4. Gabriel
Chapter 4
Gabriel
Two hours later, Dr. Sanderson reappears. I stand as he approaches, my gaze narrowing on his face for any sign of what he’s about to tell me. As usual, his expression is neutral.
The doc stops in front of me, meeting my eyes. “She was lucky. The wound was deep, but the knife missed the three major arteries running through the shoulder.”
Relief pours through me at his words. I’m not ready to examine why a woman I’ve just met instigates such a visceral reaction.
“She’s malnourished and dehydrated, so I’ve given her fluids,” Dr. Sanderson continues. “The CT scan shows no sign of brain swelling or clots, so we can exclude a concussion or worse, although I’ll continue to monitor her.” He pauses for a moment as if choosing his words carefully. “Her physical condition suggests she’s been struggling for a while. The X-rays showed recently healed rib fractures, and she has scars from older injuries. My guess is she’s escaped from an abusive situation.”
Fury ices the blood in my veins. Someone put their hands on her? Beat her? God help the fucker if I catch up with him.
“Will she make a full recovery?”
Dr. Sanderson considers this for a moment. “Physically, yes, with a few weeks of proper care and some physio. But my intuition tells me she’ll need more than physical healing. Psychological wounds”—he shrugs—“those take much longer to heal. She’ll need time and a safe place to recover.”
I understand the weight behind his words. I saw it in my SEAL days—bodies mending faster than minds, scars lingering long after the wounds closed.
Nodding, I resolve, “She’ll have it.” It's a vow, one I intend to keep. “Now that she’s stable, I’ll move her to my penthouse with whatever she needs.”
Dr. Sanderson frowns. “It may be better if she stays here?— ”
“Will moving her endanger her recovery?”
“Well, no, but?—”
“Good. I’ll have whatever medical equipment she needs moved up to my penthouse. Choose two of your nurses to change her dressings and administer her drugs.”
“As you wish. I’ll check in with her regularly, of course, to ensure she doesn’t develop an infection. For now, I’ve given her antibiotics and something for the pain. The nurses have bathed her and washed her hair. She should sleep for the next twenty-four hours or so.”
I exhale deeply, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly. “Thank you, Doc.”
“Just doing my job. I’ll be around if you need me.” Dr. Sanderson nods and scurries off.
“How’s she doing?”
I turn to see Ed striding toward me. “She’s stable. What did you find out?”
“Nothing on the guy who attacked her in the alley. I ran the bat logo you described on his hat through the database, but it came up blank. It must be a bespoke logo. I have Luther looking into it, but we have little to nothing to go on. ”
I nod abruptly. “What about Wren?”
“Wren Roberts. Twenty-one years old. Last known address in Petwood.”
I grimace. While Petwood isn't as dangerous as some other neighborhoods in Washington, DC, it has some very undesirable areas. Petty theft, pick-pocketing, and muggings are constant problems despite an increased police presence.
“She’s on a first dollar program at Clark Community College, studying for an associate degree in business. Father, Lawrence, died in a hit and run when she was six.”
Ed pauses, swallowing hard. I wait patiently, knowing that information is close to home for him.
“Mother, Lori Sanchez, remarried when Wren was ten. No police record, unlike her husband, Gregory Sanchez, who has priors for possession and theft. There was also an allegation of sex with a minor, which was later dropped due to lack of evidence.”
My fists clench at my sides as fury blasts through my bloodstream. “Please tell me it wasn’t Wren.”
“No, the allegation wasn’t from Wren. But that’s not to say…” Ed trails off, his expression grim.
I nod, my jaw clenched so hard I’m surprised I don’t shatter my molars. “Would explain her previous injuries and why she’s on the streets.”
“What are you thinking, Gabe?” Ed asks, knowing me well enough to see the wheels turning in my mind.
I shake my head, confused by my emotions over a woman who was a stranger an hour ago. “That no way is she going back to that life. There’s something about her, Ed. I can’t walk away.”
Ed smiles knowingly, his eyes reflecting a depth of understanding. “The fall is hard and fast for men like us.”
I frown. “The fall?”
“Into love.”
“Jesus, I only met her an hour ago,” I snap.
Ed shrugs. “I knew the second I saw Meg. Two weeks later, I put a ring on her finger.”
“Exception to the rule,” I mutter.
He shrugs. “Maybe. But I know better than anyone how quickly it can all be taken away.”
His words hit home. Not only did he lose his wife, but death hung over us daily when we were on active duty. The precariousness of life has a way of crystalizing what’s important .
“Take Luther and Ethan and check out the house,” I say, naming two of our best men. “Report back to me.”
Ed nods and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Go and see her, brother. I’ll take care of everything else.”
“Thanks, Ed,” I say gratefully.
Walking along the corridor, I enter Wren’s room. And come to a halt. My breath stalls in my lungs. Wren may be pale and injured, but stunning doesn’t begin to cover the vision lying motionless beneath the stark white sheet.
I’m entranced. Dear God, who knew the beauty that existed beneath the street grime?
I can’t stop staring, my eyes roaming greedily over her, desperate to gather every detail. Full lips, high cheekbones, heart-shaped face. Silver-blonde hair ripples over the pillow, and her ivory skin glows under the dim lighting.
I settle into the chair beside her bed, my gaze never straying far from her still form. She’s a decade too young for me and looks so fucking innocent.
You can’t keep her.
The words swirl in my mind. Damned if I don’t want to, though. The desire to make her mine is inexplicable. Would she want that? The kind of relationship I crave?
I rake a hand through my hair. Fuck, I’m getting way ahead of myself. She needs to heal. Then I’ll ensure she’s taken care of financially and send her on her way. It’s for the best.
Liar.
I ignore the treacherous voice in my head and walk to the large glass window overlooking the city. The world moves below—cars, lights, people—all continuing in the never-ending cycle of life.
Wren’s circumstances suggest a past etched with strife. What—or who—drove her to the streets? That fucker, Gregory Sanchez? If he’s the one responsible for hurting her, he’ll pay with his life. Anger and sorrow swirl in my gut. Anger that the world has treated her so cruelly and sorrow for the aching loneliness I saw in her eyes earlier—a loneliness that echoed mine.
A quiet moan breaks my reverie. Turning swiftly, I see Wren stir. Her face twists in discomfort, and a faint whimper escapes her lips, her brows knitting together.
I’m at her side in an instant. “It’s okay. You’re safe,” I say softly, hoping my voice will cut through whatever nightmare holds her .
Blue eyes lock onto mine as her eyelids flutter open. For a moment, terror paints her features before recognition slowly replaces the fear, and her gaze softens.
“My handsome angel,” she whispers, her mouth curving into a dreamy smile. “I thought I imagined you.”
I smooth her hair away from her face. “Rest now. You’re safe here.”
Something loosens in my chest as she sighs and her eyes drift shut once more. A single second in time, and just like that, my plan to send her on her way once she’s healed nosedives out the large window. Decision made. No prior planning or thought. There’s something extraordinary about her, something that tugs at my heart in a way I don’t fully understand. Every atom of my being screams that she’s mine.
Everything has changed tonight. For her and for me. I don’t give a fuck if I’m too old for her. Fate brought her to me, and I intend to keep her. I want her. It would be stupid to deny it when my cock throbs painfully at the fly of my pants. But it’s not just physical. She’s the one I’ve been waiting for.
For the first time in a long while, a sense of purpose unrelated to my business washes over me. I know exactly what I need to do. I’m not just a CEO closing deals; I’m someone who can make a difference in Wren’s life. She’s already made a difference to mine.
I want to know her story, to understand her struggle, yet I know patience is key. Trust is fragile, a delicate thread that can snap under pressure. She needs someone to support and encourage her, draw her out so she’s the best version of herself. That someone will be me. But in the meantime, she’ll have everything she needs: clothes, food, medical care, and, most importantly, safety.
I return to my seat, keeping vigil, pulling out my phone as it buzzes in my pocket. “Ed?”
“We’re at the house. The place is cleaned out, almost like they had a heads-up. No one here but the mother. She’s in a bad way. Needs medical attention. Shall I bring her in?”
“No. She needs specialist help, which we can’t provide here. Call Cassio,” I say, naming a guy from our unit who set up a rehabilitation center when we left the SEALs. “Have him bill me personally for her care.”
“On it.”
A few hours later, Dr. Sanderson returns to check on Wren again. He nods and clucks his tongue in satisfaction, declaring that there are no signs of fever. Once he’s done, I have her moved to one of the spare rooms in my penthouse, along with everything she’ll need. She doesn’t stir as I gently transfer her to the enormous bed, still under the influence of the pain meds the doc gave her.
Sinking into the armchair beside her, I watch over her as she sleeps fitfully. Eventually, her breathing evens out, and color returns to her cheeks. The rhythmic rise and fall of her chest is reassuring.
Light filters through the blinds as dawn breaks, casting a soft glow over the room. She stirs, her eyes fluttering open, confusion evident in the depths of her blue gaze.
“Hey, little bird,” I say softly, the nickname forming naturally on my lips.
She turns her head slowly on the pillow, focusing on me. “Hey,” she croaks.
I stand and move toward the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“My shoulder and arm hurt like a bitch.” She glances down at her bandaged shoulder. “At least it wasn’t my right side. I can still wipe my ass. ”
“Easy there,” I murmur as she tries to prop herself up and winces at the pain. I move closer to help her. “Don’t strain yourself.”
I watch as she takes in the room with wide eyes. She grips the sheet tightly with her right hand as she huddles beneath it. She’s nervous. It’s like she’s trying to make herself as small as possible and fade into the walls.
My pulse throbs in tandem with my cock as she shyly lifts her eyes to meet mine. I swallow thickly. Fuck , she’s stunning. Her beauty hits me like a truck. Those blue eyes hold me captive, making it impossible to look away. Simply looking at her banishes some of the shadows inside me. My entire body heats, humming with excitement. All I can think about is how badly I want to touch her. I’m staring, but I can’t help it. I’ve never had this kind of reaction to a woman.
Her gaze is wary as it roams the room, taking in the luxurious surroundings. Can’t blame her. I’d be distrustful in her situation.
After a minute, her confusion gives way to a tentative relaxation. “This isn’t a hospital.”
“No, but I promise you it’s better than any hospital you’ll find in the state,” I tell her, noting her cracked lips. “Here.” I reach for the glass of water on the side table. “Drink slowly if you’re thirsty.”
Wren nods as I slide a hand under her head for support while she drinks. “Thank you,” she says, her voice heavy with exhaustion. “Who... who are you?”
“Gabriel Burns. This is my building. I have medical facilities here. My doctor treated your wound.”
She blinks slowly, struggling to focus, the sedative still affecting her. “Why... why would you do that? Bring me here. Help me? You don’t... you don’t even know me.”
My chest tightens at the vulnerability in her voice, and I bite back my initial response. Because I’m the selfish bastard who wants to keep you. “I understand why you’re wary. You’ve been through a lot, and trust doesn’t come easy when you’ve been hurt.”
“Everyone I’ve trusted has let me down,” she murmurs, her voice almost a whisper. Her eyes flutter closed for a moment, as if the weight of her words is too much to bear. When she opens them again, they’re filled with confusion and suspicion. “It doesn’t make sense that you’d help me.”
My heart twinges at the worried little crease between her brows. “I couldn’t leave you there in that alley to die,” I say, my voice filled with a conviction I haven’t felt in years. “You needed help, and I couldn’t walk away.”
“People don’t do things... just to be kind,” she says, her voice cracking with the weight of past betrayals. “They always... want something.” She looks away, tears pooling in her eyes. “I don’t know you. How do I know you won’t... hurt me?”
Fuck. I want to kill whoever taught her to fear others so deeply. Unable to resist, I move closer, smoothing her disheveled hair from her face. My fingers barely brush her smooth cheek, but it’s enough to send electricity surging up my arm to spread through my chest, sending every nerve in my body on alert. Her expression is guarded, but she doesn’t move away. I’ll take that as a win.
“Why would I hurt you?” I ask softly. “You saved my life.”
“Yeah, well, it was my fault you were in danger in the first place,” she points out wearily.
I don’t like seeing her so defeated. The information I’ve learned about her tells me this woman is a fighter and has had to battle for everything.
“Do you know the man who attacked you?”
Wren shakes her head, sinking back against the pillows, her face pale. “No. I was on my way to St. Mary’s when he jumped me. I stay at the shelter as often as I can.” She shivers. “It’s safer than spending the night on the streets.”
“I’ll contact Bass, the owner. See if he knows anything about the guy. He’ll pay for what he did, Wren,” I promise.
She looks at me suspiciously. “You know Bass?”
I nod. “Sebastian Jameson. He set up shelters all over the city after he lost his sister.”
Wren nods sadly. “Bass is a good man. He patched up my knee when…” She trails off, biting her lip.
I frown. “When what?”
Wren sighs, looking utterly exhausted. “I got in with a bad crowd. They told me there was safety in numbers on the streets and that we’d look out for each other. They lied. Roughed me up a little and took the last of my belongings.” Her laugh is bitter. “Not that it amounted to much.”
Jesus. How is she here, still fighting after all the betrayals? Still unselfish enough to throw herself in front of a knife to save a stranger?
“Bass told me about his sister,” she continues, unaware of the anger vibrating through me. “Losing a loved one is tough. You never get over it. ”
“You know that better than most, don’t you, Wren?” I ask softly. “After losing your father so young.”
Her eyes flare with panic. “How do you know about my father?”
I smile. “Oh, I know everything about you, Wren Roberts.”