Gabriel Fallen, page 10
A word, a touch, a kiss. I wait for the sound of his zipper unfastening.
I wait for what feels like forever. My assets are on full display at eye level to Gabriel. Not that they haven’t been before, but these office lights are harsh.
And then the desk drawer rolls open. I glance over in time to see Gabriel fish out a small bottle of lube.
My nervousness spikes. “What’s that for?”
“I promised you extra dirty this time around, didn’t I?” His hands are on my thighs, pushing them farther part.
I’m intrigued. But … “Don’t you have a meeting is in ten minutes?”
“This won’t take long. Arch your back.”
I do as asked, equal parts curious and mortified at my exposure.
The sound of him squeezing the bottle comes a second before a glob of cool, slippery liquid hits my backside. I bite my lip to stifle my gasp at the sensation.
“I’m going to have this one day soon,” Gabriel drags his finger through the lube, smearing it around my tight entrance, drawing circles, pushing until the ring of muscle gives and his finger slips in. “But not tonight..”
My inner muscles clench at the idea of something of that size in there. I’m not sure if that appeals to me or not, but I do trust Gabriel.
He’s rifling around in the drawer again, and a moment later his finger is slipping out of me and something hard is replacing it.
“What is that?” I ask warily as he drizzles more lube.
“You’ve never used one of these before?”
“No.” I’ve never used toys of any kind with a man before, but I don’t admit that now.
He draws tiny circles with the smooth end, teasing me. “It’s a plug. You’re going to wear it for me until we get home.”
My eyes widen. “You want me to walk around the club with something in my ass? Are you out of your mind?” And why the hell does he have one of those in his office desk!
“Whenever … whatever …,” he murmurs softly, echoing the terms of our arrangement. He adds pressure to the circular ministrations and my tight entrance gives way, accepting the smooth metal. There’s a slight burn with the stretch and there’s no missing the fact that it’s there—inside me—but otherwise it’s not horrible.
“There, you’re good.” He smooths a palm over my cheek affectionately. “Stand.”
I do, the hem of my dress slipping down. Yes, I can definitely feel it inside me.
Gabriel leans over to collect my panties, holding them out. I gingerly slip my feet through and he eases them up and back in place. “See? Not so bad. Especially if you decide to hit the dance floor.”
“And you know this how?”
He shrugs. “Or so I’ve heard.”
I flash a wicked grin. “How about you bend over for me so you can learn firsthand?”
He fixes the hem of my dress, his lip curled at the corner. “Something tells me you wouldn’t even have the decency to use lube on me.”
I can’t help my bark of laughter. “You’re right, you are smart.” I eye my reflection in the wall of windows. “That’s one-way, right?” Because if anyone saw Gabriel inserting a plug into my ass, I will die of mortification.
He leans back in the chair, his legs splayed, his erection taunting me through his pants. “Of course. Do you think we’d want anyone seeing the kinds of things that go on in our private office?”
“Are you referring to your staff orgies or making someone bleed all over your clothes?” It’s a bitter accusation that just slips out, unbidden, and in that moment I realize just how upset—how not okay—I am with Gabriel being who he is.
How much I was hoping he was someone different.
“What are you …” Gabriel frowns, and a moment later recognition passes over his face. “You went through my trash.”
“I thought it might have accidentally landed there, so I pulled it out and … yeah.”
“It didn’t accidentally land there.” He says it so simply.
I know I shouldn’t ask, but I do anyway. “Whose blood was that, Gabriel?” My voice is shaky. “What were you doing last night?”
He hesitates. “I thought you didn’t want me to lie to you?”
“Jesus Christ.” Suddenly I feel light-headed. I maneuver away from him, needing space. Each step reminds me that there’s a foreign object inside me.
“It’s not what you think,” he begins.
“Yeah, whatever,” I mutter, making my way to the panel of windows. I study the horde of writhing bodies on the dance floor. It’s impossible to see Michelle in the VIP section from here, but I’m sure she’s there, lapping up the special treatment on account of her best friend being a sex slave to one of the owners.
The office chair squeaks, and I catch Gabriel’s reflection in the window, approaching me. “Is this why you’re acting the way you are?”
“How am I acting?”
He sidles up behind me and rests his hands on my hips. I can feel their warmth through the delicate fabric of my dress. “Like I’m some asshole propositioning you in the prison parking lot. Like you hate my guts again.” He leans in to lay a slow kiss just below my ear. “Like last night didn’t mean anything to you.”
I grit my teeth. “I don’t hate you anymore.” Maybe that’s the problem. It was easier to dismiss who Gabriel was before, when I despised him. While I don’t exactly know what I feel for him, I know it’s not hatred. Every time I give myself to him physically, he manages to steal a little something else.
“Last night wasn’t what you’re thinking, Mercy.”
I dare turn to meet his eyes. “Then what was it?”
He watches the gyrating bodies on the dance floor for a long moment, his jaw taut as if fighting the urge to speak. “I was at an underground fighting ring,” he finally admits. “And it got ugly.”
“You were fighting last night?” I frown as I search his beautiful face, grab his hands to check his knuckles. Nothing.
He chuckles. “Not me. One of our fighters. That was his blood all over me. He got hurt pretty bad and I was helping him out.”
“You have fighters? Like boxing?”
He shrugs. “Sort of.”
Someone bangs on the door.
Gabriel sighs heavily. “Look, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but believe me when I say, I didn’t hurt anyone last night and no one was forced into anything. It’s all for money. A lot of money.”
“The illegal kind?”
“The kind that buys all kinds of things.” He twists his lips. “Like protection for people in prison.”
Like the protection Gabriel offered my father.
It begins to sink in. Gabriel didn’t hurt anyone last night. He didn’t kill anyone.
My knees threaten to buckle with the overwhelming relief I’m feeling right now.
He collects my chin between his thumb and forefinger to pull my face to his. His gaze pierces me with its intensity. “Listen to me very carefully, Mercy: you can never talk about this with anyone. Not your blond friend down there, not your therapist, not your dad. No one. Understood? As far as anyone knows, you know nothing.”
Because if I know something that could put Gabriel—and whoever he’s involved with—behind bars, then I become a liability. And liabilities get disappeared. That’s how it works with these things, isn’t it?
Or is that just on TV?
I nod dumbly. I’m just so happy it’s not what I thought it was.
“Okay.” His fingers gently brush strands of my hair, as if afraid to disturb the styled waves. He smiles at me. “I have to deal with these guys now but after, I’ll come find you and we can pick up where we left off.” He leans in to drag his tongue over my lips. “You’re going to like this, I promise.”
Furious pounding rattles the door.
“Fucking Caleb,” he mutters. Letting go of me, he strolls over to release the lock.
A moment later, the office door flies open and the older Easton brother marches in, a glower marring his normally handsome face. “Seriously? You made me stand out there like a chump while you’re in here chasing pussy?” he barks, his hostile tone so foreign to his normally relaxed “nothing bothers me” drawl. I note the angry cut across his bottom lip. The result of a hard punch is my guess.
He likely deserved it.
“Chill,” Gabriel says calmly. “You’re too wound up.”
“Mercy. Out. Now,” Caleb barks, punctuating it with a thumb jerk toward the door.
“What the fuck!” Gabriel roars, his calm demeanor evaporating as he rounds the desk, charging toward his brother. “Don’t you ever talk to her like—”
“You want Camillo Perri hearing about her? Huh?” Caleb’s eyebrows arch. “You want him knowing you have someone? How well did that turn out for Mom?”
Uh … what?
“Jesus Christ,” Gabriel snaps. “It’s not the same.”
“Bullshit it’s not, Gabe. Bullshit.” The two Easton men stand chest to chest, glaring at each other, tension swirling.
And I’m just the innocent bystander, wondering what the hell is going on.
“Mike just radioed to say they’ve pulled in,” Caleb says in a more even tone. “He’ll be leading them up here in a few minutes, and you really don’t want them knowing what I know. What you’re too stubborn to admit to, yet.” Caleb gives him a high-browed look.
Gabriel’s jaw tenses, his eyes flashing to me.
“Seriously, if this alliance goes south—”
“Okay! Shut the fuck up already.” Gabriel’s arm is out before he even reaches me, ready to herd me out the door. “Michelle is likely wondering where you are.”
Michelle has likely already found another toy for the night, if Dwayne the bouncer didn’t take the bait she was so freely casting out.
“Is your friend hot?” Caleb calls out, as if that verbal spat between him and Gabriel didn’t just happen.
“Too hot for you,” I retort, annoyed with the way he dismissed me so callously. But maybe he has good reason. Maybe his intentions are good.
“Is that so …?” Caleb’s lips curl, and some semblance of the version I know—not the scary one that just stormed in here—appears. “That sounds like a challenge.”
I’m about to tell him to not bother when I’m distracted by Gabriel’s hand settling on my ass, his palm subtly pressing against the round base that anchors this damn thing in place.
“I’ll meet you down there as soon as I can. Order whatever you two want, it’s on Empire.” He leans in to settle an affectionate kiss on my temple. It’s his dismissal.
I hesitate, Caleb’s words from the other day about Gabriel getting them into trouble coming to the forefront. That coupled with Caleb’s demeanor and words like “alliance” and “goes south” makes me wonder if something bad is about to go down in this office? Whoever this Camillo Perri guy is, I’m guessing he’s dangerous. “Be careful.” It sounds like the right thing to say.
He gives me his signature arrogant smirk, the one that says he’s not afraid of anything or anyone. I wonder if that’s actually true, though. “Careful on these stairs. They’re steep, and those shoes of yours are high.”
I’m hit with a blast of pumping music the moment I step out. Their office must be soundproofed. I pick my way down the steep stairs on account of my stilettos and the plug, my teeth gritting against the odd sensation walking stirs. He’s right, I don’t hate it. I don’t know that I love it, but what I do love is another round of sex with Gabriel later.
Wayne meets me at the bottom, his appreciative gaze on my thighs, though he has the decency to avert his eyes when I catch him staring.
“This way to Miss Banks,” his deep voice booms as he holds a hand out, prompting me to move ahead and to the left.
We’re about halfway to the VIP section when the kitchen doors swing open and two sharply dressed men step out, flanked by men on both sides. Men who don’t look like bouncers but who definitely look like protection.
The moment I lay eyes on them, I know these are the guys meeting with Gabriel and Caleb. I slow to study them and gather as much information as I can. They’re young, I note. Late twenties, early thirties, like Gabriel and Caleb. Young and attractive. And likely related, because they bear a striking resemblance to each other, though one has medium brown hair and a beard, while the more slender one ahead of him has dark blond hair and a more chiseled face.
The blond guy’s eyes are roving the club. They pass me and keep going, barely stalling. But I catch the eye of the bearded one, locking gazes by accident. He has baby blue eyes.
Soft eyes.
Gentle eyes.
Is that the Camillo Perri that Caleb didn’t want me around for?
He holds my attention, taking in my dress, his gaze flickering behind me to Wayne before landing on me again, the corners of his mouth curling up a touch as if he knows a secret.
We pass and, as hard as it is, I resist the urge to turn back and steal another glance. I continue on toward the VIP section.
“Third booth in. Gabe said it’s your favorite,” Wayne says, gesturing to the table where Michelle sits, twirling an olive stick in her dirty martini, batting eyelashes at Dwayne.
Of course he said that. It’s the table Gabriel fucked me on. Thank God for the dim lights to hide my blush.
A busty blond with a tiny, black tube top and Band-Aid skirt appears out of the shadows, holding a tray with empty glasses. “Something to drink?” she asks, with a smile that doesn’t reach her blue eyes. Her hair is slicked back in a ponytail, not a hair amiss. It’s a severe look that accentuates her high cheekbones.
Gabriel did say to order whatever we wanted, but I’m too overwhelmed to think. I nod toward Michelle, casting a dismissive wave. “Whatever she’s having.”
“Merce!” Michelle waves, giving me her “I’m drunk” grin.
I slide in gingerly, feeling the plug move inside me, the pressure from sitting in the booth equal parts uncomfortable and erotic.
“Are you okay?” She frowns. “You’re moving like you hurt.”
Hurt would definitely not be the right word for what I’m feeling right now. “Just trying not to flash anyone in this short dress,” I lie. “I’m sorry I left you out here so long. We had to go over a few things.” Like how Gabriel is involved in an underground fighting ring. All things considered, that’s not so bad.
Another wave of relief swarms me. For the first time since this morning, I allow myself to look back on last night through my rose-colored glasses again.
“No worries. I’ve had Dwayne to keep me company. He’s staying by our table all night to keep the creeps away.” She gives me wide, knowing eyes. “So I guess I’ll just have to hit on him.”
TEN
GABRIEL
“Are you cool, Caleb?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters dismissively.
“Really? Then why are you pacing like a caged lion?” Back and forth in front of the panel of windows, his gaze hard and far away, looking ready to pounce at the first opportunity.
He pauses midstep, as if only realizing what he’s doing now that I’ve called him on it. With a deep breath, he heads to the wet bar to pour himself a vodka.
Jesus Christ. I can’t remember the last time I saw Caleb frazzled. This doesn’t bode well for this meeting, and the Perris haven’t even made it up the goddamn stairs yet. “No repeats of what happened with Vic, huh?” I warn him. From what Detective Stan dug up on Merrick and Vince, my guess is that neither of these guys would be as easy to subdue as our cousin, despite their sparkling, baby blue eyes.
The two of them are a lot like us, enjoying what life has to offer with fast cars and party weekends. Expect of course for those few years Vince spent in a state pen in his early twenties for a weapons charge—he got off on the violent assault that would have seen him locked up for another decade. And Merrick may be younger and leaner, but he’s been heavily into MMA fighting since he was twelve. He also likes dick as much as, if not more than, pussy, a fact that seems to be under wraps on account of Camillo Perri being a homophobic asshole. According to Stan, Daddy has no idea.
I don’t know what’s more shocking to me—that Camillo hasn’t heard through the grapevine or how the fuck Stan finds this shit out.
Caleb’s tongue darts out to test the cut he earned from our cousin for his efforts. “There’s no pool here. And, hey, I’ve shown restraint before.”
“Oh, you’re right,” I say with mock appeasement. That time we caught a guy in here, trying to crack the Winchester in the wall? Caleb was angling to launch him through the window. I reminded him what a corpse on a crowded dance floor would do for business, and he held back.
He broke both his arms and then threw him down the stairs instead.
I sigh. “Pour me one of those, will ya? And maybe bring a few empty glasses over here, for our guests.” They did agree to fly here again with only a day’s notice, after all.
“Can’t wait until this is over.” Caleb dumps several crystal tumblers on the edge of the desk.
“Me, too.” Because the sooner we’re done here, the sooner I can get back to Mercy. I should have known she’d see the T-shirt this morning. I honestly didn’t think anything of it. But if I had hidden it, we wouldn’t have had this tension. And I wouldn’t have felt compelled to tell her about the illegal fighting ring with the prison in order to explain myself. The very thing I told Caleb I’d never do. He’ll lose it if he finds out. It was stupid on my part—it puts her in danger if she were to talk—and yet I couldn’t keep it from her. I needed her to stop looking at me the way she was when she walked through that door, a siren in a red dress with ice in her eyes.
I wanted her to look at me like she did last night.
Fucking Caleb called it—I’m falling hard for this woman, and I can’t stand the idea that she doesn’t feel the same way about me. Won’t feel the same way about me.
I need to find a way to win her over.
I can do it, I promise myself. Look how far we’ve come, from her glaring at me like she’s sizing up where to slit my throat for most impact, to having no qualms about bending over my desk when I ask her to.
