Something permanent.
My weight settles against her, face buried in the curve of her neck, breathing in the scent of sweat and sweetness and Blair.
We stay like that for a long time.
The windows fog up. The silence of the industrial park surrounds us.
Slowly, the world creeps back in.
Pulling back, I adjust her dress, smoothing her hair. She looks wrecked. Her lips are swollen, her eyes heavy.
"You should be afraid of me," I tell her, tracing the line of her jaw. "I brought you here to scare you away. To show you the ugly truth."
She looks at me. Really looks at me.
She doesn't pull away. She leans her cheek into my hand.
"Maybe I like being afraid," she whispers.
The realization hits hard.
I haven't just caught a bird.
I’ve caught a hawk.
And God help anyone who tries to take her from me now.
Wakingup alone in Gabriel’s bed feels like a withdrawal symptom. My stomach plummets, my chest aches, and it’s a little harder to breathe.
The mattress on his side is cold, the sheets smooth, as if he was never there. But the scent of him—sandalwood and pine and something darker that smells like pure trouble—is embedded in the pillows. It clings to my skin, a constant reminder of the things he did to me in the backseat of his car last night.
My body still aches in the best way possible. Sore muscles, sensitive skin, a heavy throb between my legs that hasn't gone away since we left the fight club. Honestly, it hasn’t gone away since the first time we fucked.
A folded note sits on his pillow, the heavy cream cardstock looking stark against the charcoal pillowcase.
I’ve got business in the city. Eat. Don’t leave the grounds without Jaxon. -G
There’s no "good morning," no "sweetheart." Just a command I can hear clear as day in his deep, rumbly voice in my head.
I should probably be annoyed. I’m an independent woman, not a pet. But as I trace the sharp slant of his handwriting, a shiver that has nothing to do with the temperature ripples through me. There’s safety in his dominance. After three years of carrying Ryder’s dead weight, having a man who simply takes control is a drug I’m getting hooked on fast.
But I can’t hide in this bed forever.
I grab my laptop out of my bag in the closet and head to the massive desk by the window. It’s time to stop avoiding the car crash that is my life and assess the damage.
Logging into my business accounts requires a stiff drink or maybe a benzo, but since it’s barely nine a.m., I settle for chamomile. It absolutely does not help.
While the dashboard loads, I wipe my sweaty palms on the t-shirt of Gabriel’s I tossed on and send up a little prayer to whoever’s listening that it’s not as bad as I’m imagining.
I stare at the screen. I blink, thinking maybe the Wi-Fi glitched. I refresh the page.
The number doesn't change.
I’ve been an event planner for five years. I know my cash flow. I know exactly what my operating capital should look like, and the number staring back at me isn't just low. It’s shocking.
Like… someone hacked into my account and went on a shopping spree kind of shocking.
My stomach drops.
