Page 119 of The Beast

Chapter Thirty-Four

The next few days settle into something almost like normal.

Gabriel paints. I run the Monarch. We meet in the middle—breakfast together, dinner together, and deliciously slow, sweet nights that make me more and more confident that this fragile thing we’re rebuilding might actually survive.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Gabriel murmurs against my shoulder as we cuddle in bed, the morning light sneaking into the closet he calls a bedroom through the cracked door.

“Sorry. Occupational hazard.”

He pulls me closer, presses a kiss to the curve of my neck. “And what occupation is that exactly?”

I laugh. “Hanging out lazily with you. I happen to have a PhD. Highest honors.

“I’m impressed. And what does your doctoral brain say you should do?”

“It’s debating whether I should get up and be a responsible adult or stay here and let you do that thing with your tongue again.”

His laugh is low and warm. “I vote for the tongue thing.”

“You would.”

I’m about to roll over and take him up on that offer when his phone buzzes on the tiny nightstand. He ignores it, his hand sliding down my hip, but then it buzzes again. And again.

“Someone really wants to talk to you,” I say.

Gabriel sighs and reaches for the phone. I watch his face as he reads whatever’s on the screen—watch the softness drain away, replaced by something cold and hard and terrifyingly familiar.

“What is it?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at the phone, jaw tight, a muscle ticking in his cheek.

“Gabriel. What?”

“Leo.” His voice is flat. Controlled in a way that makes my stomach clench. “Your father made a move last night. Tried to have one of Leo’s informants killed.”

“An informant who was working for my father, you mean?”

He draws a breath, then nods. “The guy survived, but barely. Sterling Hart doesn’t take betrayal well.” His eyes are locked on mine as he says the words, and I have to force the bile back down my throat. Because haven’t I betrayed him more than anyone?

I push that lovely thought down as I sit up, pulling the sheet around me.

“The real kick in the gut is that this informant was helping us build the case against your dad.” Gabriel’s eyes meet mine, and there’s nothing soft in them now. Nothing of the man who was kissing my neck just moments ago. “He’s cleaning house. Eliminating anyone who can connect him to what happened in Aspen.”

The words hit me hard.

I’ve known for ages that my father is an all-out prick capable of terrible things. But knowing it abstractly and watching the fall-out in real time are two very different things.

“We need to go to the FBI,” I say. “Now. Before he can do anything else.”

“The hell with that. That fucker needs to die.”

The words hang in the air between us, cold and final.

He’s not joking. He’s not venting. He’s stating a fact.

He’s making a plan.

“Gabriel...” My voice is laced with a very sharp edge.