breath of shock leaves my lips, and I jerk my head back, watching helplessly as Gabriel ties my wrists to a looped chain hanging from the ceiling with my own belt. His jaw clenches from the force he uses to give the knot a final tug.
Taking a step back, he folds his arms across his stomach and glares at me. “Lesson two: free yourself.”
The rain thrashes on the roof, my heart beats on my ribs, and the two sounds become indistinguishable from one another. But Gabriel, he’s deadly silent. His expression is pulled taut, but his eyes are all flames and no mercy.
It’s only a matter of time before I feel their heat on my skin.
Because it’s only a matter of time before he realizes I’m not decent.
The air crackles with anticipation; my pulse thrums in my ears. Eventually, his shoulders tighten, his eyes narrow, and bitter regret slithers through them.