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“I can’t find my jacket.” Gabriel’s tone is light. Musical. It’s the way he speaks when he’s at brunch with his siblings. But his face is drawn with tension. He’s slowly losing color in his skin.
What makes my stomach sink is that we’re six feet away from his suit jacket at most. I don’t know if him saying this actually means he can’t find the conference table, which is huge, or it’s just a sign that this is about to be an ambulance-and-sirens emergency.
I pull his hand closer to my body. “That’s okay. I’ve got it.”
I feel like there’s a nonzero chance he could collapse if I pull him off-balance, so I slip my arm around his waist and take him with me. It’s a few steps to where his jacket dangles off the table. I fold it over my arm without letting go of Gabriel, then take the biggest risk of the evening. I make eye contact with my father.
He’s watching us, his dark eyes narrowed. I lift my chin in an outright challenge. If he’s going to stop us, or remind me not to be a whore again, he’ll have to do it right now.
A couple of beats pass.
Then his eyes go back to the two prostitutes who have correctly identified him as the group’s ringleader.
“Is this your building?” the dark-haired one coos.
He doesn’t look at us again.
Too easy.Even my six-year-old self thinks there’s no way he would let us stroll out of here without making us pay. This is the part of the night where he plays the benevolent host and the rest of the consortium gets drunk and celebrates because he said so.
It’s a chance I’ll have to take. Gabriel stands up tall, but he doesn’t feel steady, exactly. It’s not that he’s swaying on his feet. It’s deeper than that.
I take him out the doors of the conference room. With my hand at his waist, I can feel him rearrange his hands. He slides his hand causally into his pocket. “Did you have someplace in mind?”
His eerily calm tone raises the hairs on the back of my arms. “Yes. This way.”
I was going to take him down the hall to one of the offices, but that doesn’t seem far enough from the conference room anymore. I don’t get the impression that we have enough time to go to wherever Gabriel parked and find his car or have it brought to us. We need a little distance, though. So I head for the elevator bank and enter the one in the middle.
Gabriel pulls away as I push the button for the fourth floor. The elevator doors close, and we go up. He doesn’t get enough distance to make me let go, but he’s definitely leaning out and away.
The doors open. At this time of night, the hall is dark except for sconces turned low in their alcoves.
Down to the left is the front of the building. About halfway there, I stop at one of the doors and turn the handle. It opens without a sound, and I let Gabriel go in ahead of me.
Lights from nearby buildings cast a soft, neon-shaded illumination on the space. It’s a combination lounge and meeting room with a bathroom attached. A few years ago, Bettencourt International had rooms like this throughout the company outfitted with security devices in case there was an incident with a disgruntled ex-employee or someone else with a grudge against the corporations. I flip the deadbolt and slide the barricade device, engineered just for Bettencourt International to be unobtrusive, into place.
“There. Nobody’s coming in after us. They’re more interested in the prostitutes and the alcohol anyway. Gabriel, I—”
I turn to face him and he startles, his face a furious mask in the shadows. He backs further into the room, a hand out to stop me.
From doing what?
“Gabriel.”
I take one step toward him.
“No,” he snaps. “Don’t come near me. Don’t touch me.”
It’s like watching a glass drop toward the floor and shatter. It hangs in the air for a long moment, and then it’s in pieces.
One second he’s standing there, ordering me not to touch him, and the next he’s shaking so hard I’m afraid he’ll crack a tooth. They knock together in his jaw, scraping together. Both of his hands fly to the same spot just above his left hip.
I take another step toward him, fresh adrenaline rushing through my veins. “What is it? What hurt you?”
“Get away. Get the fuck away from me.” Gabriel edges toward the sofa and chairs near the window, the whites of his eyes huge and terrified in the neon glow. “Don’ttouch—” He loses his balance and catches himself on the wall with one hand. His other palm stays at his hip. “Don’t.Don’tcome over here.”
But something is hurting him. He’s wracked by shivers. His forehead meets the wall, and he squeezes his eyes closed.
“No.” The word is mangled through gritted teeth that keep making contact with each other, over and over. “No. Fuck.”
