CHAPTER FIVE
ELENA
I’ve wondered for three days who is dead: Oliver or Gabriel.
For three days, I’ve wondered why I care. And so for three days, I’ve cooked.
Gabriel’s treehouse is anything but rustic. I crawled to the edge of the platform when he left and stared down at him in the sling, sailing away from me.
Don’t leave. Understand?
Leaving me in a place where I had no idea where anything was, how anything worked, or when or if he would return.
Because I hadn’t told him everything about Oliver. I hadn’t told him about the endless resources at his disposal. The amount of security that surrounds him at all times.
Gabriel never gave me a chance to explain.
Or maybe I never offered.
He left, I screamed. I cried. I made myself coffee.
I explored. I cooked.
The whole treehouse concept seems to work on solar panels. I had no idea how many or where, but they are enough to power my energy consumption and manic food efforts. And the man has a pantry to match my needs. A kitchen stocked with everything I required.
And a bookshelf and bathroom beneath the stars to match.
It was like this man has been custom made to match me, and now he’s gone. I’ve sent him to what is probably his death and to get out of the treehouse, I'll either have to learn to pick a lock or jump.
The only thing Gabriel’s house doesn’t come with is connectivity. Naturally. Why would he need a phone? Or the internet? Or satellite? I suppose that last is pushing it. He has everything else, and enough coffee to outlast even a caffeine addict like me.
When night set in on that first evening, I sat in the far corner of his bed in a pillow fort designed to keep the world out and waited for something to come and eat me.
But.. nothing did.
Nary a squirrel, wild cat, or bug flew into the space.
I have no idea if my mountain man rubbed some sort of oil into the wooden arches or had trained the local wildlife to stay away—I wouldn’t put anything past him at this point.
I still can’t force myself to lie down. So I stare at that spot where he walked backwards off the platform like he might pop back up for no reason at all.
Like he might just return with an easy “honey, I’m home,” and we can play happy families.
But we aren’t, of course.
Don’t leave.
I have no future, and Oliver Markham drove away my past. None of my family speak to me anymore, not even my brothers, not after the way he treated them for the past years. Not that I blame them. They tried, but toxic is toxic and Oliver wears the crown.
I pray that Gabriel finds it and chokes him with it.
Now I sit on the bed that’s not as terrifying, staring into the darkness that’s not as cloying and thick as it was on that first night.
It’s an odd feeling to put all my trust and belief into a stranger that I met a few days ago.
Someone I didn’t know existed and who didn’t know my name, but who heroes me anyway.
What will you give me as payment?
Don’t leave.
I tried. For those first two days I tried so hard.
I worked those locks just like I think he expected.
I kicked the door and a few other things.
I considered trying to slide down the rope even or pulling it back up but he’d done something at his end that made both those actions a one way suicide journey.
I’m not in that much of a hurry to die.
I know what he wants. And the worst part is that even with the conditions that he’s given me, my body refuses to rebel. My mind either.
If he doesn’t return, Oliver wins. I’ll be sitting here, eating the cakes and sweets I’ve baked until he finds me and ends it anyway. I can't fight him anymore. It’s been years and I’ve run out of anger for him.
All that’s left is fear.
If Gabriel does what he’s promised then I can feed him before he collects his…payment.
I swallow hard at the prospect. It’s not that Gabriel isn’t a beautiful man. He is, in a rugged, damaged way. Like me, only more striking. Wild. There’s a sense of procession about him so different to Oliver. My ex wanted a tool. Something he could call on to do a job and nothing more.
Stand here. Do this. Look pretty. Pose and smile.
Now go back in your box and wind down until I need you again, little toy.
Life with Oliver was like a hellish ballet where I was a backup dancer in my own life.
Something tells me that Gabriel’s version of possession will be a different beast, and I'm here for it. You’d think I'd be sick of being treated that way by a man by now, but I’ve never reacted to anyone the way I did when he touched me.
I trust him and that’s beyond huge for me.
That I didn’t want him to leave me alone screamed something to me and I’ve spent the last days deciphering that, and how I feel.
That I want him to come back.
Maybe I want to stay, with some conditions.
Maybe.
Or maybe I want to run. Or fly like he did off the edge.
Or maybe I have no idea what’s going on in my own head. I need to sleep properly tonight and not watch the forest close in around me.
It should be freezing up here, but it’s not.
There are furnaces built in on one side, and the quilts on his oversized bed are ridiculously warm.
I make a marshmallow of them with me in the middle.
It’s like being in the center of a burrito.
When I doze, I topple sideways and as the night darkens, splayed across the bed that's four times too big for a woman my size.
I dream of gazelles chasing lions across mountain ranges and salmon drowning bears in rivers that flow in the wrong direction upstream.
A harsh noise like a chainsaw interrupts my sleep.
I’ve never been a lucid dreamer, but even I know that noise isn’t supposed to be there.
I flap a hand but mine are pressed tight to my sides.
The bear and the salmon are close. Too close.
Water and breath mingle, and one of them can’t breathe.
I forget which one I am in the dream sequence as I try to flail about in the oversized bed and fail.
“Elena. Jesus– What the fuck? Girl. You need help.” An amused voice pierces my dream, bringing me up a level.
I can breathe. I gasp about like a guppy drowning in an excess of fresh air. “Stuck,” I croak. “Salmon don’t talk.”
“Fucked if I know what salmon do, sweetness, but you’ve done a damn fine job of knotting yourself in here.” Large hands glide along my sides and extract me from the bear’s furry grip.
Or maybe it’s the bear who saves me.
My dream sequence is all out of whack as I pry my eyes open and try to unravel the reality before me.
“Gabriel?”
“You ruined my bed, sweetness.” The hands wrapped around me squeeze gently. He seems to have a thing about that. Dark eyes survey me as I piece together the face before me and come up with one I recognize in the darkness. “What are you wearing?”
“Your shirt." It’s still night. The plethora of stars I’ve spent nights studying are studded against midnight velvet, crisp and clear.
Now that I'm out of my marshmallow cocoon, my skin and the night air clash.
A shiver rips through me. “Cold,” I mutter, knotting my legs up and my arms around myself.
The hem of his shirt tugs to the tops of my thighs.
Gabriel’s eyes track the movement. “It looks good on you.”
“The cold?”
“My shirt.” His fingertips trace the edge of the material next to my thighs, starting from the outside and work their way in.
Suddenly I’m not cold at all.
“You were away for three days,” I whisper.
His fingers trace inward and halt at the join of my legs. He pauses, his breaths long and even. “I did what you asked,” he says eventually.
My heart pounds in my chest. “He’s gone?”
Darkness obscures Gabriel Decker's eyes. He doesn’t nod or make any other confirming movement. “Yes.”
I shiver. My reaction has nothing to do with the outside conditions inside Gabriel’s house.
“That’s what you wanted isn’t it, Elena?”
I hold his gaze. “Yes.”
He nods. “Good.” Those fingers press between my legs. “Open.”
I let out a shuddering breath. “I’m not—”
“You’re exactly what I want,” He cuts me off.
“We agreed on the terms before I left. I told you not to leave. The job is done, and here you are.”’ With every word he arches his body over mine a fraction, his hand pressing downward all the time, spreading my legs open as he demanded.
“Is there something I missed, sweetness?”
I fist a hand to his shoulder, barely able to breathe.
“I– I’m not ready for this,” I confess, letting him spread me wide.
The shirt that I stole hitches around my waist, not covering my lower half at all.
I know the moment his hand presses between my legs he’ll find me drenched.
The betrayal I can’t prevent. My cheeks heat as I stare up at him.
“What did you expect?”
“I–” Everything I’ve done seems pithy. Stupid. “It doesn’t matter.”
He freezes, his hand resting at the top of my thigh.
Rough fingers are mere breaths away from touching me and despite my words, I ache.
If I arch my back his hand would be on me and he’ll know how much my body desires exactly what he wants.
My head screams at me as I fight even though I don’t know why.
Some deep seated need to provide more maybe?
To be more than just sex as payment for a job?
But that’s what we agreed to, and I know that.
I do know that.
“It’s nothing,” I repeat, sliding my hand down the front of his Henley.
It’s damp. I press the top patch but he doesn’t wince, just watches me.
Those eyes are unfathomable in the light that refuses to catch his face.
I pull my hand away. Darkness covers it.
I don't need to sniff it to know the tang that covers my skin. “Yours or his?” I whisper.
“His,” Gabriel murmurs. His hand presses between my legs. A hiss elicits between his teeth. “Fuck, sweetness. I thought—”