“Summer,” my boyfriend calls after me when he sees me unbuttoning my shirt, all the while heading for the door.
A pull on my arm doesn’t allow me to open the front door, forcing me to face him. His strained features drain all of my residual anger, my palm drifting in a featherlight caress across his cheek. Is it his pretty face that earns my forgiveness so easily? Or is it the fact that I can get shot outside, and I wouldn’t wanna die mad at him?
“What do you think you’re...” Atlas tries to say, but the amount of cleavage I’ve put on display is obviously distractingenough to leave him unable to finish the sentence, or to hold eye contact. That’s the objective.
He moves to button my shirt back up, but I slap his hands away.
“Stop!” Atlas halts, and his eyes level with mine. “Gabriel won’tlook at my face and recognize me if he’s staring elsewhere.” He gawks, dumbfounded. “Do you love me?”
“You know I do.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Always.”
“I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t come after me or you’ll blow it.”
I know what I’m asking of him, but I also know he truly trusts me enough to do it, though I’m sure it would gut him to let me out there alone.
Before he can say another word, I rip away from his grip, swinging the door open, not closing it behind me. I shudder at the thought of being recognized, but I cover it under a veneer of composure.
When I look straight into the eyes of the monster who took my brother away from me, there’s hesitation in my steps, in the steadiness of my voice, and the amount of honey the tone can offer when I say, “Mr. Bennett, right?”
There’s a splinter of a second when his eyes meet mine, but it feels like an eternity, waiting to see if the spark of recognition will light in his gaze. When it drifts down my cleavage, it dawns on me that a report stating I was dead won’t be what stops him from remembering me, nor my red hair, or the glasses. On that night, almost a year and a half ago, my face was sunk by tears, twisted by pain, tortured by helplessness, and broken by sorrow, to the point I’m now unrecognizable to him. He won’t recognize me because the person he saw before isn’t me anymore.
The lies to lure Gabriel inside roll off my tongue better than ones a politician spills, and I throw in the temptation of the delicious food inside as a bonus. And he does follow right after me, like a lamb to the slaughter, yet whether I kill him or not tonight is not up to me. But I’d be damned if I don’t make my reintroduction, reminding him who I am and what it is he took from me.
The moment I take a step inside the house, I let Gabriel passme by, glancing at the table, noticing all of the guys, except Atlas, are back in their seats like I asked them to.
Pushing the door closed, I take the weapon from behind my back and stalk after him before he’s zoned in on how stiff his boss looks. The pointed end of death to the back of his head makes his steps falter. Does the realization of what’s happening to Mason hit him, or should I give him a hint?
“Hello, Gabriel!” I greet him in a more informal manner, taking off the glasses and throwing them to the ground.
“What the hell is going on here?” he asks, without moving from his spot. A gun to the head has that effect.
“Take an educated guess,” Atlas chimes in mockingly.
The way my boyfriend’s hands curl into fists tells me he’s all but ready to slay this monster for me.
“Turn around.Slowly!” I command, but Gabriel doesn’t comply. “Look at your helpless boss. He’s unrecognizable like this, isn’t he? Make me repeat a request once more, and for the rest of your life you’ll be eating through a straw, pissing and shitting yourself every time you remember me.”
And he does turn.
“Your gun,” I demand with a smile.
He takes one out from underneath his jacket and throws it to the ground, away from him.
“Your crazy whore is going to get you into so much trouble,” Gabriel spits at Atlas.
“What did you say about my woman?” My boyfriend strides toward Gabriel, gripping his throat and punching his face in rapid succession, effectively breaking his nose.
“Honey, don’t! Leave him to me!”
Atlas halts, but the immense desire to let Gabriel experience pain in all ways possible is all over his face. Yet it seems the need to make me happy is what compels him to take a step back. I didn’t even need to use the magic word.
“Apologize to her!” Atlas orders.
“Are you kidding me?” Gabriel huffs a snicker, his broken nose dripping blood all over the floor.
