“You think this will go out before it hits the carpet?”
“Don’t—”
He dropped it.
As his fingers released the match, I spun around and grabbed behind the door for the bat. My hand closed around the smoothly worn, tape-wrapped handle, and I whirled on Devlin, slamming him sideways across the gut with all my strength and pent-up fury.
Rage thrummed through my veins, and I watched as his face went white, and he crumpled forward to his knees, clutching his stomach.
“Bitch,” he wheezed, his face contorting. “I will fucking kill you.”
He was reaching for me when I heard a muffled “whump.” To my horror, the carpet seemed to shimmer with a blue iridescent glow as the tiny flame of the match ignited the gasoline that Devlin had poured everywhere. My bed seemed to be where the concentration was heaviest, because a lick of flame leapt to the blankets, covering it, and the entire thing seemed to combust at once. A wave of heat rolled over me, and I squinted against it, my eyes tearing.
I had to get out. Trip the fire alarms. Call the police. Evacuate everyone.
Devlin.
He was making growling, inhuman noises and slapping at himself. His jeans, his shirt… oh, God. Everything was on fire. I ran to the kitchen, grabbed the small fire extinguisher from under the sink. It would be about as effective as pissing on a forest fire in terms of the whole room, but if I could get him out into the hallway—
I tried.
Honest to God, I did.
But the heat was too much, and flames were already eating hungrily at the carpeting in the hallway and the adjoining walls. I couldn’t even see him in the inferno, and the fire extinguisher didn’t seem to be doing anything. I left him behind, grabbing my bag on the way out, pulling the alarm in the hallway, banging on neighbors’ doors.
Mrs. Beatrice wouldn’t have been able to hear me anyway, so I saved time by kicking hers open and dragging her out of bed. Thankfully, she could hear the blaring fire alarm and smell smoke just fine.
Everyone made it out, except Devlin. Standing numbly on the sidewalk, watching the firefighters try to control the blaze, I came to a decision and slipped away from the crowd.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Gabe
I hated that to anyone on the outside, I’d probably look like a loser, but I was spending the early hours of Tuesday morning trying to halfheartedly cyberstalk Olivia Redmond.
It was a hopeless effort since the useless piece of shit I’d paid to comb the east side of the country for Olivia hadn’t turned up anything. I wasn’t under any delusion that I could do better, but I’d had a couple of drinks at the bar earlier in the evening, and I was feeling… morose, for lack of a better word.
God. I was moping.
I was combing through old news stories I’d already read several times when I gave up and opened the current edition of the newspaper.
And there she was.
There was a picture of a women’s defense club’s ribbon cutting, and she was standing beside a woman holding a giant pair of scissors. Sure, she had on a hat and wore a pair of sunglasses, but I’d know her fucking anywhere.
I scanned the article.
And swore.
The gym was in my damn neighborhood, and the woman holding the scissors was none other than Roxy Cantrell, the security guard Jason had assigned to Liv. The same security guard who’d driven her back to Detroit.
Lying bitch.
I’d had the investigator I hired talk to her, but Roxy had said the same thing Freddie had. She said that she’d kept in touch with Olivia for a while after their encounter but had lost track of her when she changed her phone number. An obvious lie, I could see now.
My fists tightened. Olivia had been here in Chicago for over a month, less than a mile from me, and I’d had no idea. I wondered briefly if they’d had a good laugh about that. Roxy sending me off on a wild goose chase, maybe with a cover story that they’d fed her hairy friend Freddie.
My jaw clenched in frustration. I needed to let this go. Olivia obviously didn’t want me to find her. But as much as I hated it, I couldn’t do it.
I needed to find her.
Now.
I was heading toward the door when my phone rang, and when I picked it up, I felt a lick of icy dread when I looked at the caller ID.
“Gabe,” Detective Kincaid said without preamble. “There’s been a fire at another one of your properties. One fatality.”
I thought this was over. We’d completed all the building inspections. Everything should have been fine, and now, someone was dead.
“Where?” My throat felt tight, and I rubbed my hand over my face. “How did this happen?”
Kincaid rattled off the address. The Birmingham Apartments were less than two miles away. “You should know,” he went on, his tone cautious, “that the fire started in an apartment belonging to a corporation called Hit Like A Girl.”
My lungs forgot to breathe, and my blood felt like ice. “Olivia…” I finally said, though the word came out as a hoarse cry.
“Did you say ‘Olivia?’” Kincaid asked, his voice sharp. “Olivia Redmond?”
I shook my head, needing to focus. Needing to do something. Needing to… damn. I didn’t know what to do.
“Yes. I just learned she’s associated with a gym that just opened. Hit Like A Girl. Do you think…?” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“We don’t know. The body hasn’t been identified yet, but the individual was in the bedroom where the fire originated.”
No.
No. No. No.
This couldn’t be right. Liv couldn’t be dead.
“I’ll be there in five minutes.” My voice was hoarse from suppressing the urge to yell, scream, something. I disconnected the call in the middle of whatever the detective was saying. This was all wrong. I pulled open the door and…
“Oh my god. Olivia.”
I blinked, unable to believe she was real. But there she stood outside my door, her hand fisted and raised, just about to knock.
Pulling her into my arms, I cradled the back of her head in one hand and buried my face in her hair. She smelled like smoke, heavy and pungent.
“I thought you were dead.”
She pushed her hands against my chest, hard enough to get me to loosen my grip. “Is that why you never tried to find me in the last two months?” Her face was tired, drawn, smudged with soot, but her eyes glittered angrily. She had a bruise already coloring along her jawline.
I didn’t answer, just dragged her in, closing the door behind her and locking it. I didn’t stop, just steered her upstairs, my only thought to get that scent out of her hair, off her clothes. I couldn’t smell her sweet vanilla-spice scent over the stench of smoke and gasoline and death.
“Gabe,” she demanded sharply, dragging her feet against the carpet. “What are you doing?”
“You need a shower.”
“Two fucking months of… of nothing… and all you can say is that you want me to take a shower?”
I released my grip on her wrist and swung around on her, unaccountably furious. She stiffened at the look on my face but didn’t back down. She just lifted that stubborn chin of hers and glared right back.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my rage. “Liv, I just got a phone call that you were dead. That a fire started in your apartment and an unidentified body had been found.”
Realization dawned and a little of her anger appeared to recede.
“Humor me. Please. Let me take care of you for a minute.”
“All right,” she replied, giving me a hard look. “But I’m showering solo.”
“Of course.”
I had her throw her things out of the bathroom after she stripped. Her leather jacket, bag, stained clothes. The clothes, I threw in the laundry, stripping off my shirt and throwing that in too. I tossed her other things in the utility closet. She’d likely have to throw everything away.
Then, still reeling, I went to the bar and po
ured myself a double scotch. I downed that, feeling the burn travel down my raw throat, warming my belly. I was sipping the second when Liv came downstairs, wearing the gray t-shirt and black drawstring sweatpants I’d left for her. She settled in on the couch in the corner, her arms wrapped protectively around her knees. Her hair streamed down her shoulders, still damp and smelling of the shampoo I used. Her eyes were shadowed, and she looked absolutely exhausted.
“Scotch?”
“Please.”
Liv took the glass I handed her and sipped slowly, closing her eyes as if the effort of keeping them open was too much. I went to the fridge and grabbed a bag of frozen peas, wrapped it in a dishtowel and brought it back to her. She took it wordlessly, cradling it against the side of her face. I was overwhelmed with the urge to pull her into my arms and do it myself.
“What happened?”
She recounted the story flatly, eyes still closed, only pausing to sip the amber liquid in her glass. I wasn’t as calm. When she told me about how Devlin punched her, my own hands closed into tight fists. I was glad he was dead, and I hoped he’d fucking suffered. Not for anything he’d done to me, but for laying his hands on her. For daring to touch Olivia.
“So, it’s over,” she finished, opening her eyes and looking at me steadily. “Are you sorry you didn’t get to claim your vengeance?”
“Damn it to hell, Liv, you could have been killed.”
“Does that bother you?”
My control snapped, and I grabbed her, scooping my hands under her arms and dragging her across the couch until she was safely in my lap. “Jesus Christ, Liv. Don’t you know I’ve been going crazy without you?”
She didn’t respond, just buried her head against my chest, and the knot there started to loosen a little bit. I stroked her silky hair away from her face, breathing in the scent of her and rubbed her back, feeling the small bumps of her spine through the cotton of her t-shirt. Her breasts pressed against my chest. The weight of her body, her contours that fit so perfectly against me.
“Liv. Look at me.”
She did. Tears glistened on her cheeks and her eyes were wide. Vulnerable.
I kissed her.
It was like coming home.
Her lips moved beneath mine, soft, hesitant. The kiss was more searching than passionate, like we were both wondering about the answer to a question that neither one of us were willing to ask. I cupped her cheek carefully, running my thumb across her plump bottom lip, breaking away to bury my face against the side of her neck.
“I missed you,” I said against her soft, sweet skin, where her pulse beat steadily. “God, I missed you.” The admission was easier than I’d thought it would be.
“Take me upstairs. Please.”
“I will. Let me call the detective first, then I’m never going to let you go.”
I held her in my lap while I relayed everything Olivia told me to Kincaid, then carried the woman I was crazy about… the woman I loved up the stairs to my bedroom.
I settled her onto my bed and felt almost a tangible sense of rightness, a soundless click at the sight of her there, flushed cheeks, tumbled hair, that look of wanting in her dark eyes. How could I have walked away from this?
“I tried to find you,” I told her. Before she gave herself, I needed to give a part of myself too. “I hired private detectives. I went to your bar. I went… crazy.”
Her eyes began to shimmer, and she blinked rapidly. “You did?”
“Yes. Right before I got the phone call about the fire, I saw your picture in the paper.”
She frowned. “You recognized me?”
I smiled. “I’d recognize you anywhere, and I was going to go find you when the phone rang, and…” I couldn’t finish.
She did it for me. “You thought I was dead.”
I nodded and tears filled my eyes this time. I never cried. I just didn’t. But I was damned closed to crying now.
Olivia said nothing. She just crossed her arms and pulled the hem of her t-shirt up, revealing the creamy, pale skin of her smooth stomach, the perfect handfuls of her breasts, topped with dark nipples like cherries on two scoops of vanilla ice cream. She tossed the shirt on the floor and lifted her hips, easily wiggling out of the oversized sweatpants. They went the way of the t-shirt, and she scooted back against the pillows behind her.
“Come feel how alive I am, Gabe.”
My heart felt like a vice was squeezing it as I stripped out of my own clothes, watching her watch me. Her lips parted, her breath coming faster between those deep pink, parted lips. My cock throbbed. I wanted to crawl over her, cover her, claim her, bury myself inside her and forget everything else.
But more, I wanted her to have me.
It wasn’t about control anymore, and judging by the flare of recognition in her eyes, she recognized that.
She shook her head. “Take me, Gabe.”
The words were barely more than a whisper, but it was enough. I suddenly understood. She wanted me to take her away. Away from the horror she’d experienced. Away from the moment.
And I would.
I would do anything she wanted. For the rest of my life.
I straddled her hips, my cock nudging against her already-damp heat, but I didn’t push inside. I just rested against her, tracing her breasts with my fingertips. Running my fingers along the sensitive outside curves, smoothing my thumbs over their hard peaks, weighing them in my hands.
I leaned forward, meeting her mouth with mine. Tracing her plump bottom lip with my tongue, handling her as gently as the most precious spun-glass ornament. She sighed softly as I lowered my mouth to one of her breasts, laving the pointed tip, circling the aureole, scraping my teeth lightly over and nipping at her pinkening flesh, just barely, teasingly.
“Gabe,” she breathed. The sound of my name on her lips. The pleading that underlaid her words. I shifted my hips, pressing harder against her. “Please.” Her eyes fell closed, dark lashes shadowing her cheeks. I couldn’t resist the pale column of her throat and set my mouth to her, sucking and licking and biting as she moaned softly. When I pulled away, she wore my mark.
I shifted backward, spreading her thighs wide until she was displayed in all her glory. I ran my thumb along the outer edge of her sweet pussy, and she drew in a sharp breath, tensing at my touch. I slipped my thumb inside just long enough to coat it, using her slickness against her clit, lightly teasing the hardened nub.
“Gabe.”
I grabbed my aching cock at the base and guided just the head inside. Every nerve ending in my body roared to push in, slam deep into that wet, welcoming heat, bury myself, but I pulled back, running my now-wet cock between her sensitive folds. Teasing her, tormenting her, rubbing until her thighs shifted restlessly against the sheets. Finally, inch by throbbing inch, I eased inward, pulling her thighs up around my hips until she was pinned, her muscles gripping, fitting like she was made to cradle my erection.
Liv pulled me forward, and now her lips were wild against mine, urging me to move, nipping sharply at my bottom lip. I could feel the heat of her skin against my chest and belly, and scooped one hand beneath her hip, pulling her more firmly against me. Her nails dug into my shoulders, and I pulsed forward, finding the end of her. Her hips strained upward against mine, but I held back.
I leaned back and looked at her. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes dazed. “You’re mine. Mine. I’m not walking away again. And neither are you. Ever.”
I pulled out, the silky, wet friction of her dragging at my cock, and flexed my hips, driving forward again, setting the pace smooth and slow. Her eyes drifted closed again, and I focused on her and not the urgency pounding at me to move faster, thrust harder. When I shifted the angle, lifting her hips to hit her sweet spot, I could see she was about to come, and I finally let go.
Olivia’s eyes flew open as I increased the pace, thrusting deep, deeper, harder, faster. “Come for me, Liv. Come with me,” I growled.
The muscles of her pussy clenched around
me like a velvet glove as she cried out my name on a wail. The rhythmic flutters of her orgasm pushed me over the edge, and I came in her hard, spasm after spasm, filling her up while emptying myself. She reached for me blindly, and I came down on top of her, rolling to the side to cradle her in my arms.
I would never let her go.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Liv
I woke up to the morning sun slanting warmly across my face, and for a second, I was disoriented. I sat up in a king-sized bed, the silky white sheets rumpled, and an indentation next to me.
Gabe’s room.
Gabe’s penthouse.
Everything that happened the night before rolled over me in one huge wave. Devlin. Fire. Pain. Being held in Gabe’s arms. Making love. Because that was what it had been last night. And now, there was an empty spot next to me in the bed and, dammit, had he run again?
I jumped out of bed and yanked the top sheet off, wrapping it around me and holding it against my breasts in the front. I stalked toward the door, furious rage already pouring through my veins, but my reflection in the mirror over Gabe’s dresser stopped me cold.
There was a mark on the side of my neck, and I remembered Gabriel’s voice, husky, demanding: “You’re mine.” Just the memory of the way he looked when he said it… heat speared through me.
But how long would he keep me this time?
The thought was bitter, and I threw open the door, half-running down the hallway. If he was gone, I was going to hunt him down and kill him myself. Or maybe this time, I would leave first. I was halfway down the stairs before I realized there were men’s voices below.
“Good morning, Olivia.” Gabe’s voice was amused.
Gabriel was sitting in a chair at the table, dressed in one of those incredibly sexy tailored suits, smooth white shirt unbuttoned at the top to show the tanned column of his throat. His hair was still damp from the shower and combed back from his face. His big hands were cradling a white mug of coffee, and there was a man I’d never seen across from him. The guy wasn’t in uniform, but his look, from the slightly rumpled cheap suit, to the graying crew cut, clearly said “cop.”
Claiming My Vengeance Page 22