by Gwyn McNamee
The IV bag still hangs from the stand but the tubing coils on the floor, having already been disconnected from his body.
They tried to save him with the defibrillator—the pads are still stuck to his bare chest and left flank, the cables running from them to nowhere, having already been pulled from the machine.
The second nurse slides Dunne’s hand into a bag and secures it, probably to preserve any gunshot residue evidence at the request of the police officer. She walks around the bed and does the same to the other hand. When she’s done, she glances up at me and tilts her head to the side. “Do you need something, sweetie?”
My eyes don’t meet hers. They’ve been drawn to the white sheet under his head where the blood stain is slowly expanding with the fluids still seeping from his body.
Jesus fucking Christ…
What the hell happened to him? How do you go from being mayor to killing yourself in a year? Something pretty major must have happened to precipitate a downward spiral like that.
Things were bad when Star died…really, really bad. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t inconsolable and unstable at times. Enough booze to kill a crew of sailors and enough Xanax to knock out a T-rex were consumed over those first few months. But I never once considered killing myself, even at my lowest point. I screamed, cried, and wished I was dead with her. I begged God to let me go back in time so I could go on the trip with them instead of blowing it off for a stupid guy, but deep down, I would never have harmed myself.
And once Savage returned to the States, he forced me from my hole of despair and made me remember I hadn’t lost everything.
For Dunne to take his own life, there must have been something huge going on behind the scenes.
“Honey, are you okay?” I finally tear my eyes away from Dunne and plaster a fake smile on my face.
“Fine. Sorry.”
I shove the door open and wander away from the treatment room toward the reception area. Maybe I can find out if anyone showed up for him. I know he never remarried—portraying the lonely widower played too well in his campaigns to change that. But he must have had someone. No one who looked like that, and held that much power, was celibate. There must have been somebody at the house, or an emergency notification person listed in his phone.
Turning the last corner toward reception, I debate trying to call Gabe again when a very familiar blond head flickers in my peripheral vision.
Oh, my God…
Gabe…sitting in one of the waiting area’s vinyl chairs with his face dropped into his hands.
The love I have for him spills from the break in my heart. I can’t imagine what he’s going through. It’s such a fucked up situation to begin with, but he’s obviously upset. How could he not be? No matter what their relationship was, he was still Gabe’s father.
With a deep breath, I prepare myself to deal with whatever fallout comes from this and approach him.
Please let me comfort you.
I slip my hand across his shoulder, and his head jerks up, his shadowed eyes looking but barely seeing me. “Skye?”
“I’m so sorry.” The words seem hollow and meaningless. They certainly were for me when people said them to me over, and over, and over again after Star’s death. “How did you know?”
He presses his lips into a tight, thin line and nods before rolling to his feet. “His housekeeper called me when she found him.” He shuffles from side to side and avoids making eye contact with me. “Let’s get out of here.”
I glance at my watch. “I’m off in an hour. You can wait for me, or I can come meet you at your place.”
His eyes flit around the room nervously. “I can’t stay here. Come over when you’re done.” He turns and takes two steps before turning back to me. “Be careful.”
…don’t let Savage see you.
That’s what he didn’t say. I know he’s under a lot of stress right now, but the patriarchal tone is not appreciated nor is it needed.
The condo door clicks shut, and I down the last of my third drink and close my eyes even though my condo is dark. She’s going to want to talk—about him.
That’s the last thing I want to do. Discussing my father will only lead to more anger, and it’s already simmering just below the surface, ready to break free and wreak havoc.
I turn my head to follow the sound of her footsteps across the floor. Bright white light blinds me. “Turn it off.”
“Why?”
“Just do it, Skye.”
She sighs and flips the lights off, then drops down next to me on the couch. The silence hangs between us—heavy with unspoken questions and answers I can’t give her.
“Are we going to talk about the fact that your father killed himself?”
Jesus.
“For fuck’s sake, Skye…” I rise from the couch and make my way to the bar to pour myself the fourth bourbon since I got home from the hospital. The bottle shakes in my trembling hand. Doc will be lecturing me about drowning my feelings when I see her next time, but fuck it—how often does your father off himself, after all. I turn back to her and lean against the bar.
Even in the dark, I can see her eyebrow quirk up. “Tell me, Gabe. I know this has to be hard for you, regardless of what your relationship with him was.”
“You have no fucking idea, Skye.”
She jumps from the couch and crowds me back against the bar. “Then tell me!”
I shouldn’t. What happened last year was never made public. That was the deal we made with my father and Abello. The fewer people who know about what went down and what Dani found, the safer we all are. If I tell her, I’m only going to put her in more danger than she already is just by being associated with Abello through her family.
But Skye is tenacious. She won’t let this go. There’s no way I can talk about my father without discussing everything that happened; it’s impossible. All my feelings about it and him are wrapped up together.
“Fuck, Skye…you better sit down.” Her eyes narrow, and she glances next to me at the bar. “Yeah, you’ll need one of those too.”
She pours herself a bourbon and grabs my hand, pulling me with her back to the couch. Her palm presses against my chest, and she shoves me down onto the cushion. “Now talk.”
It takes several fortifying breaths before I’m able to speak.
“So you know something went down last year, right? With Savage and Danika and me?” She nods and drops down next to me. The news reported the deaths of the three goons I killed and managed to get some video of Savage, Dani, and me at the scene, but I was never charged and the police swept my involvement under the rug at my father’s request. It was touted as just another mob hit. “Well, Dani was investigating Dom Abello—”
“Shit!” Her fingers dig into my arm. “Uncle Dom? Why? I mean, I know he’s not exactly squeaky clean, but he’s not a bad guy…”
I shake her hand from my arm and stand to pace. I can’t just sit still when I have this much pent-up anger and fucked up shit in my head. “He’s a no-good thug, Skye. Do you have any idea how many people he has had murdered or beaten to advance his own agendas? That’s the whole point. Dani discovered a connection between him and my father. Really, really shady shit.”
She frowns as if she doesn’t believe me and pulls her legs up under her. “Like what?”
“Like killing off his political adversaries to push his agendas through and ensure he wouldn’t have any real opposition.”
Her jaw drops. “You’re shitting me…”
Christ. Why did I think this would be easy? Nothing with Skye ever is.
“No, Skye, I’m not shitting you. Dani had a source and had been compiling information on a bunch of different stuff for over four years. Abello somehow found out and lured her to a meeting with her source. She managed to call Savage for help, and we thankfully got there in time.”
I watch her processing the information. Her head snaps up, and her eyes widen. “Holy shit, you killed those guys?”
A curt nod is the only response I can manage. I don’t want to talk about the details. I can’t. I already see them dropping to the ground, one after another, every time I think about that day.
“After, we made a deal with Abello. Dani would drop the story if he would stop any action against her or either of us, but especially her. He agreed very reluctantly. Part of the deal was also that he would make it clear to my father that he had to resign as mayor and stay out of politics forever. We knew any threat Abello made would be more effective than what we could do to him.”
She sets her drink on the coffee table and runs her hands through her hair, pulling it free from the tie at the back. “So, that’s why he resigned?” I nod. “And you haven’t spoken with him since?”
“He called me earlier this week and begged me to let him return to politics.”
His words ring in my ears. “I have to be able to live and have a career…I can’t believe you would treat your own father this way.”
A shudder rolls through me, and I down the rest of my drink.
“There was something…desperate in his voice.”
Skye flies up from the couch and stops my pacing with a hand to my chest. “Oh no you don’t. This is not your fault.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
She shakes her head. “You didn’t have to. I know you, Gabe. It’s written all over your face. If what you told me is true about what he was involved in, then he brought any stress or whatever else drove him to this on himself. This had nothing to do with you.”
She’s right, of course.
I know I did what was right. He brought his own misery on himself. The only thing he ever thought about was what benefited him and how he could get what he wanted. He was willing to go to any means, even resorting to getting in bed with the damn mob to advance his agenda. He didn’t care who or what he destroyed on his rise to the top.
Skye is the only thing I want, but I know having her will destroy so much. I’m not going to destroy other people’s lives the way my father did, the way Abello still does.
I can’t live with that guilt. I have to let her go.
Something changes in Gabe’s eyes. The wild, angry, guilty man is gone. His gaze now holds need, loneliness, and something else I can’t quite place. But the look he gives me tells me our discussion is done.
I understand why no one told me about what happened last year despite my constant probing. With Uncle Dom involved, things are very complicated for the Hawkes. But it’s clear Gabe feels guilty about what happened for some reason, and it’s been eating at him. His father’s death is only going to compound it.
He needs to let things go and let himself be happy. I can make him happy. He just needs to muster up the balls to admit it to himself so he can tell Savage and we can end all this sneaking around.
I’m fucking done with that bullshit.
This needs to end soon, but I won’t push it tonight. He’s been through enough.
I take the empty tumbler from his hand and set it on the coffee table. Then I slip my hand up his chest to his neck and pull him toward me. Our lips touch, and I kiss him gently, not the heated, desperate way we usually do. He pulls back and searches my eyes before reaching down and lifting me by my thighs, urging me to wrap my legs around his waist.
Like I would say no.
He works his way back to his bedroom slowly, seemingly in no rush to get us there.
Before this week, seeing the mussed covers of his bed would have caused jealousy on my part, but now I know it was probably from another nightmare and, instead of making me angry, my heart aches for him. Gabe is a selfless, caring man, and he doesn’t deserve to have to struggle with any of this. No one does.
He lowers me to the bed, never stopping the languid exploration of my mouth with his along the way. God, can this man kiss…
Every swirl and swipe of his tongue ramps me higher and higher.
My body responds to him—fire scorching across my skin with every touch of his calloused hands. This man does things to me I never thought possible. He makes me believe I can truly be happy again.
But only if he’s willing to go all-in with me.
I love him.
No.
I’ve loved him forever.
I’m in love with him—the crazy, head-over-heels, fairytale romance type of love—the forever kind.
There’s no denying it. At least, not for me.
The void I’ve felt since Star died will never fill, but it’s no longer the black, bottomless abyss it once was. I can actually see a future I won’t just walk through blindly, miserable, and hanging on by a thread. I see one where I have a partner, someone who truly understands me and isn’t scared off by the wall of sarcasm and snark I live behind.
I can’t let him push me away anymore.
Tonight is the last night we are going to be together in secret.
Gabe tugs on the hem of my shirt, urging me to sit up so he can tug it off. As soon as I’m free, I release the clasp on my bra and pull it from my arms before lying back against the bed. He descends on me, pressing his warm mouth to my neck, and working his way languidly toward my stomach.
When he reaches the waistband of my pants, he pauses and probes along the edge with his hot tongue. My hips buck up against him and my clit pulses.
Fuck, Gabe is so good with that thing.
I need him between my legs more than I need oxygen right now—his mouth, his hand, his cock—I need it all.
Despite the numerous times we’ve been together over the last several days, it feels like we’ve never taken the time to truly explore one another. We’ve always been so hot and heavy, fast and frantic.
He slips his fingers between my skin and the band of my pants and tugs, taking them down my legs slowly, trailing his tongue and lips along behind them. Goose bumps pebble over my legs, and by the time he finally pulls my pants off, I’m practically shaking.
Instead of returning to hovering over me, he slides backward and steps off the bed.
I prop myself up on one elbow. “What are you doing?”
That damn smirk that makes my ovaries explode stretches across his face. He reaches over his shoulder and yanks his shirt off, tossing it into the corner. I take a moment to admire the artwork on his flesh. In the hundred times I’ve seen it, I’ve never really taken a moment to examine each of the tattoos or assess their meanings. Tonight, I’m going to explore every inch of ink with my tongue since my last attempt was interrupted with his impatience.
A dark image on his ribcage draws my attention. He didn’t have that there two days ago, I definitely would have remembered it. “When did you get that?”
He glances down and shrugs. “Thursday night.”
I have a million questions about the image of the man standing alone in a raging storm, but I suppress the desire to ask them. I don’t want anything to stop him from losing himself in me and questions tend to do that.
I smile at him. “Lose the pants.”
He grins at my order and instead of complying, his hand slides down past his belt, and he cups the giant bulge straining against the fabric of his jeans. “Why? Something you want in here?”
Watching him rub himself is almost enough to make me come on the spot. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he unhooks his belt, lowers the zipper, and shoves his jeans and boxers down, kicking them off to the same corner where his shirt landed.
Vivid memories of his cock in his hand at his office the other night only further soak my panties.
“I want to see you stroke your cock.”
A brow quirks up. “Do you?”
I nod and shift anxiously under his heated stare.
He grips his dick in his hand and slowly slides it up and down the hard flesh. My legs quiver, and I press my thighs together to ease the throb there.
“Watching you touch yourself has to be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I swear, I came so hard in your office the other night, I think I actually saw Heav
en.”
I freeze. My cock pulses in my hand, but I’m physically incapable of continuing after what she just said. Her eyes widen, and she bites her lip.
Did she just say she was in my office?
Holy fucking shit.
“You were there?”
She nods, unable or unwilling to respond verbally.
I knew something was off that night. Vanilla and honey—the scent that could only be Skye—had lingered there, driving me to the brink of insanity. Now, I know why.
“What were you doing in my office?”
A sly smile spreads across her face. “I went in to take a nap on your couch while I waited for Storm, but then you came in and started jerking off…”
Knowing she watched me make myself come while I was thinking about her is a bit trippy and a lot fucked up. She was right there. I could have walked across the room and been inside her instead of coming in my hand.
“And what did you do, Skye, when you saw me stroking my cock?”
Her eyes spark with amusement. “I was wet as fuck and made myself come.”
I know what she looks like when she touches herself. That first morning, watching her do it on her bed while I was on the phone with Savage, will be forever seared into my brain matter. And she did it ten fucking feet away from me without me even knowing it.
Fuck.
There’s no way I’m staying at the end of this bed any longer. Not after her admission.
The bed creaks as I climb on and work my way over to her. Skye’s eyes churn with something I can’t place. I can’t tell if she’s nervous about admitting her voyeurism or smug because she got away with it.
“You never should have admitted that to me.”
Payback’s a bitch.
She grins and reaches up, wrapping her hand around the back of my neck before dragging me down to her. My mouth stops a mere hairsbreadth from hers. I flick my tongue out and along her lips, savoring the lingering taste of the sweet bourbon mixed with her very own unique vanilla flavor.
It’s better than any twenty-five year Scotch I’ve ever had, and I relish it. But there’s something I want to taste more than her mouth.