“I don’t care why. It doesn’t matter—”
“Can we go somewhere to talk?” Gabe cut in gruffly. Oh, God, his whiskey eyes were boring straight into her and she could feel herself weakening. Damned alcohol.
“Nothing matters, don’t you see?” Beatrice’s tone was almost pleading. How could she make him leave her alone? “We were a mistake from the start. You chose your job like my father always did. You just proved to me that I was right all along.”
“Let’s go somewhere else. Please, babe.”
Beatrice frowned and narrowed her eyes. There was something wrong with Gabe. He was still larger than life, but obviously diminished. What happened to him? Damn it, she shouldn’t care. Stilling herself, she bit out, “I am done with you.”
A commotion at the entrance of the club drew their attention. Beatrice felt her gut fall from under her when she spotted Travis with an unconscious Caitlin in his arms.
Beatrice hurried to them. “What happened?”
“Passed out,” Travis clipped. “You and I are going to have words, Bee.”
Gabe chose that moment to grab her arm. “I’m not done with you.”
Travis’s shocked eyes fell on Gabe.
“Hello, Lieutenant.”
“Shit. Gabriel?”
“You have no right following me here!” Beatrice was feeling desperate. “This is stalking.”
“Oh, please, Bee, your scream can wake the dead,” Caitlin muttered.
“Cat?” Travis whispered in relief.
“You can put me down, Trav. I’m fine. I think.”
“No way. I’m taking you to the hospital. You fainted once during our honeymoon, too. Ed’s bringing the car around.”
The Escalade pulled up in front of the club.
“Gabe, we need to catch up. Man, you just disappeared off the face of the planet,” Travis said. “I have to take my wife to the hospital.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
Nate was flying down the steps of the club just as the Escalade was pulling away. “What happened?”
“Caitlin fainted,” Beatrice announced.
“Shit. That must have freaked Travis out.” Nate glared at Gabe. “You done with this guy? I can take you home. I don’t think you should be driving.”
“We took a cab—”
Gabe’s hand shot out and manacled Nate’s throat. “I told you this wouldn’t end well if you got between me and Beatrice.”
“Bring it on, asshole.” Nate didn’t even flinch, just stared at Gabe in challenge. “That all you got?”
Beatrice recognized that gleam in Nate’s eye. For all his playful nature, he was such a war freak. She inserted herself between the two, and extricated Gabe’s fingers from Nate’s neck. Not releasing Gabe’s hand, she tugged him alongside her. “Go home, Nate, or go back to the bar. I told you I got this.”
*****
Gabe followed Beatrice’s lead as she dragged him toward the back of the club. He found himself getting hard as they approached the darkened alley. The possibilities of what could happen in this secluded area were playing havoc with his resolve to talk first.
“Beatrice, what are you doing?” he asked tightly.
“You said you wanted to talk,” she said flippantly.
“There’s a 24-hour diner across—”
“But we know it’s not talking you really want.” Beatrice pushed Gabe against the wall. “You want to fuck, don’t you?”
Before Gabe could reply, Beatrice pressed her lips against his and slipped her tongue inside his mouth. Her taste was a heady mix of berries and wine. He groaned. He wanted to devour her, but not like this. She was drunk.
With as much strength as he could muster, he grabbed her shoulders. “Damn it, poppy. We need to talk.”
“Talking is overrated,” Beatrice murmured and kissed him again while stroking the bulge in his pants.
“Not here.” He tried again.
“Take me against the wall, Gabe.”
Fuck. He could feel her softness overwhelm him. His head was swimming.
“Beatrice. Not here.”
He held her firmly from him.
“I’m not drunk, Gabe. But I want to feel your cock inside me,” she purred as she cupped his heavy balls through his jeans. Gabe raised his eyes to the night, praying for self-control. She was driving him insane with lust.
Eyes on the prize, Sullivan.
She backed away coquettishly from him. “Now there’s a hotel down the street. I’m just going to check-in rather than go home. Follow me there or not, I don’t care.”
“What is your game, Beatrice?” Gabe asked in a strangled groan. She was toying with him, but fuck if he could control his cock from responding.
“No game,” Beatrice shrugged. “I’m tired of fighting this attraction. But before I commit to taking you back, I just want to make sure the merchandise is in working order.”
Gabe didn’t know whether to laugh or get pissed. “Not sure I like being objectified, sweetheart.”
“Oh, get your head out of your ass,” she snapped. “Men do it all the time. Now. Are we wasting time here?”
They fell through the threshold of the hotel room in a frantic tangle of limbs. Lips ferociously locked on each other, three years of separation condensing into an explosion of lust. As soon as the door slammed shut, Gabe had Beatrice up against it, his fingers going under her skirt, snaking up her thighs and inside her panties. Wet. Fucking wet and drenching his fingers. She moaned into his mouth.
“You want this, huh? You want my mouth on that greedy pussy?”
“No mouth tonight. Just cock.”
“Why not?” Gabe coaxed. He’d been dying to get his face between those beautiful thighs. “Why not?” he repeated as he got down on his knees, shoving her skirt up, and started trailing his tongue up her inner thighs. She moaned. His cock grew hard enough to pound nails as his nose inched closer to her feminine heat. He could smell her, the intoxicating arousal of Beatrice. He took a swipe at the fabric covering her pussy, eager to plunge his tongue inside her.
Her fingers dug into his hair, yanking his head viciously to look at her. Gabe winced. What the hell?
“I said no mouth. I want you inside me. Just cock.”
Glaring at her, Gabe stood and muttered, “Why?”
“Too intimate.”
Damn her. She was determined to fight him the whole way. Fine. Gabe unbuckled his belt, lowered his zipper, and freed his erection. All through this, Beatrice eyed him hungrily. There was no mistaking the want in her eyes.
“Okay, babe, you want to test drive the merchandise?” Gabe mocked, but deep down he was fuming. It was demeaning, but he took it. Because he’d hurt her, he would take anything right now. He rolled on the condom. “You wanna know if my cock can fill you the way it used to?”
Beatrice licked her lips. That did it. Gabe lost all control and boosted her against the door. Nudging her panties aside, he plunged inside her. They both yelled at the first stroke. Jesus Christ, she felt so good. So snug.
“How am I doing so far, babe?”
“Stop talking. Start fucking.”
Damn her. “You got it.”
Gabe pulled back and slammed back inside her. This was not how he envisioned their first time back together. Why did he allow this to happen? But rational thinking soon unraveled into an elemental need. The need to fuck. He continued pounding her into the door as she clung to him. Her wet heat squeezed his cock with such agonizing pleasure, it felt unreal. He squashed down the consequences of this reckless union. All he cared about at this moment was that Beatrice was back in his arms, and he was buried deep inside her. She clenched around him as her orgasm hit her. Gabe followed, coming the hardest he’d had in a long time, probably since her.
The rustle of fabric woke him, and for a moment Gabe didn’t know where he was. Then it all came flooding back. He had fucked her two more times. Both times were a basic quenching of lust that was missing a certain connection, w
hich was why instead of feeling sated, he felt empty. A thud further jolted him out of his sleepy haze.
“Beatrice?”
No answer.
He squinted and saw her dark form against the available light streaming from under the door. What time was it? He checked the bedside clock. It was almost five in the morning.
“Beatrice?”
“What, Gabriel?”
Her voice was flat.
An uneasiness roiled in his gut. He reached for the lamp and turned on the lights. Beatrice had her clothes on and appeared to be looking for her shoes. She found them under the coffee table.
“What are you doing?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m leaving.”
“Well hell, babe, if you weren’t satisfied with the merchandise, maybe you’ll give me another chance to prove you wrong,” Gabe said bitterly. He got up from the bed and walked toward her. Since Beatrice was sitting on a chair slipping on her shoes, his semi-erect dick was right in front of her face.
Beatrice snorted a short laugh. “No need to be crude, Gabe.”
“No. Crude is you propositioning me and then making this all about sex,” he whispered harshly. “It isn’t. You know it isn’t. Why are you doing this to us?”
“Seriously? I did this to us?”
“I’m talking about right now, Beatrice. I want you back. What do you need me to do?”
Her face was impassive. He wasn’t getting through to her. Gabe crouched in front of her. “Three years ago—know that I had to leave, Beatrice. I had to. I hurt you because I wanted you to hate me—”
“It worked.”
He flinched but pressed on. “Because I didn’t know if I could make it back alive. But I came back to you, babe.”
“Three years too late and the same fucking problems, Gabe,” Beatrice snapped. “You said you cared for your job more than you did me.”
“I had to lie.”
“Your actions proved it wasn’t a lie.”
“It was the right choice at that time.”
Beatrice sighed and stood up. “Same excuses my dad probably had in his head when he forgot he had a family. Look what that did to my mother. She’s pretending to be happy with someone else when in truth she’s still in love with him.”
“I’m not your dad, Beatrice,” Gabe said quietly. “If I’d decided to stay with you then, that choice would’ve torn me up for the rest of my life. Now, there’s only you. You’re my priority. My job? I don’t have one. I quit. I’ll probably go private.”
She stilled for a beat. “I’ve changed.”
“What?”
“I don’t want a relationship right now after what happened with Eric.”
Gabe rose from his crouch and leaned into her, his face a hair-breadth away. “Don’t bring that fucker between us. He’s out of your life. Got me?”
“Ah, there you are. The old Gabe,” she smiled derisively. “For a while I wondered who this sentiment-spouting fool was.” Beatrice reached for the door.
“Don’t do this, poppy,” he growled, gripping her arm. “This is not you. You walk out now, I might not follow.”
“Pride, Gabe?” Beatrice mocked. The look in her eyes fisted his heart in a vise of panic as it was looking more and more certain that they were truly over.
“This isn’t about pride. It’s about you walking away from what we just shared.”
“It was just sex—”
“Keep telling yourself—”
“Just. Sex.” Beatrice reached in her bag to pull out a card. “You’re good. One of the most delicious fucks I’ve ever had, but the entire package is a bad investment.”
At that moment, Gabe hated her. He dropped his hand from her arm and clenched his fists at his sides as he tried to control his anger.
“Stop,” he bit off. Each word pounded another nail in his coffin, sealing him in a tomb with no redemption.
Still he couldn’t let her go, so he reached for her again, but she stepped back. Her body language warning him not to touch her.
She flicked the card in the air; his eyes followed it to the floor.
“If you want to do this again, give me a call,” Beatrice said, pulling the door open. “But if you have any pride left in you, Gabe, you won’t.”
He wished she had slammed the door behind her. At least that way he knew she still felt something for him, even if it was anger. The click of the lock echoing in the silence of the room made it seem more final.
He had lost her forever.
CHAPTER FOUR
Dmitry entered the whorehouse.
The madam had cheated Zorin out of his cut, and his boss had lost patience.
He passed the rooms where drugged-up teenage girls were held; his mouth curled in disgust. None of his kills were innocent; today wouldn’t be any different—a righteous kill.
He could have made this quick, but Dmitry wanted to exact revenge for the young women who might never recover from their horrific fate.
The madam writhed underneath him.
In the throes of her climax, his other hand circled her neck.
And squeezed.
His face came closer. She started struggling, her eyes dilating in fear.
“It may be too late to save those girls,” Dmitry snarled softly, “but you will never, ever harm another innocent again.” His fingers tightened. “Feel their pain, their fear.”
She choked for a while.
Before he snapped her neck.
The whiskey did nothing to drown the pain. Each time Gabe remembered Beatrice’s words was like being stabbed by a dagger to the chest. Repeatedly. It was a physical pain and a constant lump in his throat. He hoped hard liquor would wash it away, but it didn’t.
The prospects of rekindling their relationship were bleak.
The situation had turned ugly.
If Gabe were honest with himself, he didn’t think he was ready to be with her, for he had no idea who the fuck he was. The old him wouldn’t have let Beatrice walk out of that room after firing those words. He would have hauled her over his shoulder, dumped her on the bed, and fucked her into submission. As Dmitry Yerzov? He’d probably shackle her to a bed and keep her on the brink of orgasm before he fucked her. In the ass.
He tipped his whiskey back and signaled the bartender for another one and took in the packed establishment on a Saturday night. He had contemplated camping out at Beatrice’s condo, but the sting of rejection was still too fresh and there was only so much a man’s pride could handle. Because if she rejected him so soon again, Gabe didn’t know what he might do. Fuck. Was this how she felt when he had left her?
How could they come back from all this ugliness they were inflicting on each other?
His brain was telling him to let her go, but that muscle he called his heart was screaming at him to beg her to take him back. His loins were a different matter. They craved her, as well as wanted him to fuck her out of his system. He looked around at the meat market before him.
Maybe if he could bring himself to fuck someone else, he could move on from her. She obviously didn’t want him back. Why the fuck was he trying so hard?
Gabe shook his head. What the fuck, Sullivan? Tucking tail and running already?
The alcohol not only made him a limp dick, but stupid as well.
As if the fates were taunting him further, a redhead squeezed in next to him.
“Buy me a drink, sugar?”
Gabe glanced at the woman briefly before nodding at the bartender to give her a drink on his tab.
“Thanks,” the redhead gushed when her prissy concoction was served. She pressed her breasts against Gabe’s arm. His cock stirred. Not a whiskey dick after all.
“I’ve been watching you,” the redhead said. “Looked like you could use some company.”
Gabe didn’t say anything, just simply took a sip of his whiskey. He should just order the whole damn bottle.
“Not much of a talker?” This time her hand went on his thigh and started inchi
ng up, destination unmistakable. Gabe didn’t stop her. He glanced at her, taking in her red hair. She was attractive enough, a bit too much makeup for his taste. His eyes rested on her mouth, which tipped up in a knowing smile. “I can show you a good time, sugar.”
Gabe chuckled as he returned his attention to his drink. “Not here for that, hon.”
The woman’s giggle grated on his nerves. What the fuck was he doing? Why was he allowing this woman to fondle him?
Her breath fanned his ear. “I think I can change your mind.”
She finished the last of her drink and jerked her head in the direction of the back exit, coyly walking away.
Gabe stared at the remainder of his whiskey for a beat. He slugged it back and pushed away from the bar. He left a couple of bills to cover their drinks and followed the redhead.
*****
Sunday early morning was a relatively quiet drive up the Beltway. Gabe guided his SUV toward Chevy Chase, Maryland. He felt like shit. His head was pounding, and the sunlight was too bright even while wearing his sunglasses. He deserved this hangover from hell.
He nearly wrecked what he had tried for months to accomplish—being the man who Beatrice deserved. In a pathetic attempt to erase her cruel rejection and to soothe his shredded ego, he contemplated letting another woman suck him off.
In the back alley of the bar, the redhead pushed him against the wall, reminiscent of how Beatrice came on to him the night before. When the woman tried to kiss him, Gabe buried his fingers in her hair, and that was when it hit him.
Rough, wiry hair.
Not Beatrice.
The madness stopped instantly. He was jolted out of his drunken stupor, his erection deflated, and he walked away with no small amount of self-recrimination. He was spiraling between his past and present. He couldn’t find his purpose. He quit his job to be with the only person who could anchor him, who could prevent the darkness from sweeping him away, but she didn’t want him. Hated him in fact.
Angel of Death.
“You won’t feel a thing. I’ll be quick.”
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