“You got that right,” I muttered.
“You going to arrest me?” she asked, her voice even.
He shook his head, lowering his gun. Then he turned and walked out the door.
Rosie’s glistening eyes followed his exit.
I had to get the skinny on that, but not with my man shot and a dead body on the floor.
“Rosie, you need to call the doctor and your brother,” I ordered.
Rosie jerked out of her trance and nodded. “Yep. Got it.” She unearthed her phone, stepped over the man she’d just killed like he was a downed log, and went to the corner of the room.
I turned to Gabriel, my hand on his shoulder. “Please don’t die,” I requested, my voice starting to shake. “I’m really fond of you.”
He lifted his bloodied hand to cup my face. “Ain’t going fuckin’ nowhere, baby. Holding a very convincing reason to live right here.”
“Fucking Hollywood,” I muttered. “It tricked us. Before that it was books. But not real books. Shakespeare, Emily Brönte, they were all trying to tell us what a fucking tragedy love was, but somehow the Hallmark people made a miracle out of tragedy. Convinced us this love thing was something to strive for, to exist for. Told us it was beautiful thing that enriched your life, set your soul on fire. You know what? Your soul is the house your sanity lives in. So when love sets your soul on fire, it’s burning your fucking house down. Hollywood doesn’t tell you that. That the moment you love, your sanity goes up in flames.”
“Baby, if I got you, I’m happy with insanity.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “What are you talking about? You’ve always been insane. This isn’t a change for you. It’s me I’m worried about.”
He gave me a warm look, one that hit my toes. Like we weren’t standing in front of a body and he wasn’t bleeding from a bullet wound. “You’re trying to convince me of your sanity?” He chuckled, yanking me to his side so he could kiss my head. “Well, that’s the beauty of insanity, firefly. No worries. We can just be happy in our padded cells with each other for company.”
Epilogue
“That’s the lesson of life, isn’t it? It gives us one person who both shows us that true love exists and fairy tales don’t.”
-Leo Christopher
Six months later
“I’m coming.”
I folded my arms. “You’re not.”
His hazel eyes narrowed. “I thought we’d established the mutual need for hand-holding in these situations, and my required presence when a man has his hands all over my woman.”
I cocked a hip. “Seriously? You’re gonna play that card?”
He went for innocent. “What card?”
“The one that is guaranteed to piss me off because the notion of getting jealous over my gay tattoo artist is batty, even for you.”
“Even for me? What’s that supposed to mean?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m going. You’re not. End of.”
“Try and go without me, see what happens,” he challenged, an erotic glint in his eyes.
Despite my irritation, my downstairs area responded to that glint. I ignored it and grinned wickedly at him. “Oh, I’ll see what happens when I go to the club party tonight and inform your brothers about your affinity for rainbow magic.”
He gasped, putting his muscled, tattooed hand on his chest. “You wouldn’t.”
I cocked a brow. “Try me.”
“You’re meant to love me,” he argued.
“All’s fair in love and war,” I responded, hitching my bag on my shoulder. I tried to go around him but he didn’t move.
“You’re evil.”
“You love it,” I shot back.
His eyes flickered. “Yeah, baby, I fuckin’ do. And you’ll get punished for using that against me,” he promised, his voice velvet.
My stomach dipped. “I look forward to it.”
Then I scuttled past him before I could forget the whole tattoo and let him cuff me to the bed and punish me right then and there.
Which was tempting.
Very tempting.
But I had plans.
A lot of them.
Finishing my sleeve was top of the list, and later in the week I had three assignments due. I was a procrastinator of the ninth degree so I was yet to start them.
Gabriel always scolded me for doing that and got all pissed and worried for my well-being when I didn’t sleep for forty-eight hours and drank six coffees a day.
He was weird like that.
I was studying to be a social worker, planning on putting my experience to use. Instead of forgetting my dark past, I was going to utilize it to help little girls and boys who had the same start as me.
I would make sure they didn’t have the same end.
Though, arguably, my end was not bad.
After that day in the club, it was. Bad, that is. Burying Scott was hard. Horrible. I’d never had many friends, so it hit me hard having to watch one be put in the ground. I had nightmares for months after that.