by Nina West
“Yeah, you can.” Gabriel’s lips tickle my jawline. “Just don’t wear it to visit your father.”
“Are you kidding me? I’ll be terrified to wear it anywhere.”
“So I guess we’re doing gifts now then?” Caleb pulls his phone out of his pocket, clicks a few buttons and then unceremoniously drops it on the counter beside my drink. “Congrats. Pick your color.”
My confused gaze flips from the sleek sports car staring up at me to him back to the page. “What are you talking about?”
“What do you want? Black? White? Silver? I figured you’d want to choose, but I can go ahead and order it if you don’t care. Blue suits you.”
His intentions finally register. “You can’t buy me a car!”
“Do you remember chewing my ass out for hauling your shitbox away?”
“Yes, but—”
“I owe you a new car, so I’m buying you a new car. Simple.” His brow furrows with annoyance.
He did have my car towed to the scrapyard without asking. “I had a Toyota Camry.”
Caleb snorts. “Yeah, you’re not parking a fucking Camry in our driveway. We Eastons have standards. Have you not noticed?” He waves a hand around the terrace.
I laugh at the absurdity of this conversation. “And I can’t park a Mercedes outside my apartment. It’ll get jacked by morning.”
“Your apartment?” Caleb shakes his head, his amused attention shifting to Gabriel. “She hasn’t figured it out yet, has she?”
“She’s stubborn.” Gabriel scans his watch. “Shit, I need you to come with me.” He collects my drink and, taking my hand, guides me off my stool and leads me over to one of two expansive sectionals sheltered beneath the enormous roof overhang. An iPad sits propped open on the coffee table. “Use these.” He digs a set of AirPods from his pocket.
“What’s going on?” I ask, tucking the earpieces into my ears without much thought, my head still in a fog thanks to the barrage of outrageous gifts.
“Just something that might make you feel a bit better.”
Almost immediately, the iPad chimes with an incoming video call from an unknown number.
“Someone’s calling—”
“You’ve got fifteen minutes. And if he tells anyone, these perks will vanish.” Gabriel hits the Accept button and ducks out of the frame just before my father appears on the screen.
“Dad?” As much as I hate seeing him in that orange jumpsuit, warmth spreads through my chest at his surprised face. I’m guessing it mirrors mine.
“You got about as much warning as I did, then,” he says, chuckling softly.
I break my gaze free from the screen long enough to locate Gabriel, strolling backward toward the glass doors, watching me. Arranging this must have cost him a lot. Not as much as the visit to the infirmary, but still. The ring was an extravagant gift. This? This is worth a thousand diamond rings to me. That he went to the effort…
“Thank you,” I mouth, my throat clogging up with emotion. He needs to stop doing sweet, thoughtful things like this.
A satisfied smile stretches across his face as he disappears inside.
“That one guard… Danny or Donny… something like that… he pulled me out of my cell. Wouldn’t tell me anything. I thought I was getting walked into something I might not walk out of. Almost pissed my pants. Anyway, he led me down here into this room.” Dad frowns as he searches the barren gray walls. “This was all set up already. I just had to hit the call button.”
“Justin DeHavilland,” I hear myself lie. “He pulled some strings.”
“Oh yeah?” Dad worries his lip. The bruises and scrapes that marred his face the last time I saw him are healing nicely. A few more weeks and all physical evidence that he was nearly killed will have faded. “And what about on your end, then? Who set you up over there?”
My dad’s no idiot. He’s already plenty suspicious of recent events—the high-priced lawyer suddenly swooping in, the guards giving him a wide berth, the way his attacker died in solitary. I can’t blame him. I also can’t tell him the truth.
“A friend.”
“A friend.” His eyes narrow. “Mercy—”
“We only have fifteen minutes to talk, Dad.”
“And I want to spend those minutes making sure you aren’t doing something stupid on my account.”
I’m doing plenty of stupid things on your account. “Please? Now’s not the time for the third degree. What matters is that we’re talking, right?”
That stalls his tongue. A moment later, he nods. “Speaking of degrees… how’d your exams go?”
A wide, genuine smile stretches across my face. “I’m finished!” The reality of that hasn’t sunk in, sufficiently thwarted by everything else.
“And you think you passed? You’re plenty smart enough to,” he adds quickly. “I just know you were worried for a while there, with all my shit going on to distract you.”
“I’m good. I studied my ass off.”
“Well, then….” His shoulders sag with a relieved sigh. “Good for you. I’m so proud of you, girl.”
I freeze my happy expression. He wouldn’t be proud of me if he knew about my arrangement with Gabriel.
“You look great, by the way.”
“Thank you.”
Michelle bursts out in laughter at something Caleb says, and my father’s eyes light up. “I recognize that laugh. Tell her I said hi.” His eyes flitter around the screen, taking in my surroundings, frowning curiously. “So, where are you now? Looks like somewhere fancy.”
“Vegas, for a few days.” I hesitate. “We’re celebrating.” While my father rots in a cell. That ever-familiar pang of guilt stirs.
“A night on the town.” He nods with approval. “Good for you, Mercy. You’re finally getting out there and living your life again. I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that.”
“You’ll get to do that again too, Dad.”
The smile that answers is sad. “Honey, I don’t think you should pin all your hopes on this fancy lawyer—”
“He’s already working on your appeal. You will get out of there,” I say with as much conviction in my voice as possible. I have to believe it. “One way or another. I will do whatever I have to, to get you out of there.”
He shakes his head. “You see, that’s what I’m worried about, Mercy. Listen to me carefully. I don’t know what you’ve done up until now, but I need you to promise me you’re not putting yourself in danger. If anything ever happened to you because of me, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I’ll wish Diego had finished me off.”
“Don’t say that—”
“Promise me, Mercy.” His voice has grown husky as he stares me down through the screen.
I avert my gaze, gathering the courage to lie to him. That’s when I notice the motionless figure slouched in a lounge chair in the corner of the terrace maybe ten feet away from me, his muscular arms folded across his chest, his legs splayed, mirrored sunglasses shielding those cunning eyes from view. By all appearances, Moe is catching sleep, and yet I have this eerie feeling that he’s watching me.
I hadn’t noticed him there earlier, but he could have arrived with Gabriel. Or, as Gabriel claims, he’s an expert at blending into his surroundings. Even asleep, I’m betting he’d be on his feet, gun in hand, at the slightest hint of a threat. All these guys are probably the same.
“I’m safe, Dad. As safe as I ever have been, anyway. Maybe safer.” It’s a lie, but the moment I say it out loud, I also know it to be true. The reality is, I’ve never truly been safe. My childhood was spent around a heroin addict. Near the end, Mom was known to disappear for weeks at a time, leaving my father and me to fend for ourselves. My father is in prison because I was attacked by his coworker. I live in a run-down apartment building frequented by police. There are no white picket fences and neighborly muffin drops in my life.
And, sure, the events of last night are directly linked to being with Gabriel, but at least now I’m surrou
nded by highly trained bodyguards and a man who isn’t taking chances with my safety.
Dad hesitates. “And you’re not caught up with anyone you don’t want to be with?”
“No, Dad. I’m good.” That much is true.
His tired eyes bore into me for another long moment before he finally sighs reluctantly. He looks exhausted.
“Just make sure you don’t tell anyone about this, okay?”
He waves my warning off. “I see how these things work around here. Someone’s pockets sure are getting fat on my account.”
“Things are good, though?”
“You could say that.” His gaze wanders around the room they stuck him in. “I’ve been eating lunch with this guy lately. They call him Chops and, boy, is he one mean-looking son of a bitch. Hands like bears paws, tattoos all over his skull, silver teeth. Anyway, he just came and sat down next to me one day and started eating, not talking. He did ask me for my chocolate pudding.” He snorts. “At least he asked. Anyway, he came back the next day and the next. Crazy Bob said there’s a prison fighting ring and he’s the one to beat. Nobody messes with him.”
That must be the beast I saw Gabriel meeting with the one time. “Glad you’re making friends.” Is Gabriel paying for that, too?
Dad chuckles, but then his expression smooths over to seriousness. “Tell whoever it is that’s…. Well, you tell him thank you.” Those words are dripping with reluctance. “You know, for this and for that visit to the infirmary. And for keeping me alive in here. I’m guessing I wouldn’t be if it weren’t for him.”
Fuck. So Dad’s figured out there’s a specific “him” involved. Has he also figured out that this person isn’t helping simply out of the goodness of his heart or for my delightful company?
Mixed in with my shame is the urge to defend Gabriel, to tell Dad that whatever he’s imagining, it’s not that bad. In fact, it’s become mostly good. I’m here now because I want to be.
But my father will never accept Gabriel, no matter how many visits and calls he arranges, no matter who he lines up to watch my father’s back.
I nod, even as my mind swirls.
Dad’s right. He’d likely be dead by now if not for Gabriel. Twisted motives or not, Gabriel is the only reason my father will survive this. He’s the only one willing to help me. Not the FBI or the police or the prison system. Agent Lewis knows my father doesn’t belong in Fulcort on a murder conviction, but she isn’t about to do anything about it. Not unless I risk my life to make her case.
“And don’t worry, I won’t say a word to anyone,” Dad reiterates. “Not even Crazy Bob.”
“How is your cellmate, anyway?” I ask, needing to move the conversation away from Gabriel Easton.
Dad shrugs. “Oh, you know. Still crazy.”
“When did it happen?… All of it?… ” Gabriel paces around the pool table, his hand shoved through his mane of brown hair, sending it into disarray. “Has Puff heard yet?”
Puff? Is that a person?
His feet stall when he notices me standing in the doorway of the games room, but after a moment he continues his pacing, answering whoever is on the other side of that phone with a series of grunts, his scowl growing more menacing. He’s bothered by whatever he’s been told, that much is obvious.
He ends the call abruptly and spins to face me. “What do you need?” His tone is sharp.
“I… I wanted to thank you for arranging the FaceTime with my father,” I stammer, caught off guard. The sweet, playful mood he was in earlier when he slid this diamond ring on my finger is nowhere to be seen, replaced by this brooding man.
He sighs heavily and rubs a hand over his forehead as if to try to relief tension. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just stressed.”
I pull the pocket doors closed behind me, shutting us into the long, narrow room. There is a modern cigar lounge vibe in here, with matte black walls and black marble tile floors. A bar with red leather stools fill one end. Behind it, a sizeable flatscreen TV fills the wall. An enormous and pristinely kept billiard table is next to the bar. Beside that is a massive poker table.
Even though I know I shouldn’t—not when I’m in this state of confusion over what to do about Agent Lewis’s offer—I find myself asking, “Do you want to talk about it?” Not because I’m digging for dirt to use as leverage. I genuinely want to lend him an ear. I find myself craving his conversation as much his physical affection, no matter how dark of a path those conversations often take.
He shakes his head. “I just got some bad news that will anger my father.”
“Is it to do with your uncle?”
“No. It’s about the family business.” His lips twist in thought. When he speaks again, he seems to be choosing his words carefully. “Certain organizations are making a play for our territory. Caleb and I don’t give a shit if they take it, but my father will, and this latest attack will set him off when he hears about it.”
Attack? Is that just a figure of speech? “I guess it’s a good thing he’s in prison, then.”
Gabriel’s responding laughter is wicked. “That won’t stop him. He can still make our lives hell, especially if he thinks we’re not doing as he’s asked. That’s why we have this meeting tonight with the Perris.”
The Perris? “Didn’t you already meet with them this afternoon?” I ask warily.
“That was just Merrick and Vince. That was nothing. But now we have to get into a room with fucking Camillo and Miles Perri. Because it’s what he wants. I don’t want it. I think it’s a really fucking bad idea. I don’t trust them,” he rants, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “That’s why you can’t be here tonight. I don’t want those two knowing you exist. I sure as hell don’t want them knowing how much you mean to me.”
Holy shit. Camillo Perri. That’s the man who killed their mother and got away with it. He’s coming here? I don’t blame Gabriel for his agitation. It’s becoming clear that his father steers a lot of their choices, even from within his cage. “I’m sorry,” I offer with genuine concern. “I wish I could make it better for you.” After all he’s done for me.
He leans against the poker table, folding his arms across his chest. “Did you have a good conversation with your father?”
“Yeah.” I smile. “He said thanks.”
Gabriel’s eyebrows arch.
“I didn’t tell him anything,” I assure him, wandering around to the other side of the poker table, to where he stands. I smooth my palms over the silky soft material of his black dress shirt. It’s meant to be a soothing gesture, but it allows me a chance to admire the curves of his hard chest, and trace his collarbone with my fingertips. “He figured out there’s a man behind all of this protection, and he wanted to pass along a thank you for keeping him alive.”
“He’s welcome.” Gabriel relaxes his stance and reaches up to stroke a wayward strand of hair off my forehead before his gaze searches my features. “He should know I would do anything for his daughter.” The layer of frost that chilled his mood only moments ago seems to be thawing already.
I lean in to seal my lips over his in a teasing kiss, reveling in the heat that radiates from his body. “Did you also arrange for a scary prize fighter named Chops to eat lunch with him every day?”
“Prison rules, babe. It’s all about who you sit with in there.” Gabriel ropes his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against him. “He’s okay with the company, right?”
“My dad gave him his chocolate pudding, so I’d say yes.”
Gabriel chuckles. “Speaking of eating… ” He checks his watch.
I groan, burrowing my face into his neck, inhaling his cologne. “Do we have to? Can’t we stay here all night, like this? Just the two of us?” Because when I’m with him, I’m not doubting my judgement. I’m not hearing Agent Lewis’s voice in my head.
He folds his arms around my shoulders, embracing me in warmth and comfort. “Wow. Who could have guessed that Mercy Wheeler would be begging to spend time
with me?”
Not me. Not in a million years.
And yet here I am, slipping my hand between our bodies to palm his growing erection, teasing him, suddenly aching for a quick and dirty tryst, right here on this poker table.
He allows the casual stroking for a few moments, going as far as to reach beneath the hem of my dress and tug at my panties. But then he readjusts them and gives my ass an affectionate squeeze. “We should probably go.”
“Wow. Who could have guessed that Gabriel Easton would turn down an opportunity to get laid?” I echo his mocking tone, earning his chuckle.
“That’s not it. It’s just….” His throat bobs with a hard swallow as he studies me beneath a fringe of thick, dark lashes. “That’s not the only reason I want you around.”
My arched brow has him laughing harder. He cups my chin with two gentle hands, pulling my face into a tender kiss before whispering, “Come on. We have reservations, and my brother is a stickler for punctuality.”
8
Gabriel
“You sure you’re finished?” The server stalls with his hand an inch away from Mercy’s plate, frowning at her.
“Yes. Thanks.” Mercy offers him a small smile. “The bit I had was delicious.” She pats her belly as if to emphasize her claim.
It’s a load of bullshit, and we all know it. She didn’t eat any of her meal. She didn’t even pretend to eat, didn’t cut the chicken up into little pieces. She just pushed everything around on her plate so it doesn’t look as pretty going back to the kitchen as it did coming out.
He collects the rest of the plates and takes off, but not before stealing a last glance at Mercy’s tits. I can’t blame him; I’ve been trying not to stare at them in that sexy blue dress all night. Better yet, they’re all mine.
Eat your fucking heart out, asshole.
“You still feeling rough?”
“A bit,” she admits, taking a large gulp of her drink, her eyes a touch glazed as she meets mine. She might not be eating, but she’s definitely hitting those martinis hard.