by Sweet, Izzy
But after everything I’ve been through, I can’t stop myself from wanting him to be someone I can lean on. Someone I can count on.
The one person in the world who will never abandon me. The one person who will always stand beside me.
After he said it, I’m honestly starting to believe that he just might be my guardian angel.
God’s fucked up answer to all my prayers.
Stalking back into the living room, I pull the curtain back on the front window just enough to peek my eyes out. The neighborhood is alive with activity. Kids playing, riding their bikes, or chasing each other and being noisy. Neighbors working in their gardens, chatting, and doing other things.
I search for anything suspicious, anything that could be out of place.
It’s not lost on me that despite all that’s going on outside, that if Alexei has been watching us, if he knows I’m here, then this would be the best time to grab me.
Fuck… Alexei.
Just thinking his name sends chills through me. Reaching down to my hip holster, my fingers squeeze around the handle of the pistol Gabriel left me.
I didn’t think I could hate the man more than I already do, but after Gabriel told me about Beth, her friends, and Charlie, I was filled with this mix of sheer anger and horror.
I knew that pathetic slimeball was selling kids. I fucking knew it. Yet meeting one of his victims face to face makes it more real.
More awful.
The pain, the suffering he’s caused, can’t go unpunished. And if Gabriel ends up being the one to punish him, I hope I’m there.
I hope he lets me put a bullet between his soulless eyes.
Dropping the curtain, I force my fingers to release the butt of the gun and pace my way back down the hall.
I must wear a thousand more steps into the floor before I hear the sound of the garage door sliding up.
Rushing back over to the front window, I flick the curtain to the side and peek outside.
I don’t recognize the car.
Shit.
A million things run through my head in my panic. Alexei found me. Something happened to Gabriel. Some other asshole wants me dead.
His own men are stabbing him in his back.
The garage door begins to slide back down, and I try to force my racing heart to calm.
It doesn’t matter who’s out there, I decide. All that matters is that I protect myself.
Fingers trembling, I take a deep breath and ease the pistol out of my holster as I silently walk over to the door and position myself.
I don’t hear the car door open, but I hear it slam shut.
Gabriel loaded the gun for me, I know he did, but I double-check the loaded chamber indicator before I lift it in front of me, just to be sure.
Heavy footsteps thump up the two stairs and the soft beeping of the entrance code being punched in comes through the door.
My finger eases over the trigger as the door swings open. I’m a split-second from squeezing it when Gabriel steps through the doorway.
He takes one look at me and freezes.
I’m so worked up, so freaked out from being left alone, in that split-second of time Alexei is in front of me and I want to shoot him.
I want to blow his fucking head off.
And I almost do it.
“Holy shit!” I cry out as I drop my arms and point the gun at the floor.
I’m so fucking scared, so fucking terrified of Alexei, I almost killed Gabriel. Like seriously fucking killed him.
I was a hair away from squeezing the trigger.
I start to shake uncontrollably, and if I didn’t think the gun would accidentally go off, I’d throw the damn thing away from me.
Staring at Gabriel, I’m utterly helpless and unable to move.
I came so close to killing him, to losing him, I’ve petrified myself to the bone.
And there’s such a look of rage on his face, such a dark, twisted expression of anger, I don’t know what to do.
“I’m sorry,” I say after I gulp in a mouthful of air, and it doesn’t feel like enough. How could sorry ever be enough? “I didn’t recognize the car.”
He walks up to me, his expression darkening even further, and still I can’t fucking move. My damn feet are glued to the floor.
I know he won’t do it, but I half-expect him to lash out at me. To retaliate. To hurt me for what I almost did.
It’s what my father would do.
He stops in front of me and I inwardly flinch as he reaches out.
Hand dropping down, he grabs the barrel of the gun and helps me tuck it safely back into my holster.
“It’s fine,” he grits out and releases the gun.
As if he can read all the shit that’s going on inside me, he stares into my eyes, his harsh face threatening to give into softness.
And for a moment, he looks like he’s going to touch me. Lifting his hand up, he nears my cheek, but then, as if he’s suddenly remembered something, he squeezes that hand into a fist and whips away from me.
The loss of that touch hits me like a punch in the chest.
It’s not fine. None of this is fine. Not by a long shot.
If the fucking Russians and Irish don’t kill us, my dumbass probably will.
Gabriel begins to stomp around the house, checking all the doors and windows.
“Did anyone bother you while I was gone?” he asks, peering out the front window after checking the lock.
“No,” I push out of my throat.
He grunts and snaps the curtains shut.
Once he’s satisfied with the exterior entrances, he moves deeper into the house.
Eventually, my thoughts and heart begin to calm down enough for me to wonder what the hell he’s doing.
Putting one foot in front of the other, I walk down the hall, keeping a safe distance as I follow behind him.
There’s so much anger in the way he moves, I can practically see it radiating off him. Pushing into each room, he checks it before closing the door behind him.
Ever since that first night, I’ve never seen him close an interior door before, I realize. In fact, he has this awful habit of leaving them all open.
“Gabriel…” I say to get his attention but trail off as he keeps stomping around in his big black boots, ignoring me.
Oh god, did I just ruin this thing blossoming between us with my panic? Have we ended like we began? I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s decided to wipe his hands of me now. After all, how many times can I expect him to put up with me pointing a dangerous weapon at him?
The need to apologize, to make him understand why I did what I did, causes the words to tumble out of me as I follow behind him.
“I didn’t recognize the car. I’ve never seen it before. I thought you were still driving the truck and expected the worst.”
Without glancing back at me, he says, “I know. You did good, I’m proud of you.”
That brings me up short.
What the hell is going on here?
If he’s so proud of me, why does he seem so pissed off?
He begins to stomp up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and I race to catch up with him.
“I almost killed you. I thought you were Alexei,” I huff out as I grip the banister.
Suddenly he stops before reaching the top and I hear him take a deep breath. I watch the muscles in his neck, his shoulders, and his back bunch up through his tight black shirt as his entire body tightens with tension.
He’s so rigid, I’m surprised I don’t hear his bones crack from the stress of being so stiff.
“Gabriel, what’s wrong?” I ask, reaching out to touch his back.
I feel his muscles tighten even more before they relax.
Both hands squeezing into fists, he cracks his neck to the side, then he slowly turns around to face me.
The black look etched into his rugged features is so terrifying I find myself taking a hasty step back.
Glaring down at me, his l
ip curls up as he says, “If you fucking killed me because you thought I was that cockroach, I’d still be proud of you, baby girl.”
His words don’t match his expression at all, and I don’t know how to reconcile what I’m seeing with what I’m hearing.
Is he truly not angry with me, or is he only saying it for some unknown reason?
He takes a step down, and I find myself instinctively taking another step back.
“Then why are you looking at me like that?” I finally ask.
“Looking at you like what?”
“Like you want to kill me and bathe in my blood.”
Stilling at my question, he closes his eyes for a moment and then lets out what I think is supposed to be a sigh but it comes out more like growl.
“It’s not for you,” he says, and spins back around.
He moves back up the stairs with a renewed purpose, and I hesitate, wondering if it’s wise to chase after him.
He’s upset about something, and perhaps it’s best to give him some space…
But the need to know what’s made him so angry has me pumping my legs to follow him up the steps.
“Who is it for?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer.
He ignores me, pulling the door open to the bathroom. He pops his head inside before slamming the door shut.
“Gabriel,” I frown, trying to step in his way.
“I have to check the house, Meghan. I have to make sure it’s secure,” he grits out, then the big fucking ogre literally picks me up by the waist and moves me out of his path.
My jaw drops and I stare after him as he walks away.
Snapping my jaw shut, I grind my teeth together as he checks on the bedrooms, still treating me as if I don’t exist.
Well, fuck him if he’s going to be that way. Picking me up and moving me like I’m a damn child…
Shaking my head, I turn around and walk back down the stairs.
When I reach the bottom, I can still hear him prowling around upstairs, so I head to the kitchen to get a drink.
I’m pulling open the cabinet above the counter and stretching up on my tiptoes to grab a glass when I sense his presence filling the small space.
Still annoyed by the way he treated me, I decide to give him a taste of his own medicine and ignore him as I pull the glass down.
Suddenly his shadow rolls over me, swallowing me up. He shuts the cabinet for me and then his fingers lightly brush down my arm.
Jerking away from him, I move over to the sink and hold the glass under the faucet.
“Is the house secure?” I snap as I turn the faucet on.
“Yes,” he replies, that one word dropping from his lips as if it’s somehow both significant and insignificant.
Whipping around when he moves closer to me, I lift the glass between us. “Well, I suppose that’s good then.”
I take a drink and begin to lower the glass back down when he decides to yank the rug out from beneath my feet. “Alexei contacted us. He’s demanded you back.”
The glass slips from my fingers and shatters against the floor.
At once every fear I’ve been carrying around inside seems to grow, looming larger.
Water splashes against my ankles but I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.
“What?” I gasp, hoping I heard him wrong.
Gabriel looks down at the floor, at all the glass, then he grabs me by the hips.
Picking me up, he sets me on the counter with a thump.
“What did you say?” I repeat, my voice a harsh whisper as I tip my head back to look up at him.
The glass on the floor crunches beneath Gabriel’s boots as he steps into me. “Alexei has demanded you back.”
Those words drive into me like nails in my coffin.
I’m dead… dead…
So fucking dead.
I thought… Well, I guess I secretly hoped that Alexei wouldn’t want me now. That he’d consider me not worth the effort and move on.
But if he wants me back…
Gabriel’s thighs bump into my legs as if he’s seeking permission to press closer, but I leave them closed to him.
I can’t let him in until I know if he’s going to betray me. If he’s going to give me up.
I don’t think he will, but I’ve been betrayed by so many people I thought were looking out for me, I have to be cautious.
Before I can ask the question that’s sticking in my throat, he bends over me, grabbing the counter with both hands. “He’s threatened to take our women and rape them to death. He’s threatened to have his men fuck our children.”
“Oh god,” I moan and try not to sway.
One hand comes up to my neck as if I’m some fucking damsel in a movie.
But the fear, the terror, it’s real. It’s alive inside me, each threat feeding its power.
Gabriel’s eyes lock on mine, the intense hold of them the only thing keeping me from fainting. “He’s threatened to murder us all if we don’t hand you over.”
Of course he did. I’d expect no less from a monster like him.
He’ll probably even do worse… if given the chance.
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
This is the worst fucking thing that could happen. There is no doubt in my mind that Alexei will try to make good on his threats. He’s probably working on them right now.
Gabriel’s entire family is in great and immediate danger, and it’s all because of me. All because Gabriel took me and didn’t kill me.
“Are—” I start and stop.
I have to fill my lungs with air several times before I can get the question out.
Gabriel watches me, his face growing more and more furious as if he knows exactly what I’m going to ask.
“Are you going to hand me over?”
Gabriel says, “No,” so violently it’s jarring.
My skeleton jolts beneath my skin.
And I’d probably accept that answer, I’d probably leave that statement as it is, even take comfort in his protection, but I’m highly aware that I’m not the only one in danger here.
This goes beyond me, just like he pointed out earlier, and I don’t know if I could live with myself if anyone else got hurt.
“But—” I start to argue, shredding all sense of self-preservation.
There’s a loud crack and I have no clue where it’s coming until I glance down. Somehow, with his grip alone, he’s managed to crack the countertop.
Or maybe that crack has always been there…
There’s no way he could physically do that.
My eyes travel back up his body, taking in his taut muscles and popping veins.
Face strained as if it’s taking everything inside him to keep from erupting, he snaps, “I’m not handing you over, Meghan. You’re mine, and this shit doesn’t change that.”
Those words should be reassuring, but the way he says mine sounds more like a threat than an endearment.
“But—” I try again, only to have him stop me.
Pushing his way between my legs, he grabs me by the face. His grip is too frantic, too harsh at first but immediately gentles when I wince.
“I won’t say it again. You’re mine and I’m not fucking giving you up.”
I should accept that. I should even be happy with it, but I can’t. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
Especially on the account of me.
I’ve met the wives, Lily, Amy, Beth, and Meredith. And their children. And their husbands. There are too many people to protect. Too many possible causalities. .
Fingers tightening behind my head, Gabriel pulls my face up. “The only people that are going to get hurt are the fucking Russian cocksuckers who think they can threaten us and get away with it.”
I open my mouth to argue with him, to point out that the odds are against us. That the odds are that at least one person is going to get hurt.
But once again the fucker cuts me off, a strange light flickering to life in his eyes. “
I’m going to kill them, Meghan. I’m going to fucking kill them all.”
His thumbs stroke tenderly against my cheeks as if he’s saying something emotional, something sweet. “I’m not only going to exterminate them, I’m going to abort them and everyone connected with them from this world. Abort their walking carcasses and use their blood to baptize their taint from this city.”
He lets that sink in, lets it sink into the very marrow of my bones before he finishes with, “And I need you at my side. I need to know you’ll stand with me.”
My gut reaction is to tell him no. To rail at him for asking that of me.
How can he? How dare he?
Not only does he plan on killing Alexei and all the Russians, but he’s also going to kill everyone connected to them. That includes my father and all the Irish.
Everyone I’ve grown up with, whether they’ve personally done me wrong or not, is in jeopardy.
“It’s them or us,” he reminds me as I hesitate.
So we’re back to this again. We’ve come full circle, and this time I know he won’t let me off without answering him.
The way he’s looking at me, his eyes boring into me, I can sense his desperate need for a commitment from me.
And, oh god, I want to give it to him. With all my heart I do. He’s given me so much, he’s given me everything. But the thought of helping him kill my former family makes me sick.
I’m not a murderer, and I don’t know if I have it in me.
But what’s the alternative?
Abandon Gabriel? Spit in the face of everything he’s done and sacrificed for me?
His thumbs continue to stroke against my cheeks, urging me to choose him.
Choose him over all the fuckers who’ve tried to hurt me.
Choose between him and my fear.
“Meghan,” he says, his head dipping down, his nose rubbing against mine.
He continues to say my name over and over again, nuzzling at my face, and there’s so much pleading in the way he says it, he might as well be begging me.
I hate to him hear beg, but I know in the very depths of my soul that this choice will forever change me. I’ll never be the same again.
I might not be able to look at my face in the mirror after this.
I might fucking hate myself after this.
Tears fill my eyes as I make my choice.