4. Havoc #2
“What the hell do you want from me?”
You.
Monster answers so fast my cock jerks.
You.
Not an explanation.
Not her secrets.
Not whatever the fuck she’s hiding beneath her skin.
Just her.
All of her.
The realization hits me hard enough to steal my breath.
Because her secrets aren't driving me away. They’re pulling me closer.
I want to know why she looks over her shoulder sometimes. Why exhaustion clings to her. Why she’s working two jobs. What she is. Who hurt her. Who the fuck taught her she had to handle everything alone.
And most of all, I want to know who I have to fucking kill.
Yessss.
Shit.
I wrestle with my beast for control. Because one thing I do know is that none of those answers will change the one thing becoming harder to deny every time I see her.
I want Gabriella Santos.
Want those lush curves against me.
Want that smart mouth turned on me.
Want her scent in my cabin and her laughter in my ears.
Fuck, I even want to know what she looks like first thing in the morning when she’s half asleep and doesn’t have all those defenses locked into place.
Mine.
My fingers loosen around her wrist. Not because I want to release her. Because I need to remember she gets a choice.
Always.
I lean closer instead.
“Outside.”
She blinks.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“I’m working.”
“Gimme five minutes.”
“No.”
“Gabby.”
“Don’t ‘Gabby’ me.”
A couple of heads turn.
I don’t give a shit.
Let them look.
Actually—
Monster growls.
Maybe don’t fucking look.
Her cheeks flush darker. Her scent sharpens with irritation, but underneath it I catch something else.
Something warm.
Interest. Desire.
But beneath even that?
Exhaustion.
Bone-deep fucking exhaustion.
My desire doesn’t disappear.
It changes.
Twists together with something far more dangerous.
The need to take care of her.
Feed her.
Get her off her feet.
Find out what has this stubborn, beautiful female working herself half to death and fucking fix it.
I have no right to feel any of that.
No claim.
No promises between us.
Nothing.
But apparently my instincts don’t give a fuck about technicalities.
Because looking at Gabriella now, tired and pissed off and so damn beautiful I can barely think straight, one thing becomes painfully clear.
Staying away hasn’t killed the attraction. Her secrets haven’t either.
If anything? I want her more.
Fuck.
She’s wary.
Works too hard.
Is too damn tired for this.
For me to be giving her a hard time.
And for some reason, that sends me right over the fucking edge.
I move around the end of the bar.
“Havoc, what the hell are you doing?”
“Taking you outside.”
“You are absolutely not—hey!”
I catch her hand.
Not hard. Never hard. The second my skin touches hers, electricity punches straight up my fucking arm.
Monster goes dead silent.
So do I.
Gabriella stares at our joined hands.
Her lips part.
She feels it. I fucking know she does.
For one dangerous second, I forget why I’m angry. All I can think about is how small her hand feels inside mine.
How warm.
How right.
Mine.
No.
I loosen my grip immediately.
“Come outside. Please.”
Her gaze snaps to mine.
Apparently, the word please coming out of my mouth is shocking enough to accomplish what growling couldn’t.
“Fine,” she hisses. “Five minutes.”
She tells the other bartender she’s taking a break and storms toward the back exit.
I follow. Of course I fucking follow.
The night air hits us hard when the door closes behind me, cutting off most of the music.
Gabriella spins around.
“What the hell is your problem?”
“You.”
Her mouth falls open. Oops. That was the wrong fucking answer.
“My problem is you working yourself into the fucking ground,” I correct.
“That is none of your business.”
“Come on, Gabby.”
“What I do or don’t do has nothing to do with you!”
“I want to know why you need to do this. Why you’re here instead of home with Matteo—”
“That is not your business. Do not bring my son into this like I don't know exactly where my child is or what he needs. I’m a good mother. Don’t you dare insinuate otherwise.”
That stings.
Fuck.
“I didn’t mean it like that. Anyone with eyes knows you’re a good mother. But you’re working too hard.”
“I told you, I need the money.”
The answer lands harder than it should.
“Let me—”
I stop.
Let me what?
Pay her bills?
Jesus fucking Christ.
I really have lost my mind.
Gabriella catches it anyway.
“Let you what?”
“Nothing.”
“Exactly.”
She turns. I catch her arm.
Again, gently.
“Gabby.”
She looks down at my hand.
I release her immediately.
“I didn’t mean to sound like I was judging.”
“Then what did you mean?”
Fuck.
I rake a hand through my hair.
“I mean you’re running yourself ragged.”
“And?”
“And I don't fucking like it!”
“Too fucking bad!”
The words crack between us.
Monster shoves against my skin.
Not angry with her.
Never her.
Frantic.
Protect.
Feed.
Shelter.
Mine.
I shove him back.
Gabriella takes one step closer instead of retreating.
Brave little thing.