3. Gabriel
Chapter 3
Gabriel
Four Weeks Later
I sit in the backseat of the car, my mind occupied with the details of today’s deal—a multi-billion-dollar government security contract that will secure my company’s place at the top. This has been months in the making, with countless sleepless nights and relentless questions to prove that Burns SafeGuard is the only choice for all their security needs.
The city glows outside the window, rain streaking the glass and turning the lights into colorful smears. Despite the success etched in today's deal, I carry an emptiness that wealth and power can't seem to fill—a hollow that echoes louder with each victory .
Ed, my driver, head of security, and closest friend, is at the wheel. He's navigated many terrains beside me, first as a Navy SEAL and now in this new battlefield of boardrooms. We grew up together from humble beginnings, rising from the same small neighborhood, our bond forged through hardship and unwavering loyalty. Each scar and medal on Ed's chest tells a story, much like mine, though our wars are now fought across very different fields.
“Remember when we were kids, Gabe?” Ed asks, breaking the comfortable silence. “We dreamed about this, about making it big.”
I chuckle, the memory warming me from the inside out. The simplicity of those dreams, untainted by the complexities of the adult world, seems so distant now. “Yeah, we thought having a luxury car and a fancy home would solve all our problems. Look at us now, closing deals in government safe houses.”
Ed glances at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Yeah, here we are. Yet you still look like something’s missing.”
Never one to shy away from speaking his mind, his perpetual calm and resilience keep me grounded and give me perspective.
“Maybe I’ve forgotten how to celebrate wins that aren’t on the battlefield.” I sigh, my gaze drifting back to the rain-slick streets. The neon lights reflect off the wet pavement, creating a surreal, almost melancholic glow. “Or maybe I’m fucking tired of having no one to share it with.”
“You need to blow off steam, brother. Go and get laid.” Ed smirks. “You know it’ll fall off eventually if you don’t use it, right? How long has it been, anyway?”
“None of your fucking business,” I grunt.
“Too damned long. I know you’re waiting for this mythical woman to complete you, but your cock will shrivel up into a button mushroom if you don’t use it soon. What use is that to anyone?” He shakes his head in disgust.
“Says the man who’s been celibate for the last ten years,” I scoff.
Ed’s mouth tightens. “And you know why.”
“Gotta move on sometime, Ed. She wouldn’t want you to live the rest of your life alone.”
My friend’s eyes are filled with pain as they flick to me in the rearview mirror. “Meg was it for me,” he grits. “You only get that kind of love once in a lifetime. ”
I was with Ed when he got the phone call informing him that his wife had been killed in a hit-and-run. I was with him when he buried her. I was with him when he fell apart and looked for answers he’d never find at the bottom of a bottle. And I was with him when he checked himself into rehab. We’ve been through hell together and come out the other side.
I purse my lips. “Maybe. Maybe not. But you’re a brave man, my friend, and risking your heart again is one of the most courageous things you could ever do.”
“Jesus, I wish I’d never bought you that fucking book of positive affirmations,” Ed grumbles, unimpressed.
My gaze wanders out the car window as I chuckle. That’s when I see it—a tussle in a narrow alleyway. The shadows move erratically, two figures locked in a desperate struggle. One small and quick, the other large and menacing, under the dim streetlamp. It looks like a child. My instincts flare to life, the sense of urgency overpowering any sense of safety.
“Ed, stop the car,” I command, already reaching for the door.
Ed hits the breaks. “What the fuck?— ”
I'm already out of the car and sprinting through the rain toward the alley without waiting for Ed. My dress shoes splash through puddles, and the icy rain seeps into my expensive tailored suit. The world narrows to the immediate threat at hand. The familiar rush of adrenaline courses through me, the raw, primal urgency reminiscent of my time in combat. The figures in the alley come into clearer view, and my heart pounds harder.
“Hey!” My voice echoes through the deserted night, deliberately drawing the attention of the man accosting the smaller figure.
He spins to face me. Tall, stocky, eyes wild like he’s high. The black beanie on his head has a white bat skeleton logo. A knife in his hand glints wickedly in the faint light as he shoves his victim—a young boy—against the wall. The lad’s head smacks the concrete, and he slides down the wall, landing in a crumpled heap.
My hand goes to my Glock in my shoulder holster, but the attacker is already barreling toward me. Shit. Why didn’t I draw my damn weapon when I left the car? I curse myself. Getting rusty, Burns.
I brace myself, instincts honed by years in the military surging to the forefront. I have no choice but to tackle him head-on, ducking to avoid the slash of his blade .
“This has nothing to do with you, asshole,” he spits. “Little fucker needs to be set free. They all need to be set free.”
Set free? What the fuck is he talking about?
“Maybe he doesn’t want to be set free,” I growl, watching him carefully to determine his next move.
He lunges again, but I’m ready for him this time. I use his momentum against him, twisting his arm behind his back and head-butting him.
He howls as his nose shatters and blood joins the rain streaming down his face. Before he can recover, I follow through with an uppercut, sending him sprawling unconscious into the dark alley.
Without missing a beat, I move to the young boy. Crouching, I check him over efficiently to see if he has any injuries. As I slide my hands over his shoulders and down his chest, his eyes pop open. Cornflower blue orbs framed by thick lashes blink up at me, and I almost rock back on my heels at the impact. Fuck, not a young boy at all, but a girl… no, a woman.
“Do you always cop a feel of half-conscious females?” she slurs, clearly dazed.
Shit. I suddenly realize my hands are covering her breasts.
She slaps my hands away and winces, touching her fingers to the back of her head. Bringing her hand in front of her face, she grimaces when she sees the blood on her fingers.
I hold up my hands, palms facing her. “Steady. You took a hard knock. You could have a concussion,” I warn, trying to keep her calm when I see the fear in her eyes. “I won’t hurt you. I saw you were in trouble and?—”
“No!”
She shoves me hard with a strength her thin body shouldn’t possess, taking me by surprise and toppling me backward.
“What the fuck?” I grunt as I land ass-first in a puddle. “I told you I wasn’t going to?—”
I catch movement in my peripheral vision a second too late. The fucker is back on his feet, knife in hand, as he plunges it toward me. I throw up an arm to block the blow, but she’s already there, lunging between me and the blade about to embed itself in my neck. The knife misses its intended target but rams into her instead. Her scream rips through the air, and she clutches her shoulder as the attacker yanks the blade free.
Where the fuck is Ed?
The thought barely forms before a gunshot rings out, and debris explodes from the wall two inches from the soon-to-be-dead fucker’s head. He curses and bolts into the shadows of the alley as Ed fires off another shot.
“Gabe?” Ed barks, his expression tense. His gun is still raised, his eyes on the fleeing man.
“I’m good. If you catch him, he’s mine. Go!” I shout.
Ed nods in understanding and takes off in pursuit.
I drop to my knees beside the fallen woman. Blood pools darkly on the wet pavement, mixing with the rainwater in grotesque patterns. Lifting her head gently into my lap, I tug off my jacket. Wadding it, I press it against her shoulder to stem the bleeding.
“Silly, brave little fool,” I growl as her eyelids flicker open. Seeing her wounded has unsettled me in a way I’ve never experienced before.
“Couldn’t… let him… hurt you,” she slurs, her eyes hazy with pain.
“Better me than you,” I mutter, pressing harder on her wound .
She whimpers. “Hurts.”
My chest tightens at the pain etched on her face. “I know, sweetheart. I’ve got you. Help is coming.”
Keeping one hand pressed against the wound, I fumble in my pocket for my cell as Ed reappears, breathing heavily.
“Lost him,” he says, grim-faced.
“Fuck.” I shake my head. “Never mind that now. Call Luther to clean up here and let Dr Sanderson know we’re en route with a patient with a stab wound,” I instruct, not wanting to relinquish my pressure on her shoulder.“And grab that,” I add, indicating the grubby backpack a few feet away.
Ed grabs the backpack and makes the call, his voice a controlled mix of urgency and authority as he explains the situation.
I look down at the woman who saved my life. Threw herself between me and the attacker’s blade without a thought for her safety. “You’re going to be okay. We’re taking you to a doctor,” I tell her, my voice firm as I lift her gently, hoping to instill a sense of calm and reassurance amidst the chaos.
“Not hospital,” she croaks. “No insurance.”
“No, not a hospital, but close. And don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of you.” I’m unsure why I added the last part, only that it sounded right.
“Please... don’t... leave,” she whispers, her voice barely audible, each breath a struggle. “Everyone… leaves me.” Her face is ghostly pale, her hair plastered to her forehead by the relentless rain. She trembles, her lips blue from the cold.
“I'm not leaving you,” I promise, pressing firmly against her shoulder as I cradle her against me. “Trust me.”
She nods, an almost imperceptible movement of her head.
Fierce protectiveness surges through me and grips my heart. “What’s your name?” I ask, trying to keep her conscious as I follow Ed to the car.
“Wren,” she murmurs, her voice fading. Her eyes, though tired and scared, cling to me, seeking reassurance.
I’ve never met anyone called Wren, but it suits her. Delicate. A wounded little bird.
“Stay with me, Wren,” I urge, my voice rough with an emotion I can’t put a name to right now. “We’re taking you somewhere safe.”
Ed glances at Wren, his eyes filled with the same concern as me and a quiet rage at the senseless violence.
“What took you so long?” I ask my friend.
Ed throws me a glare. “You leaped out of the damn car in the middle of the street and took off like some avenging angel before I had a chance to park and grab my piece.”
“Too proud to admit you’re getting slow, old man?” I taunt him, hitting him where it hurts. At forty, Ed is two years older than me, a fact he hates to be reminded of.
“Never. And you’re no spring chicken yourself, Methuselah,” he grunts, the smile twitching at the corners of his mouth belying his harsh tone. Our banter is a leftover from our days in the military in high-stress situations.
Wren lets out a small moan as we reach the car. She’s fragile, but each shuddering breath is a testament to her will to survive.
Ed opens the door and reaches out to take her from my arms while I climb inside.
“No.” I shake my head. “I have her.” I don’t want anyone touching her, not even Ed.
I clutch Wren as I duck inside and settle in the backseat, trying not to examine my possessiveness too closely.
Ed slides behind the wheel, starts the engine, and guns it toward my building.
The ride is tense, each second stretching into an eternity. The soft hum of the engine and the rhythmic sound of the windshield wipers against the rain-soaked glass create an almost hypnotic backdrop to the chaos in my mind.
I hold Wren close, her damp hair clinging to her face, shivers shaking her body. It’s clear she’s been living on the streets for a while, judging by the dirt covering her ragged clothing and pale face.
Ed maneuvers the car with precision, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror, a mix of concern and determination etched in his features. “She’s tough. She’ll make it,” he reassures me, though his grip on the wheel suggests otherwise.
I nod and lift my wadded jacket to check her wound. “Looks like the bleeding has slowed, but I don’t like how pale she is or her shallow breathing.”
Ed nods. “Almost there. The doc is waiting.”
“Hang on, little bird,” I murmur, smoothing her hair from her damp forehead. “Just hang on. ”
Wren’s eyes open, her eyes glassy. “Handsome angel,” she slurs, lifting a chilled hand to my face as if to prove I’m real. “I like this dream better… than the nightmares.” She sighs, and her eyelids slip closed again.
Nightmares?
My mind races with a thousand theories about why she was on the streets alone, few of them good.
“What’s your story?” I whisper, holding her limp hand to my cheek and pressing a kiss to her palm. I have no fucking idea what’s come over me, but my reaction to this woman is unexpectedly visceral.
A mix of lights and shadows blur past as we enter the city and make our way to my high-rise home—a sanctuary of glass and steel above the bustling city. I bought the entire building when I made my first billion, and it houses my entire operation, including staff, a fully equipped medical facility, and a surgeon and medical team on my payroll. The lower floors contain apartments for my inner circle and the offices of Burns SafeGuard. The building surrounds a large courtyard garden where staff can enjoy lunch or grab some fresh air on their breaks.
In my business, I like having everything within reach, under one roof. Every person who works for me is scrutinized and vetted thoroughly. I hire the best because I expect the best when working for government officials and high-profile celebrities who entrust us with their safety and security.
Dr. Sanderson is waiting as we pull into the underground garage, his presence a silent, reassuring force. I carefully exit the car, carrying Wren to the waiting gurney. I’m oddly reluctant to let her go, but I know she needs Dr. Sanderson’s expertise.
“Who is she?” the doc asks, his tone brisk.
“Her name is Wren. Knife wound to the shoulder. She’s lost a lot of blood and has a possible concussion,” I reply, the memory of the struggle flashing vividly in my mind. “Someone attacked her in an alley, and I intervened. I thought I put the guy down, but next thing I knew, she was throwing herself between me and his blade.”
Dr. Sanderson nods, his expression grim. “My team is waiting. We need blood tests, X-rays, and a CT scan.”
We ascend one floor in the elevator to the medical unit, and the doc barks orders to his staff the second the doors swish open. The warmth and opulence of our surroundings contrast sharply with the cold, grimy alley we left behind. Everything here speaks of a life of comfort and privilege, yet it feels superficial compared to the current situation.
I follow as Wren is taken to one of the treatment rooms, but Ed places a hand on my shoulder.
“Let the doc do his work. You’ll only get in the way,” he says firmly.
Clenching my fists, I quell the surge of protectiveness. Although why I’m so reluctant to let Wren out of my sight is a mystery.
Because she saved your life.
Yeah, that’s it. That’s why seeing Dr Sanderson wheel her away from me has me gritting my teeth. The city, ruthless as ever, nearly swallowed Wren whole tonight.
“See what you can find out,” I tell Ed.
He nods and heads back to the elevator while I settle in to wait.