Page 87 of Dirty Pool

No.

“It’s time to leave,” she was told.

Gabbie nodded, saying nothing. She left the hotel because she didn’t have a choice. Not when the only options for her were staying there only to know it would mean Michel’s death, or leaving to give him one more chance.

They’d figured it out this far, right?

Surely, they could do it again.

She didn’t look back as she left, either. Not even when Michel called out for her again. She couldn’t—her heart just wasn’t strong enough.

Stupid heart.

FIFTEEN

It was only once Gabbie had left the hotel room that the men keeping hold of Michel let him go. With a punch to the face. He hadn’t been expecting the hit, or he might have been able to prepare for it a bit better. At least, it might not have hurt nearly as much had he been able to see the fist coming right for his mouth.

Instead, it sent him sprawling to the floor. He snarled under his breath, an ache like nothing else spreading over the side of his face. Great. He bet that was going to bruise, and he’d be the stupid fuck brushing it off all week when people asked about it at the college. Blood bloomed in his mouth, coating his tongue and telling him they’d busted something. The throbbing in his bottom lip didn’t really fucking help, either.

Jesus Christ.

What had he gotten himself into here?

He didn’t have much time to think on the fact Gabbie was gone. Oh, sure, it hurt like nothing else. His chest felt like someone had ripped it open and tore his heart right out of his body with a laugh, but he couldn’t spend time on it.

Not when these idiots were still looming over him, and he didn’t know what in the hell was going to happen next. With them, it could be anything. Michel didn’t trust them to let him go alive, certainly not after all this. They’d come for what they wanted, and yeah, they got it by taking Gabbie away from him. That didn’t mean the assholes weren’t planning something extra for Michel, too.

How did they find them?

Had he fucked up?

Michel refused to even consider that it had been Gabbie. And if it had been her, by chance, he didn’t think for one second that she would purposefully do this. She wouldn’t lead them to the two of them here—he knew that for a fact. So how in the hell did they find them when he was certain they had both been careful about this meet up?

“Stay down there, lad,” one of the old men said when Michel put his hands to the floor, ready to push himself back up to his feet. He didn’t plan to fight, but he didn’t want to stay on the floor when he had a handful of men above him. The least they could do was let him get to his feet and try to … do something. “Ye forget the Irish be like dogs when we dig for the bone—savages.”

Michel hadn’t forgotten anything. Hadn’t he been the one to be hesitant when the Irish came up as an issue the first time? Well, for the rest of them, anyway. He’d never for even one second thought Gabbie was dangerous.

For his heart, maybe.

Not the rest of him.

Michel spat his mouthful of saliva mixed with blood to the floor, wanting the taste out of his goddamn mouth. He let out a bitter laugh, and shook his head because this was ridiculous. “Couldn’t knock, assholes?”

That probably wasn’t the brightest idea he’d ever had. One of the Irishmen confirmed that thought by kicking Michel right in the ribs. The force of the hit sent him rolling over, and sprawling to his back on the floor.

His mouth kept bleeding.

Now, his chest hurt, too.

Stop running your smartass mouth, his mind snapped. Like he needed a reminder that it was always his attitude and arrogance that got him in trouble more than anything else. He knew how this worked.

Didn’t mean he could change it.

Besides, he’d much rather die giving them the shit he could than crying on the floor like a damn baby. He was a Marcello—they didn’t give anything; they only took. This included, and Michel refused to shame his name for anyone else.

“You’re not a very smart lad, are you?”

Michel eyed the man looming over him now. He wasn’t nearly as old as the others. If anything, the man looked younger than Michel by a couple of years. And maybe a bit familiar, too, although Michel couldn’t place his face for whatever reason.