After he said it, I’m honestly starting to believe that he just might be my guardian angel.
God’s fucked up answer to all my prayers.
Stalking back into the living room, I pull the curtain back on the front window just enough to peek my eyes out. The neighborhood is alive with activity. Kids playing, riding their bikes, or chasing each other and being noisy. Neighbors working in their gardens, chatting, and doing other things.
I search for anything suspicious, anything that could be out of place.
It’s not lost on me that despite all that’s going on outside, that if Alexei has been watching us, if he knows I’m here, then this would be the best time to grab me.
Fuck… Alexei.
Just thinking his name sends chills through me. Reaching down to my hip holster, my fingers squeeze around the handle of the pistol Gabriel left me.
I didn’t think I could hate the man more than I already do, but after Gabriel told me about Beth, her friends, and Charlie, I was filled with this mix of sheer anger and horror.
I knew that pathetic slimeball was selling kids. I fucking knew it. Yet meeting one of his victims face to face makes it more real.
More awful.
The pain, the suffering he’s caused, can’t go unpunished. And if Gabriel ends up being the one to punish him, I hope I’m there.
I hope he lets me put a bullet between his soulless eyes.
Dropping the curtain, I force my fingers to release the butt of the gun and pace my way back down the hall.
I must wear a thousand more steps into the floor before I hear the sound of the garage door sliding up.
Rushing back over to the front window, I flick the curtain to the side and peek outside.
I don’t recognize the car.
Shit.
A million things run through my head in my panic. Alexei found me. Something happened to Gabriel. Some other asshole wants me dead.
His own men are stabbing him in his back.
The garage door begins to slide back down, and I try to force my racing heart to calm.
It doesn’t matter who’s out there, I decide. All that matters is that I protect myself.
Fingers trembling, I take a deep breath and ease the pistol out of my holster as I silently walk over to the door and position myself.
I don’t hear the car door open, but I hear it slam shut.
Gabriel loaded the gun for me, I know he did, but I double-check the loaded chamber indicator before I lift it in front of me, just to be sure.
Heavy footsteps thump up the two stairs and the soft beeping of the entrance code being punched in comes through the door.
My finger eases over the trigger as the door swings open. I’m a split-second from squeezing it when Gabriel steps through the doorway.
He takes one look at me and freezes.
I’m so worked up, so freaked out from being left alone, in that split-second of time Alexei is in front of me and I want to shoot him.
I want to blow his fucking head off.
And I almost do it.
“Holy shit!” I cry out as I drop my arms and point the gun at the floor.
I’m so fucking scared, so fucking terrified of Alexei, I almost killed Gabriel. Like seriously fucking killed him.
I was a hair away from squeezing the trigger.
I start to shake uncontrollably, and if I didn’t think the gun would accidentally go off, I’d throw the damn thing away from me.
Staring at Gabriel, I’m utterly helpless and unable to move.
I came so close to killing him, to losing him, I’ve petrified myself to the bone.
And there’s such a look of rage on his face, such a dark, twisted expression of anger, I don’t know what to do.
“I’m sorry,” I say after I gulp in a mouthful of air, and it doesn’t feel like enough. How could sorry ever be enough? “I didn’t recognize the car.”
He walks up to me, his expression darkening even further, and still I can’t fucking move. My damn feet are glued to the floor.
I know he won’t do it, but I half-expect him to lash out at me. To retaliate. To hurt me for what I almost did.
It’s what my father would do.
He stops in front of me and I inwardly flinch as he reaches out.
Hand dropping down, he grabs the barrel of the gun and helps me tuck it safely back into my holster.
“It’s fine,” he grits out and releases the gun.
As if he can read all the shit that’s going on inside me, he stares into my eyes, his harsh face threatening to give into softness.
And for a moment, he looks like he’s going to touch me. Lifting his hand up, he nears my cheek, but then, as if he’s suddenly remembered something, he squeezes that hand into a fist and whips away from me.