Page 131 of The Beast

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The drive to the Monarch took seven minutes. Gabriel didn’t remember most of it—just the blur of streetlights, the white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, rage howling in his chest.

He left the car running in the valet zone and stormed through the front doors.

The lobby was quiet at this hour. A few early-bird gamblers at the slots, a couple checking out at the front desk, staff going about their morning routines with the glazed efficiency of people who’d been awake too long.

They all stopped when they saw him.

Gabriel knew what he must look like. Sweat-soaked from sparring, still in his workout clothes, his face a mask of barely contained violence. The guests shrank back. The staff froze.

He stalked to the front desk.

“Where is he?” Gabriel’s voice echoed off the marble floors. “Where is Sterling Hart?”

A manager appeared—young, nervous, probably fresh out of a hospitality program. His name tag identified him as Jesse.

Sir,” Jesse said, “Mr. Hart isn’t on the premises today. He called in sick two days ago, and we haven’t⁠—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying, sir. I swear. He’s not here. Perhaps I could help you?” He didn’t sound happy about the possibility.

Gabriel grabbed the man by the collar, lifted him half off his feet. “Help? Hell yes, you can help. You can tell me where the fuck Sterling is.”

“I don’t know!” Jesse’s voice cracked with fear. “I don’t know, I swear, please, sir. “

“Gabriel.” Harper’s voice, behind him. She’d followed him. Of course, she had. “Gabriel, let him go. He doesn’t know anything.”

Everything hard and furious inside him wanted to squeeze. Wanted to shake this pathetic man until answers fell out of him. Wanted to burn this whole fucking building to the ground and sift through the ashes until he found what he was looking for.

But Jesse didn’t have what he needed. Didn’t know where Sterling was hiding. Didn’t know where Bella was.

Gabriel released him. The man stumbled backward, gasping.

Gabe turned away, Jesse forgotten as he looked out over the Monarch’s lobby. This keystone of the empire that Sterling Hart had built.

He looked—and he felt something crack inside him.

She was gone. Bella was gone, and he didn’t know where, and every minute that passed was a minute she might be hurt, was definitely scared.

He wouldn’t let him think that she might be dead. Think that, and he’d crumble.

“Gabriel.” Harper’s hand rested on his arm. Gentle. Grounding. “Come on. Not here. Not like this.”

He let her guide him toward the doors. His legs felt like they belonged to someone else. The fury was still there, still burning, but underneath it was something worse.

Fear. Pure, paralyzing fear.

He’d lost her once, but he’d been given a second chance he didn’t deserve.

He couldn’t lose her again. He wouldn’t survive it.

“The gallery,” he heard himself say. “I need to go to the gallery.”

La Galerie LaBete was quiet at this hour, of course. But Chris was there, hunched over his laptop at the front desk, fingers flying across the keyboard, a croissant on a plate beside him.

He looked up when the door opened, and Gabe watched as his face cycled through surprise, confusion, concern.