She tugged her hand. I wrapped my fingers around hers, squeezed them in warning, and then let her go. She spun around, but when she bent to gather her journal, sliding it in the bag with a pair of shoes, I narrowed my eyes to watch.
Whatever was written on those pages no doubt held her secrets. I made plans to steal them. They didn’t belong to her anymore. Everything about this woman was going to be mine.
Gabriella rose, slung the bag on her shoulder, and offered me a small wave. “I’ll see you around.”
I let out a mirthless laugh. “No, no, little bird, you won’t just fly away.”
Her brows knit together in confusion, then concern. “I really have to go.”
“Where?”
“To church.”
I blew out a short breath through my nose. Lies. “Which church?”
“St. Vincent’s.” She began to walk.
“That’s across town.” In the middle of Morelli’s turf. I fell into step beside her.
Gabriella nodded. “Yep. My ride is waiting.”
She tried again to shake me off, but I wasn’t having it. She was going to learn the hard way that her life was no longer her own. She didn’t get to flit around this city—mycity—and expose herself to the dangers of this place. And she sure as hell didn’t get to blow me off to have a secret rendezvous with whatever fucking prick struck her fancy.
We walked silently toward the street. Gabriella’s fidgeting increased, and I looked around for some shining princeling to step out and intercept us. When none appeared, I bristled.
“This is goodbye,” Gabriella said, turning slightly and looking up into my face. “Have a good rest of your day.”
Such a polite fucking mouth. It was going to look so good wrapped around my shaft as she choked on my dick.
“It’s been grand,” I muttered.
Gabriella nodded once, looked both ways, then jogged across the street. She slid into the back of a cab, and without a final parting glance, she closed the door.
Through the boiling anger, I just so happened to notice it was the same beat-up number that had brought her here. If everything about this encounter didn’t scream ritual, this minor detail did.
The only good thing about that was it meant I could catch her again. And next time, I would be prepared.
Chapter 8 – Liam
Birds chirped in the tree above. The sun laughed as it cast shimmering rays on the prettily cut shrubs. The bushes rustled as the hot summer wind made them dance. The world was jolly for it being only eight in the fucking morning.
My fingers itched to throw a stick of dynamite into the lot and watch the explosion turn it into a smoldering, gaping hole. The pounding in my head wouldn’t appreciate the noise, but it would be a fucking glorious sight to behold. Shoving my hands in the pockets of my dress slacks, I stalked through the sliding doors of the clinic.
The receptionist popped her head up, cheerful smile bright on her face—for a split second.
The moment my features registered in her brain, the grin tensed. I saw the minute motion. Watched her struggle to remain professional.
“Good morning, sir. How can I help you today?” the bubble brains greeted me.
Bleeding hells. What saint did I piss off last night to make this woman’s voice so high pitched?
“Doc Ryan paged me,” I muttered.
My tongue was thick in my mouth. Jaysus, I needed a drink.
That might be why I was in this state to begin with, but I’d found the best cure for a hangover was to start over again. Besides, it wasn’t alcoholism if it was a draught. A creamy, dark mug of ale was basically breakfast.
But the reason I drank so much last night….
