I keep sight of him, following as he makes his way to one of the motels in what could be called the industrial section of Roseboro. Not that Roseboro has a huge industrial zone, but there is that chunk of town that’s sort of older businesses, I guess.
I park across the street, watching carefully as Gabe goes into a motel room. I’m just about to give up, thankful that nobody caught me going stalker psycho and thinking about how I’m going to explain my behavior to Martha, when the room door opens and Gabe walks out.
But he looks different than he did when he went in. I guess that’s understandable. He was still wearing his dress shirt and suit pants from last night before, but looking at him in black jeans, a dark grey hoodie, and work boots . . . I don’t know.
There’s something off.
It’s not like there’s anything all that different about what he’s wearing from what I’ve seen before. Almost every time we’ve been together, he’s worn jeans and a T-shirt or something. Last night’s fancier dress was definitely the outlier for us both.
But it’s in the way he walks as he crosses the parking lot that has me confused.
He looks like he has a purpose. A mission.
And there’s no hint of his boyish smile or charming personality. He looks robotic, mechanical.
I’m even more confused when he passes his Range Rover and goes to the end of the lot, getting into a silvery gray Ford truck.
“Wait . . . haven’t I seen that truck before?” I murmur as I scooch down in my seat so he doesn’t see me. I swear I have, but it’s so common a style and color that maybe I’m just mixing it up with another vehicle? I mean, it looks just like Russ—
No.
No fucking way.
That time Russell came by, it was right around the time I met Gabe, if I remember right . . . there was another truck just down the block. At first I’d thought it was Russell coming back to bug me again.
But what if it’d been Gabe? Is that possible? Surely not.
Or maybe?
What does that mean, though? Maybe he was just in my neighborhood or knows Russell some other way? That might make sense I guess.
But something tells me that’s not the case. Or at least there’s a chance there’s something else going on. And that’s what’s making me chew my lip.
I wait until Gabe pulls out of the lot, and then going by my gut, I take a shortcut toward my house. It means hopping on a dirt backroad for a mile, which does a number on Martha’s suspension. But it can’t be helped, I keep telling myself as my head bounces off the roof of her Toyota. I come up on the back of my neighborhood and park along the curb by the main road in, watching.
The car is dead silent as I pray that I’m wrong.
He could be going anywhere, might need a mallet for any number of things. Maybe Gabe is contracted to fix a problem at a warehouse and is on his way there now? And the truck, maybe he just has a work vehicle and a personal one? That’s not unusual.
Even as I try to talk myself into believing that, my tears threaten to spill.
And then the gray Ford truck drives by.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
What do I do? Do I keep following him or call the police? And tell them what? That my kinda-sorta boyfriend whom I’ve known for all of two weeks is acting sketchy as fuck and I think he’s up to something beyond being overly protective of me?
They’d laugh me out of the precinct.
So I follow, still wishing none of this was happening, wondering how it’s come to this.
He doesn’t stop at my house and instead heads further down the street, turning two blocks up. There’s only one house this far out in the neighborhood that Gabe would be interested in, and my stomach drops.
Russell’s.
So he is going to pay Russell a visit.
My inner voice whispers, you already knew that.
It’s true. I knew this was going to end with Gabe beating Russell up. Russell deserves it for sure, but I can’t help but feel this is too much. I guess I was hoping the knee to the gut Gabe delivered this morning would be enough to warn Russell off?
I abandon the car, breaking into a jog and ducking through Mrs. Reddington’s back yard to cut some more distance off my trek. It’s not far, and I’m only part of the way there when I see Gabe’s truck, Gabe behind the wheel, parked on the side of the road and waiting.
“What the hell are you doing?” I whisper to myself, kneeling behind an overgrown bush near Russell’s house, watching. I know I should approach Gabe, stop whatever he has in mind. On some level, it was my whole purpose of following, but something stops me. I need to see what’s going on. I need the truth of whatever this is. Of whatever he is.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I see that it’s The Gravy Train. I ignore it, I’ll make sure to call Martha immediately after. After what, I don’t know. But I shut it off and keep watching.
It’s surreal. I swear Gabe’s watching for Russell, while meanwhile, I’m watching Gabe. A little tickle goes up my neck, and I wonder . . . is someone watching me?
No, I’m just paranoid and weirded out by what’s going on. But still, I look behind me, scanning the street and bushes.
Suddenly, Gabe’s door opens and he gets out of his truck. He approaches Russell’s door, but there’s something odd about his gait. Like his arms aren’t swinging naturally but are stiff at his sides instead. He moves out of my view, but I hear loud knocks, three forceful bangs that reverberate through the still, cool air.
I hear the door open and chance peeking around the corner, staying low to the ground and looking between the branches of the bush. I have a decent view, can see Russell in faded smiley-face boxers, his face bleary and maybe even a little high. He looks at Gabe, who’s lifted his hood up, with confusion.
“Who the fuck are you?”
Instead of answering, Gabe grabs Russell by his greasy hair and hurls him backward into his house. I’m so shocked I can barely believe what’s happening, and a second later, Gabe’s inside as well, gently closing the door to the house behind him.
It’s the quiet click that shocks me the most. It’s too calm, too premeditated.
Fuck. I shouldn’t have sat there and watched.
“Gabe, what are you doing?” I ask, feeling like I’m yelling, but an almost inaudible whisper comes out as I move, leaving the camouflage of the bush in favor of pressing my face to a window.
There’s barely a crack in the yellowed curtains, but it’s enough to peek into the living room. I can hear Gabe’s voice but can’t see either of them, just the back of the dingy couch and the wall on the far side of the room.
“You . . . threatened her with breaking and entering, sexual assault . . . you harassed her with propositions of sex,” Gabe growls, his voice low but so threatening that I shiver even though I’m outside. “You fucking deserve this.”
“Dude . . . what the . . . what are you talking ab–OOOWWW!” Russell replies, his voice rising in a scream at the end. There’s a wet thudding sound, and I realize what it is. A rubber mallet smashing down on Russell.
No. No way. Admittedly, I had suspicions that something was off, but not this. I didn’t dream it would be . . . this. I guess I’d thought the worst-case scenario would be that he threatened him with it, but this is so much worse.
Gabe, my heart cries as it shatters.
There are no other houses nearby. Russell’s property is at the dead end of the street and only the mailman comes down here. Besides, I know nobody gives enough of a damn about Russell to check out what’s going on, even if they did hear him scream.
“That was your shoulder,” Gabe says conversationally before a slapping sound splits the air and Russell starts sobbing. There’s the sound of bodies moving, and suddenly, Russell’s in a chair next to the window, his movement having shaken the curtain enough that I can see a little more.
Gabe’s . . . not Gabriel. At least, not the charming, deliciously naughty man I’ve known and dreamed about for the past few
nights.
This man’s . . . ice. His dark eyes are emotionless, his face tense but totally neutral.
He really is like a Terminator. My God, this whole time, he’s been this way. Charlotte was right. He has been hiding something.
“Please . . . please, man, whatever you want, I’ll—” Russell pleads, but Gabe swings the mallet again, and even though it’s rubber, the sound of it smacking into Russell’s thigh cuts his words off into another scream.
“Shut up. I’ve spent days looking into you, Russell Carraby. How you’ve pissed away your family’s fortune. How you take advantage of the few tenants you’ve got left. You’re a waste of oxygen.”
There’s another thwack, and I recoil, realizing I have to do something. “Gabe, no! Stop!”
I stand from my hidey hole, running for the front door. I turn the knob, and it sticks for a split moment, making me think it’s locked, but then it gives way to reveal Gabe with his gloved hand around Russell’s throat, who’s an utter mess. A spray of blood is already splattered on Gabe’s face, and the mallet is lifted for what has to be a final blow.
Russell’s out, unconscious with his head lolling and only held up by Gabe’s grip. Gabe’s eyes are deadly, focused and cold.
“No, don’t!” I plead as he looks at me in utter shock.
Then Gabe blinks, and while it’s not my Gabe, the Gabe I’m used to . . . he’s human, at least. I can see the pain flashing hot and sharp in his eyes as his brow furrows.
“Bella? You shouldn’t have seen this,” he says, letting go of Russell’s throat and stepping back as the body drops to the floor. “Fuck, I wish you wouldn’t have seen me like this.”
Chapter 21
Gabriel
I can feel his worthless body slump under my hand as I hit him in the chest with the mallet.
I bought the rubber mallet because I knew I wanted to hurt him but didn’t want to actually kill him. Handy factoid, the rubber disburses the power of the strike, causing pain but significantly less damage than a normal hammer or bullet would.
I’d already done research on Russell Carraby, even before this morning. As soon as I knew he could be a threat to Bella, I looked into him and then watched and learned.
He wakes up at eleven, still half-drunk, and has a nasty habit of pissing in his own bushes on his way back inside from collecting the mail. He spends his days smoking and playing video games. He mostly only comes out to buy more drugs, steal shit from any store he’s not banned from, or to bother the decent people unlucky enough to live on the land he owns.
I’d known he was bad news, but Bella was handling it, and honestly, I didn’t want to answer the questions she’d have if I physically jumped in to save her from him. But this morning, everything changed, getting far worse than even I could have anticipated. I hadn’t had a choice.
The one knee had been the smallest taste of what I’d wanted to do, and I’d known I was going back for him without Bella there to witness it. Even if it damns me, I’ll save her. I’ll punish him.
It’s what I do.
And anything I dish out, up to and including death, would be warranted and well-deserved by a piece of shit like Carraby.
I’d swear I took the same precautions before approaching his house that I do with every entry I make, but obviously, I was at least partially distracted. Because now I’ve got Bella, standing in the doorway gawking at me, while I’m over a man whom I just beat unconscious.
And she’s looking at me like I’m some sort of monster.
The truth hurts.
“You shouldn’t have seen this, Bella,” I say, stepping back from Russell and lowering the mallet. “I wish you wouldn’t have seen me like this.”
“Gabe . . . please, don’t kill him,” Bella says, her hands coming up in a prayer-like pose at her chin. Oh, my sweet princess, if you only knew how much better your life would be if you’d let me take care of this asshole.
But I didn’t come here to kill him, and looking in her eyes, I wouldn’t be able to go through with it even if I had.
I sigh, lowering the mallet. “I won’t kill him, hadn’t planned on it. But he . . .” I shake my head, knowing I can’t beat around the bush with this any longer. “Please, I’ll explain everything. At your house. I’ll tell you everything.”
“Why?” Bella asks, her eyes widening as panicked fear pierces her shock. “Oh, God, you’re going to kill me.” She takes a step back, and I force myself to stay still though every impulse makes me want to chase her and pull her back to me, make her see that I’m doing this for her, that I’ll do anything for her.
She looks at Carraby, still unconscious but wheezily breathing through a broken nose. “No . . . no, I’m trying to save your life,” I tell her, holding my hand out placatingly. Something in my tone must get through to her because her eyes flash back to me. “I swear, Bella, I’ll protect you . . . but you have to understand that you’re in danger.”
Bella looks at me for a second, then points. “My house.”
“Bella—”
“No, Gabe . . . I need a minute to process.”
Moments later, I’m parked in front of Bella’s house. The front door is open and I can see her sitting on the couch. She’s waiting for me. I tried to give her a minute like she asked for, even using Carraby’s kitchen to clean up as best I could. But I know she’ll probably still see the blood spatter marking me, even though it’s gone.
I take a deep breath and get out of the truck, walking up slowly. She watches my approach warily, letting me come in and close the door. I sit down across from her, noting the phone and the gun on the makeshift table between us.
I wonder if she’s already called the police. Or her friends, Mia and Thomas. That’d be most fitting since they’re the ones who got her into this situation by asking her to interfere in Blackwell’s plans. Even if it’d been unwittingly and had seemed like she was only playing a minor part in catching a corporate saboteur at Goldstone.
“Explain.” Her tone is fury mixed with fear.
I count it a miracle that she’s even here, honestly. And maybe just as much one that I’m here too. This is the point where I should cut my losses and run. But I can’t leave her unprotected, because while I’m a scary man, Blackwell will just send someone with less scruples than I have if I leave.
How did I get so emotional about this? And how did my emotions make me so sloppy?
“First, please understand, I’m still the guy who’s talked to you, who’s taken you out, who’s made love to you . . . but I’m more than that too,” I admit, watching as she stands to pace back and forth. “It’s complicated.”
“That’s one way to put it!” she says, raising her voice. “I want the truth! All of it. Because the man I saw today isn’t the same man I’ve been falling for!”
The words hang in the air, both of us stopping, and they sting as much as they fill me with wild hope.
She’s falling for me? What have I done to deserve that, when I was sent to destroy her?
But maybe it’s not too late to be who I was before revenge took root in my heart.
I need to unburden all those hidden lies to find out if it’s possible.
“Bella . . . I’m falling for you too,” I admit, looking down at my clasped hands, and I realize I’m literally begging her to believe me. “Russell Carraby is a bad guy, more so than you even realize. He’s escalating, both in his drug habit and in his threats. I couldn’t let that go.” I look back up, imploring her. “What if I hadn’t been here this morning? He very easily could’ve pushed his way in here and done . . .” I shudder at the thought of what that vile man would do to my sweet princess.
She finishes my sentence, “He could’ve done exactly what you did to him. Assault me, hurt me, kill me. But he didn’t. You did. And neither of you had the right, him to do that to me nor you to do that to him.”
“I know, but it’s what I do, who I am. I’m sorry to say that, but it’s the truth.” I’ve never been asha
med of what I do before, having trusted in my rules and research enough to know that sometimes, working around the law to punish the truly despicable is the only way. But Bella’s eyes light up like she’s seeing me for the first time and isn’t liking what she sees. At all.
“So you’re judge, jury, and executioner all rolled into one?” She means it as an expression, not the actual truth, but I can see that she’s starting to get it, realization dawning that my attack on Russell isn’t a one-off situation but rather a single repetition of a recurring behavior.
Trying to calm her, I promise, “From the moment we first talked, I knew I couldn’t do what I was hired to do.” Baby steps to the truth. She deserves it all.
“Which is?” she asks, but I can see she doesn’t really want to know.
I clear my throat. No other way to get around it. “I was hired by Blackwell to kill you.”
Shocked, Bella stops pacing and shrieks, “You what?”
“From what I have gathered, you were instrumental in foiling some plan of his to discredit a business rival, Thomas Goldstone,” I explain, charging on before things spiral any further out of control. “Blackwell’s a vengeful son of a bitch, and he wanted to send a message. That’s where I came in. But I have a code of ethics, my own moral guidelines, and he damn well knows it. It’s why I looked deeper than his initial report. It’d said you were conniving, a key player in this business deal going sour. He knew I wouldn’t kill an innocent person.”
Bella pales, her hand going to her mouth. “Is Mia in danger? Or Thomas?”
My girl, always thinking of others before herself. Giving to a fault, even when she’s the one to suffer for it. "No. At the moment, Blackwell feels certain that they're too high-profile, and eliminating them would create questions that could lead back to him. It’s why he aimed for you. Your death would hurt them, but you’re an easier target.”
Her breath hitches at the description.
“I don’t know the specifics, but I did take the job. I did my normal routine, observing you, learning your schedule, where you lived, worked, everything about you. Something felt off. None of what Blackwell said made any sense once I got to know you from afar. I needed to investigate further, to see if I was missing something. So, I approached you.”
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