Gavin’s eyes snap open, locking on mine. Fear mirroring my own shines wetly in the bright blue. Looking deeper, I see more than panic and terror. I see strength and devotion and love. Without breaking our eye contact, I answer. “Yes. I would die for him.”
His lids flutter shut again, a saddened grimace marring his beauty. Did he think I would lie? Deny my feelings? Never again. I won’t resist the pull or ignore what I know to be true.
“What’s your endgame, Wolski?” Halifax asks. “You can’t think you’re getting out of here a free man.”
I glare at Grant. “Shut the fuck up. I’m not going to warn you again,” I hiss.
He glares back. “What are you going to do about it, Hale? You’re not part of this investigation and shouldn’t even be here,” Grant snarls.
What the hell did I ever find attractive about this guy? He’s a complete asshole.
“Halifax,” Van Zandt warns from my other side. “Keep your mouth shut.”
“All of you shut up!” Wolski roars, swinging the gun around the room.
When Wolski’s body angles away, the gun not pointed at anyone specific, Gavin grabs the hand holding the knife and squeezes, causing Wolski to drop the knife. I fall to one knee, yank my secondary weapon out of the ankle holster and fire.
Gavin
“I’m so sorry, baby.” Mitch apologizes for the millionth time, clutching my hand while the doctor stitches the deepest of the cuts on my neck.
“Mitch, I told you to stop saying that. It was from my pressure point attack, not your bullet.” He hasn’t stopped apologizing since he killed Troy Wolski with a single shot to the head. At some point, the knife grazed my throat.
“Sir, if you don’t stop talking I’ll have to ask your friend to leave the room,” the doctor warns, pausing to shoot daggers at me.
“I’m his boyfriend, and I’m not moving,” Mitch snaps, his hand clamping down on mine until I feel my bones aching.
The doctor presses his mouth into a tight line and continues stitching. Thankfully, Mitch stays silent for the rest of the procedure.
By the time we get back to the beach house, I’m nearly asleep on my feet and Mitch looks like death warmed over. From the hospital we had to go to the local FBI office and give our statements. When I started to nod off during questioning, they said we could go and they would speak to us later. We stagger up the stairs and pass out on the bed fully clothed.
“Mitch,” I whisper, gently shaking him awake.
A low mumble is his only response.
“Mitch!” I shake harder.
“What? Huh?” He rolls to his back, rubbing the heels of his hands in his eyes. “Gavin? What’s going on?”
“The doorbell.” My face floods with heat and I’m grateful for the blackout shades in my bedroom. “I know he’s dead, but…”
Mitch reaches out, swiping his thumb over the bandage on my neck. “It’s okay, baby. I know.” He presses a small kiss to my lips. The heat of his mouth sends a shiver down my spine.
Kicking off the covers, Mitch swings his legs over the side of the bed. He looks down at his rumpled clothing. The doorbell breaks the silence again and Mitch shrugs. “I guess whoever it is will have to deal with us being unpresentable.”
I slide my arms around his waist, tugging him against me. The hard planes of his body feel so good under my hands. I lean in for another kiss, this time deep and wet, slipping my tongue into the heat of his mouth. When I pull back, breathless, I whisper against his lips. “You’re always presentable. I love you, and thanks for rescuing me.”
His hands tighten on my back, fingers digging in to keep me close. “I’ll always rescue you, Gavin. Just like you rescued me.”
The doorbell chimes again and I laugh. “Persistent, aren’t they?”
Reluctantly, I let go of Mitch and we head down the stairs. I reach for the knob but Mitch steps in front of me, pulling it open and shielding me from whoever is out there at the same time.
“Hello? I’m certain I have the correct address. Is this Gavin Walker’s home?”
“Mom?” I peek over Mitch’s shoulder to find my mother on my front step. “Oh my god!” Mitch steps back, which is a good thing because I might have barreled him over to get to my mother.
“Gavin?” Her eyes flood with tears as I pull her into a tight embrace. “Love, are you alright?” My mom’s voice cracks and she sobs. The sound of her so upset breaks the shell I’ve kept around my emotions over the last few months. Tears spill down my cheeks.
“I’ll take care of the cab,” Mitch says to no one in particular. By the time he comes back inside with my mom’s luggage, we’re in the kitchen and I’ve got the kettle on to make her a cup of tea.
“How did you get here?” I ask. “I mean, obviously you took a plane, but why now?”
My mom’s eyes cast down, her cheeks red with shame. “Your father phoned.”
I tense up at the mention of my dad. Mitch puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. “How did he call you? He’s in jail,” I fume.
“Babe, it’s okay,” Mitch murmurs in my ear. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”
The stress spills out of my body. I’m too tired to stay angry with my father all the time. Letting go of the negativity feels so fucking good I should have done it a long time ago. “You’re right. He can’t.”
I sit next to my mom at the table. “So, he called?”
Mitch places my mom’s tea in front of her and sits at my other side.
“Thank you, love. You must be Mitch.” My mom holds out her hand.
“Sorry,” I apologize. “I should have introduced you properly. Mitch, this is my mother, Charlotte Chambers-Walker. Mom, this is Mitchell Hale, my boyfriend.”
They shake and my own face and neck heats up at the grin my mom is giving me.
“What?” I ask, squirming uncomfortably.
“You’re in love,” she announces. My skin blazes at her comment.
“Mom!”
Mitch chuckles, patting my hand.
“It’s okay, love. I’m so glad you’re happy. And safe.” Her eyes go watery again.
“Don’t cry, mom. I am happy. Now tell me about dad and stop embarrassing me.”
She fiddles with her cup. “He rang me from jail. Your father wanted to be sure you had someone here for you after what happened.” I swallow thickly. “I’m so sorry, Gavin. I should have seen him for what he was a long time ago.”
“How could you have known?” I reply. “Hell, I don’t think he even admitted to himself until yesterday that he was gay. He probably still hasn’t.”
“I don’t mean that part, Gavin. I mean how cruel and mean he was,” my mom explains. “I was afraid he’d get his Hollywood lawyers to take you away from me so I ignored it for longer than was proper.”
“Mom, it’s in the past. I’m better, I’ve moved on, and I’m happy.” I glance at Mitch and smile. “In the end, Dad did defend me against that sick bastard so that’s really more than I’d ever gotten from him before.”
“You’re right, love. It’s the past. My trip was frightfully long. Do you mind if I have a kip?”
Mitch laughs at her British phrasing, probably thinking of his own mother. “Not at all, mom. I’ll show you the guest room.”
“I’ll get your bags, Charlotte. Don’t want Gavin ripping any stitches,” Mitch says, jumping up from his seat.
My mom grabs my arm, holding me back. “He’s a keeper, Gavin,” she whispers. “And quite cute.” She pokes me in the side and I laugh. “Don’t let that one get away.”
We climb the stairs, my arm around my mom and my gaze fixed on Mitch’s perfect ass in front of me. “Don’t worry mom. I have no intention of letting him go.”
Once my mom is settled, we go back into the bedroom to clean up. “I feel disgusting,” Mitch says, his nose wrinkles while he peels off his clothes.
“You look delicious.” I pull off my own bloodstained shirt and step over to Mitch, leaving only an inch between u
s. Grabbing his waistband, I yank him forward to close the gap. Mitch gasps when our groins collide. “I have something for you,” I whisper, circling his ear with my tongue.
Goose bumps rise on Mitch’s skin. I glide my hands up and down his back, loving the way he shudders from my touch. Mitch grinds our hardening cocks together. “I have something for you too,” he groans.
Laughing, I reach into my pocket. “Not that!” His face falls. “Well, yeah, you can have that, but it’s not what I meant.”
“Oh. Then what is it?” Mitch bites his lower lip adorably. I want to suck that lip into my mouth and run my tongue all over it. My cock gets harder, making it difficult to focus.
“Stop distracting me.” I take his hand and put it palm up between us, placing the object in the center. “Here, I saw you put it back on my nightstand. I don’t need this anymore.”
Mitch looks in his hand and his eyes snap back up. “Are you sure?”
I nod. “I have you. That’s all I need to feel safe.”
Mitch’s grey eyes soften. He blinks and a spark of mischief appears. “Who knew you were such a romantic? What’s next? Are you going to write me a love song?”
“You jerk,” I say affectionately. “Let’s shower, you stink.”
“Fine,” Mitch calls over his shoulder as he heads for the bathroom. “But I’m not giving up hope on that love song.”
I follow that hot ass and muscled back and wonder what Mitch would say if he knew that I already wrote him one.
I snicker to myself, earning a playful glare from Mitch. Guess I’ll find out. We start recording next month.
***
One year later
AP— Sphere of Irony won three Grammy Awards last night including one for Song of the Year with their hit, Utah, You’re My Home. When asked which band member has a fondness for the state in the title of the song, front man Adam Reynolds only said, “Who needs a reason? What’s not to like about Utah?”
***
Thank you!
Thanks for reading Resist: Sphere of Irony 3. I hope you enjoyed it!
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Continue to read an excerpt from book 1 in the Famous Series- Relatively Famous.
***
The sudden screech of tires to my left makes me reflexively turn my head toward the sound, so when my foot hits a patch of ice on the sidewalk, I don’t see it coming.
“Ooof!”
I hit the ground, hard, and my right arm takes the brunt of the impact. Ow.
“Are you alright?”
A kind, well-dressed older man is walking around a black sedan to crouch beside me, his breath puffing out in soft wisps from the bitter cold.
“I don’t know.” I lift my arm and see that my long sleeved thermal jacket is ripped open. Blood is already dripping from a two inch gash showing through the brand new hole.
“Oh my.” He holds out a hand with a smile on his kind face. “Here, let’s clean you up.” The man helps me to my feet and leads me to a battered metal door that says GYM across it in red lettering.
Everything I was taught about strangers as a child comes rushing back. I don’t know this man and this place looks a little rougher than I’m accustomed to. Digging in my pocket, I pull a napkin and show it to him.
“No worries. I’m okay. I can just use this.”
He chuckles at my sad attempt to refuse his kindness and gracefully plucks the napkin from my hand.
“Miss, you have blood running down your arm and dripping onto the sidewalk. What kind of man would I be if I let you leave in this condition? Come on. I know for a fact they have a first aid kit inside and can get you fixed up quick.” He holds up his hands to show he means no harm. “I promise.”
My initial hesitation evaporates with this compassionate man’s words. For some reason, he makes me feel safe in a fatherly way. A way I haven’t felt in a long time.
“Okay, I guess I do need a little help.”
He opens the door and as I pass through he grins, the fine lines around his eyes scrunching up into the grey hair on his temples. “I’m Bruce by the way.”
He’s so genuine, I can’t help but give him a small smile back. “Sydney. Nice to meet you Bruce. Thanks for taking pity on me and my clumsiness. I’m usually much better at staying upright.”
“It happens to the best of us,” he chuckles.
Once inside, I take in my surroundings. Surprised, I glance back over at Bruce. I’m finding it hard to believe that a guy like Bruce, in his dress pants and impeccably pressed shirt, frequents this gym. For one thing, it smells awful, like old sweat socks and industrial strength cleaner. Second, it’s quite obvious that this isn’t the type of gym that people use to stay in shape.
Taking in the huge room, I quickly notice that I’m the only female in this place. Not very comforting.
The remaining ten or so people I can see are half-naked men grappling or punching bags or beating each other up with their fists like the two guys in the huge center ring.
Mixed martial arts training, that’s what they do here according to the UFC banner that spans the back of the room, covering up the dreary, chipped cinderblocks that make up the walls.
“Damien!” Bruce calls out, waving someone over.
The two men in the cage immediately stop fighting to stare at us. Both of them hop down the small set of stairs and trot over. I have no idea which one is Damien, but I can’t take my eyes off of the fighter in the black and red shorts with the green eyes. He is beyond attractive—he’s positively stunning.
I feel the prickly heat creeping up my neck and face. I wish I could disappear. It’s humiliating to be standing here in front of these two hot, sweaty men while my blood drips on the floor. Not to mention the rest of the gym, which has gone silent to watch.
“Can you grab the first aid kit?” Bruce asks. “She fell on some ice out front. Cut her arm pretty bad.”
The man with the buzz cut and tattoos wearing black and yellow shorts nods and hurries off to fetch it. That must be Damien.
The other guy, the too-beautiful one, is eyeing me warily. Which, in turn, makes me even more uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” I blurt out awkwardly.
The man says nothing. Instead, he stares at me as if he’s afraid of me! I have no idea what to make of that, so I stand there bleeding since it’s all I can do.
“Here.” He hands me a small towel. “So you won’t drip everywhere.”
His voice is deep and smooth. When his hand brushes against mine to hand me the towel, a shiver goes up my spine. Fumbling from nerves, I wrap it around my arm the best as I can.
“Thanks.” I stare at the ground, glancing up to take a peek at his handsome face. He’s acting really odd, wary, like me. But I’m the one in the strange situation surrounded by men I don’t know. Why would he be uncomfortable?
Not knowing what else to do, I go for mindless pleasantries. “I’m Sydney.”
The beautiful man gives me another strange look before introducing himself… albeit reluctantly. “I’m Drew. So you fell?”
Either I’m so inept that he’s dying to get away from me, or this guy is really off his game. There’s no way a man who looks like that isn’t smoother at making small talk with women.
I shrug, which sends a burning hot spike of pain down my arm. “I fell. It’s no big deal, really.” I wince from the sensation, my voice coming out strained. “Nice to meet you, Drew.”
Bruce and Drew exchange a look. “Have we met before?” Drew asks hesitantly.
I pull down my brows, trying to place him. I don’t think I know him. Do I? Oh my god! What if he recognizes me because of my resemblance to m
y mother?
I need to get out of here before one of them figures it out.
“No. I don’t think we’ve met.”
Now Drew looks absolutely dumfounded. His perfect lips fall open in shock.
Let it drop, please let it drop.
I can’t have this guy to figuring out who my parents are, who I am. I’m pretty sure we’ve never met. There’s no way I would forget his unbelievable face and body if we had.
Damien jogs up to us with a large white box. “Got it.”
“I’ll do it,” Drew says, his green eyes penetrating mine as he snatches the kit from Damien’s hands. He doesn’t look away, that powerful gaze trapping me in place. “Bruce, thanks for bringing her in. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
Bruce must be his driver, now everything makes sense. He’s most likely waiting for Drew to finish his workout.
“You sure?” Damien asks. Drew turns to scowl at him, Damien shrugging his shoulders in response, “Okay man, I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah, I’ll be here.” Drew has that intense stare aimed back at me as he speaks. The noise of the gym starts back up, a cacophony of grunts and punches. Suddenly, I’m alone with this beautiful man.
“Here, sit down.” He points to a nearby bench.
Mesmerized, I do as he says and watch as he kneels in front of me. Still shirtless, I track his lean, sinewy muscles as they stretch and flex in front of me in a tantalizing dance. He’s close enough to touch. I want to lean in and lick every hard ridge of his body. It’s literally torture to sit this close to him.
Drew places the kit on the bench and opens it up.
“Let’s see what you did.” His gruff tone has been replaced with kindness. It helps to relax me, but only somewhat. I’m still nervous to have this very intimidating man so close. I watch those intelligent green eyes flick up to mine before he focuses back on my injury. Drew puts one of his large, tape wrapped hands around my wrist and I gasp when a heart-stopping rush of heat travels up my arm.
Resist: Gavin Page 24
