13. Gabriella #2
The answer comes way too fast. His golden eyes warm.
“Liar.”
“Fuck you.”
“There she is.”
My stomach flips.
Goddammit.
I've missed him.
I have actually missed this obnoxious, growling, overbearing bastard. His thumb moves across the inside of my wrist.
One stroke. Barely anything. My entire body lights up.
His nostrils flare.
Oh, shit.
He smells it. Whatever just happened to my scent?
Arousal. Emotions. Fate.
He knows.
His gaze darkens.
My lips part.
For one impossible second, the whole damn room disappears.
No bridesmaids. No karaoke machine. No sour beer soaking my shirt.
There’s just him. His hand around my wrist. My palm against his chest.
Those golden eyes looking at me like he's been starving all week and I'm the first thing he's seen that might finally satisfy him.
His voice drops.
“I needed to see you.”
My heart stops.
“What?”
“I—”
“Oh my God!” Lindsey's shriek cuts between us.
Havoc's entire body goes rigid. His head turns slowly.
The expression that crosses his face is enough to make my blood run cold.
Because Lindsey is pointing at us.
More specifically? At Havoc. And she looks absolutely delighted.
“Well, look who finally decided to show up.”
The women behind Lindsey erupt into excited squeals.
I frown.
Havoc goes completely still.
The hand around my wrist tightens—not painfully, but possessively. Like releasing me isn’t even a possibility he’s considering.
His Wolf suddenly feels very, very close.
“Holy shit, Margo!” one of the bridesmaids shrieks. “You got Lindsey a stripper?”
“What?” Lindsey practically screeches. “Oh my God, you did!”
“I did not!”
“Well, somebody fucking did.”
The room explodes.
Women start laughing and clapping. Someone whistles. Another one starts chanting, “Strip-per! Strip-per!” like we’re at some drunken college party instead of a dive bar in Ember Hollow.
And Havoc? Havoc looks like he’s contemplating mass murder.
I bite the inside of my cheek. Because I probably shouldn’t find this funny.
Especially when the Wolf in question looks like he could bench-press the entire bar while stomping the karaoke machine.
But after the night these women have given me?
Yeah. Maybe I enjoy his horrified expression just a little.
One particularly drunk brunette looks Havoc up and down.
Slowly.
Appreciatively.
And that riles the beast in me more than I’d care to admit.
“Damn, Lindsey. Somebody went all out.”
Havoc’s golden eyes narrow.
“I’m not a fucking stripper.”
That only makes them laugh harder.
“Oh, sure you’re not,” another woman says.
“I’m not.”
“Then why are you dressed like that?”
I glance at him.
Jeans. Black T-shirt stretched obscenely tight across a massive chest. Boots. Tattoos. Blond hair still slightly damp in a knot on top of his head, sides freshly shaven.
Honestly? They have a point.
I cover my mouth. Havoc’s gaze snaps to me.
“Don't you dare.”
My shoulders shake.
“I didn't say anything.”
“You're fucking laughing.”
“I am not.”
His eyes narrow.
“Honey Girl, I’m gonna spank your ass red you keep laughing.”
That shuts me up. And it also makes my panties wet. Mostly because of the way he says it.
Low. Rough. Intimate.
The brunette notices too. Her eyes bounce between us. Then she grins.
“Ohhh. Are you supposed to pretend you're here for the bartender first?”
“What?”
“Like part of the act. Then you ditch the trash for me!”
Lindsey claps. She steps toward Havoc. My hidden nature immediately bristles.
I don't like that.
Not one fucking bit.
Which is ridiculous. Havoc isn't mine. Except something deep inside me suddenly has very strong opinions on that subject.
The brunette reaches for the hem of his T-shirt.
She actually gets two fingers against his stomach before Havoc jerks away like she tried to burn him. A snarl rips out of him.
“Get your fucking hands off me.”
The room goes silent.
Instantly.
Every giggle dies.
Every drunken smile disappears.
Havoc straightens to his full, terrifying height. His eyes blaze gold.
“I said I'm not a fucking stripper. And I don’t remember giving you permission to put your hands anywhere near me.”
The brunette's hand drops.
“I—I was just—”
“I don't give a fuck what you were doing. Don't fucking touch me.”
Something hot and embarrassingly pleased unfurls inside my chest.
His gaze immediately finds mine. And the aggression changes. Doesn't disappear.
Just... redirects.
His thumb strokes once over the inside of my wrist.
“There’s only one woman’s hands I want on me. I came here for Gabby.”
Oh.
My.
Goddess.
The entire room might as well disappear.
Lindsey blinks.
“Wait. Are you saying you actually came here for her?”
Havoc bares his teeth.
“Damn straight. You got a problem with that?”
“What? Um. No.” The bride-to-be sputters.
“Good. Not that I give a shit if you do.”
My pulse is pounding so hard I'm certain he can hear it.
He came here for me.
After disappearing for days. After fighting a wildfire. After getting hurt badly enough that I can smell healing flesh beneath his clean soap and Wolf scent.
He came here.
For me.
I swallow.
“Havoc—”
“Needed to see you, Honey Girl.”
That same terrifyingly vulnerable look crosses his face again, like admitting that costs him something. My heart turns over.
Then Lindsey gives a drunken little laugh and waves one manicured hand through the air.
“Well, whatever. If he’s not our stripper, can somebody call the actual one?”
Havoc doesn’t even look at her. He’s looking at me.
Only me.
Those molten-gold eyes drag over my face like he’s checking for damage, like he’s been gone for a fucking year instead of a week. His hand is still wrapped around my wrist, his thumb pressed directly over my racing pulse.
And suddenly, I’m not laughing anymore.
Because something is happening here.
Something big.
I feel it gathering between us. My hidden nature feels it too.
She stretches beneath my skin, restless and strangely eager, drawn toward the enormous Wolf standing in front of me.
Havoc inhales.
His nostrils flare.
His eyes burn brighter.
“Gabby.”
Just my name. But Christ, the way he says it.
Like a plea wrapped inside a growl.
Before I can answer, Dick comes barreling around the corner.
“What the hell is going on back here?”
Havoc finally looks away from me.
“Gabby’s done for the night.”
My mouth drops open.
Dick blinks.
“Excuse me?”
“I said she’s done.”
Oh, hell no. I yank my wrist free.
“Havoc—”
“I paid her an extra hundred dollars for this party,” Dick says.
Havoc reaches into his back pocket, pulls out his wallet, and drops two hundred-dollar bills onto the nearest table.
“There.”
I stare at the money. Then at him.
“You cannot buy me out of my shift,” I whisper-scream at him.
“Wasn’t buying you.”
“You just paid my boss.”
“Compensated him.”
“That’s the same fucking thing!”
“No, it isn't.”
Dick snatches up the money.
Traitor.
“Have a nice night, Gabby. See you Thursday.”
“Dick!”
“What?” He shrugs. “You’ve been here all damn day, you fixed my keg, and these women are assholes.”
“Hey!” Lindsey protests.
Dick points toward the front.
“Your stripper’s late. Call the company.”
Then the bastard walks away. I turn slowly toward Havoc.
“You are unbelievable.”
“Been called worse.”
“I am working.”
“Not anymore.”
“You don't get to decide that!”
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yeah.” He steps closer. “You wanna stay, stay.”
I blink.
That was surprisingly reasonable. Then he leans down until his mouth is beside my ear.
“But I'm going outside now, Honey Girl, and I'm asking you to come with me.”
A shiver races down my spine.
Asking.
Not ordering.
Not dragging.
Asking.
His breath ghosts over my skin.
“Please.”
Fuck.
That one word destroys every sensible thought in my head.
Havoc straightens. For a second, neither of us moves.
Then he turns and walks away. And for some mad, reckless, absolutely inexplicable reason?
I follow him.
Of course I fucking do.
Because apparently self-preservation is no longer one of my dominant personality traits.
The cold October air hits my overheated skin the second we step outside.
Dick’s sits on the edge of Ember Hollow’s little downtown strip, and Friday-night traffic rolls lazily past while music pulses through the walls behind us. Somewhere farther down the street, people are laughing.
Havoc keeps walking.
I follow him around the side of the building into the gravel lot. His truck is parked beneath one of the lights.
He stops beside it. Turns. And just looks at me.
The parking lot suddenly feels impossibly quiet.
“Havoc?”
His chest rises.
Falls.
Those golden eyes move over me again.
“Call me Rowan.”
“You-you didn’t want me to call you that last time—”
“I know. But I want to hear you say my name, Gabriella.”
Oh. Wow.
I step closer.
“Rowan,” I whisper.
There’s a charge in the air. Electricity. Ozone. I don’t know what. But I feel it. And it’s all pulling me to him.
He growls. His eyes are glowing. Then his lips part.
“You smell like fucking beer.”
I blink.
“Excuse me?”
“IPA.”
“Oh my God.”
Of all the things—I throw my hands up.
“I spent half an hour fighting with a keg because apparently bartending now requires a degree in mechanical engineering. Sorry I didn't shower before you decided to storm into my job and fire me.”
“I didn't fire you.”
“You paid Dick to send me home!”
His mouth twitches.
“Different.”
“You are infuriating.”
“I know.”
“And bossy.”
“Yeah.”
“Possessive.”
His expression changes.
That one hits. Havoc takes a step toward me.
“Yeah. I am.”
My breath catches. He takes another step. My body heats.
“Rowan.”
“I tried staying away from you.”
All my anger falters.
“What?”
“I fucking tried, Gabby.”
The rawness in his voice steals whatever smart-ass answer I might've made.
“I told myself you didn't need some fucked-up Wolf sniffing around you. Told myself you have Matteo to worry about. Told myself whatever Monster thinks he knows about you doesn't fucking matter.”
His jaw clenches.
“But then I spent four days fighting that goddamn fire, and the whole time I was wondering what you were doing.”
My heart pounds.