Dubious: The Loan Shark Duet (Book 1)

by Charmaine Pauls

  “Gabriel.” His name comes out as a needy gasp. “I think I’m drunk.”

  “Good. A drunk woman never lies.”

  He moves down and takes my nipple in his mouth. I arch up, crying out as pleasure ripples through my body.

  He licks over the pebbled tip. “Do you find him attractive?”

  His raspy tongue sends goose bumps over my skin. I strain my neck to look at him. “W–what?”

  He licks the other nipple before sucking it deep into his mouth.

  “Ah, God! Gabriel.” I fall back, panting.

  “Michael. Do you find him attractive?”

  He grips my wrists in one hand and moves the other between my legs, parting my folds and stroking my clit. My hips lift to him, but he removes his touch.

  “Answer me, Valentina.”

  I gasp as he presses the pad of his thumb on my clit. “Yes. Yes, he’s very pretty.”

  His face contorts in a mixture of hurt and acceptance, as if he knew the answer but wanted to punish himself by hearing it. It’s an unusual display of emotion. He’s an open book as he stares down at me, maybe because he believes I’m incoherent, but the alcohol sharpens my awareness and senses. Strangely, my fear retreats to the far corners of my mind, leaving me perceptive to everything else, to the feelings flowing between us and especially to his fingers as he parts me and slips one digit into my wetness, taking me slowly with his finger.

  “Would you like him to fuck you?”

  I frown, trying to imagine Michael in Gabriel’s position. The idea of any other man touching me fills me with distaste. “No.”

  “You can be honest. I won’t punish you for the truth.”

  I clench my inner muscles, trying to take his finger deeper, and grind my sex against his palm. “Don’t you understand what you’ve done to me? I want you, Gabriel.”

  The pain in his eyes doesn’t ease. There’s relief, but grief still sets his face into hard angles that emphasize his harsh features. The shadows of the room hide the scar tissue on his cheek, but not the somber light of his ice blue eyes as he stares at me. To me, he’s perfect. I love the stark lines that define his unusual masculine beauty and even the sorrow that’s permanently etched on his face. Needing to touch him, I pull on his grip, but he tightens his hold.

  “Please, Gabriel.” I beg him with my eyes, my voice, and my hips.

  He groans as I rotate my lower body, trapping his hand between us. Slowly, the squeeze of his fingers on my wrists relaxes, allowing me to lift my hand to his face. I cup his cheek and brush my thumb over the devastating map of scars. It’s frightening to look at him, but when you find the courage to look, to really look, the power of the beauty that lies underneath the physical destruction is blinding. I’ve seen the beauty inside of him, too. He’s a good father to Carly, and he gives me much more than he takes, even if I’m nothing but property to him.

  “I only want you,” I whisper.

  For a moment, he leans into my touch, brushing his scarred cheek over my palm, but then he turns his head away, angling his face to the darkness.

  “Gabriel.” I moan in protest.

  He pushes my legs open wider, positioning his cock at my entrance.

  “Gabriel.”

  I say his name, trying to bring him back to me, to catch the moment we’ve lost, but he braces himself on his arms, putting more distance between us. The only connection between us is his cock that slams violently into my body. An ache spreads inside of me. He pulls back and does it again, stretching and burning me with that dull pain that tells me he’s too rough. He fucks me so hard my body shifts up to the headboard. Over and over he pounds into me, and all I can do is wrap my legs and arms around him, holding on while I give him everything I’ve got. With every thrust he growls, keeping his face turned away from me. He’s never taken me this brutally before, and even as it hurts, my soul revels in his possession. For now, I don’t care that I’m property. I don’t care that I’m a price tag and an empty body. I just want to be his.

  “Only you,” I say.

  He lances into me harder, his grunts louder, punishing me for something I don’t understand. The rougher he treats me, the softer I mold my body around him.

  “Only yours.”

  He snarls, driving into me with such force I’m scared he’ll break me.

  “Damn you, Valentina. Don’t you dare lie. Not about this.”

  “I want to be yours.”

  He grabs my face between his palms and jerks his head toward me, putting our noses inches apart without slowing the hard pace of his hips. “Look at this face. Look at me!”

  “I am looking.”

  Angers pulls his features into a fearful mask. His nostrils flare, and moisture brims in his eyes. “Stop it.”

  “Yours.”

  He utters a raw cry and grinds his groin against mine. Throwing back his head, he clenches his teeth and bites off the sounds as liquid hotness fills my body. He shakes with his release, his body slick with perspiration. I need him. He made a hole in my heart, and only he can mend it. Snaking my arms around his neck, I pull him down for a kiss, but he untangles my wrists and arranges my arms next to my body. He only rests his forehead against mine for the briefest of moments before he lifts up on one elbow to look at me. Our eyes remain locked as he lets his cock slip free to fill the empty space with his fingers. Using his release, he lubricates my clit and brings me to a quick orgasm, all the while watching me.

  When the aftershocks subside, he takes me to the shower and washes me. Too weak to stand on my feet, he sits on the bench with me straddling him, my head resting on his chest. The water stings my private parts, and I flinch when he soaps me down there. He towels us dry, carries me back to his bed, and then he disappears into the bathroom again. When he returns, he hands me a glass of water and a tablet.

  I look at the white pill. “What’s this?”

  “Paracetamol. You’ll need it if you don’t want to wake up with a headache.”

  He puts the pill on my tongue and makes me drink all the water. The bed dips as he settles behind me, pulling me to his chest.

  “I should leave,” I say sleepily.

  “I set the alarm for five.” He kisses my shoulder. “Rest.”

  I snuggle closer, enjoying the warmth of his embrace. Even if it’s only for a few hours, I’ll take what I can get. I’m used to living off scraps.

  I’m almost drifting off when his voice pulls me back from my sleep.

  “There was this cat.”

  I lie still, waiting for him to continue.

  “It was a kitten. Nothing special. Just an alley cat, but to me she was beautiful. She had a soft pelt, black as the night, and eyes like yellow moons. The cat showed up out of the blue at my best friend’s house. He called her Blackie. From that day on, Blackie always followed my friend around. She stayed in his room and slept on his bed.”

  His chest expands with a breath. “I was jealous of him. I wanted the cat to come to my house. I wanted her to follow me, but she didn’t, so I smuggled pieces of fish and steak to his house, luring her through his bedroom window. She ate the food, but still wouldn’t follow me home. One day, when my friend was at rugby practice, I went to his house and took the cat. I locked Blackie in my room, hiding her from Magda and our maids. I made a bed for her in my closet, and I fed her treats my friend could never afford to give her. I kept her closed in for two weeks. By that time, I reckoned she would have accepted her new, more luxurious home.”

  “What happened?”

  “The day I let her out, she ran straight back to my friend’s house.” He strokes my arm for a while, then says quietly, “He thought she’d run away, like strays do.”

  “Did she continue to live with him?”

  “I don’t know. I stopped being his friend after that day.”

  “Why?”

  “I couldn’t bear to look at that cat.”

  What is he trying to say? I turn in his arms to look at him.

  He kisse
s my lips softly. “If you set something free, it doesn’t come back to you, no matter how well you treat it.”

  A deep sense of uneasiness settles in my gut. Is he telling me he won’t let me go?

  “Sleep.” He kisses me again, the gentle act conflicting with the soreness inside my body that acts as a reminder of his earlier roughness. “You’ll be tired, tomorrow.”

  I close my eyes to hide my turbulent emotions from him. His story shocks me. It tells me three things. One, he’ll take whatever he wants. Two, he believes himself undeserving of love. Three, he’ll keep me for as long as my body serves him. What shocks me more is that I yearn to trust him. As long as he holds Charlie and my life in his hands, I can’t. For the first time, I consider that he won’t honor our deal. He’s not going to set me free like the black kitten. A man like Gabriel doesn’t repeat the same mistake twice. That’s what he was telling me with his story. Tears build up behind my closed eyelids. I turn my back on him again so I can shed them quietly into his pillow. He leaves me with no option. If he doesn’t let me go when I’ve settled Charlie’s debt, I’m going to have to run away.

  16

  Gabriel

  Awake long before the alarm goes off, I pull Valentina’s soft, warm body closer and mull over last night. Getting Valentina drunk wasn’t planned. It’s too soon for her to conceive, so I wasn’t risking her or a developing fetus’ wellbeing. The idea popped into my head while Michael fucked her with his eyes. Sylvia was always brutally honest when she had a drink too many. That was how I found out she never loved me. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. I wouldn’t have been so damn gullible if I hadn’t been desperate for a woman I could call my own.

  Yeah, the truth comes out when a woman is drunk, and unlike men, they don’t whisper lies in their moments of passion. When a woman is a second away from coming, that’s when you see her true feelings in her eyes. Valentina needs me. That’s what I trained her to want. Like the kitten, I lured her with pleasure and orgasms, driving her to her limits and beyond, ensuring that no other man can ever give her what I can, because no other man will have the balls to hurt her to make her come harder. Then why am I gutted? Women want me for my money, for sex, or for the security that comes with being connected to me. Valentina wants me because I designed it so. It’s too much, hoping she’ll ever want me for me. Girls like her want men like Michael and Quincy. It’s nature. There’s not a damn thing I can do about nature, except twist, force, and bend it my way. If I need to make her my captive forever, so be it. Soon, she’ll be bound to me in blood. Our child will be a connection she can ever break.

  At five, I still my bitter thoughts, switch off the alarm, and start the sad task of waking her. If I could, I would’ve left her sleeping in my bed. I love having her between my sheets. She groans as I wipe her hair over her shoulder to kiss the gracious curve.

  “Wake up, beautiful.”

  “Gabriel.” Her voice is sleepy.

  With much regret, I throw the sheet off, letting the fresh morning air cool our bodies. Goose bumps break out over her arms. She turns on her back, rubs her eyes, and stretches.

  “What time is it?”

  I switch on the nightstand lamp. “Five.”

  She sits up and swings her legs over the bed. Her back is a perfect portrait of frail vertebrae covered with silky skin.

  She gives me a shy look from over her shoulder. “May I please use your bathroom? With all I drank last night, I won’t make it to mine.”

  “Go ahead.” I want her to touch everything that’s mine. The thought of her fingers trailing over the objects that belong to me makes my skin contract with pleasure, as if she touches me.

  Her slender hand brushes over the mattress as she gets up. She takes my shirt from the chair and pulls it on. Warmth at the sight of her wearing my clothes fills my chest. When she closes the bathroom door behind her, I get up to select my clothes for the day, but stop dead. Blood spots my sheets. It’s not much, only a few drops, but enough to tell me I’ve broken her again.

  I jerk a suit from a hanger with a scowl. God knows I don’t deserve anything as beautiful and perfect as her, but I can’t let her go.

  The door opens, and Valentina enters. Her cheeks are pale, and there are dark circles under her eyes. She smiles at me as she crosses the floor with small steps. Before she reaches the door, I cut her off. I pull her to me with my arm around her waist, cupping her sex gently with my free hand.

  “Are you all right?”

  She winces at my touch. “Just tired.”

  Fury directed at myself combusts in my chest. “We’ll go to bed early tonight.”

  She gives me a weak nod. “I better go before Carly or Magda wakes up.”

  Reluctantly, I withdraw my touch. “I hurt you.”

  “You wanted to.”

  “Not like this. You should’ve told me.”

  Her gaze holds mine. “No, Gabriel. You didn’t want to hear what I was trying to tell you.” Without another word, she walks gingerly from my room.

  I let her go because I don’t have a goddamn choice. Abandoning the suit, I pull on my exercise gear, go down to the gym, and slam my fists into the punching bag until they bleed.

  * * *

  It’s going to snow in the middle of summer. Carly is having breakfast with us. She’s unusually chatty, to the point that Magda escapes with her coffee to her study.

  “Dad,” she says after an exceptionally long account of her week at school, “I’ve got something to tell you.”

  My gut twists inside out. I’m not going to like what’s coming. I brace myself as I wait silently with a stoic face.

  “I’ve decided to move back in with Mom.”

  The blow hits me right between the eyes. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. I lower my cup and take a long, deep breath to calm myself. Sylvia’s unexpected visits and easy agreement to let Carly go out on dates suddenly make sense.

  I’m careful to keep my voice even. “What prompted the sudden decision?”

  “Mom misses me.”

  The guilt card is a dirty one for Sylvia to play. “You don’t have to make a hasty decision. Why not think it over for a while?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, already. It’s not like you’ll only see me every second weekend. I can come visit whenever I want.”

  “Of course. Your room will always be here.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  There’s no point in arguing with Carly once her mind’s made up. She takes after me in that regard. I don’t trust Sylvia as a mother. She’s only ever proved to me she’s not capable of the job, and I don’t like Sylvia’s new boyfriend. All I can do is be there for Carly when she needs me.

  “You’re not mad?” she asks.

  “Of course not.” Disappointed, sad, but I’m not mad at my daughter.

  “I’m packing some of my things today. Mom will fetch me tonight. Will you be here to say goodbye?”

  So soon? “Of course.” The day, which has started out bad, goes several shades darker. “Let me know if you need a hand.”

  “Thanks, but I’m cool.”

  Unable to contain my emotions, I push back my chair. “I’ll pick you up after school.”

  “Uh, Dad?”

  I pause, waiting for her to speak.

  “Me and some girls from my class are going to Mugg & Bean after school.”

  “Who’s driving?”

  “Mom.”

  “I’ll see you before you go, then.” I walk to the door before she sees the anguish I’m feeling in my eyes.

  “Have a nice day,” she calls after me.

  Just like that, my daughter, my precious gift from Sylvia, is ripped from my house.

  What I need is a fight. I take Rhett with me to drive around Valentina’s old neighborhood. The chances of finding the bar she mentioned are slight. Many of the old places don’t exist any longer. The neighborhood has, like so many others around, turned into a cesspool of crim
e. The buildings are dilapidated. Some are broken down to the ground. I requested the city plan for twelve years ago from the municipality, but like the rest of the government, they’re a corrupt bunch of uneducated officials. The records have long since been displaced with the collapse of the system. It’s a joke this country is still functioning. It’s people like me and the rest of the thugs on the street who pull the strings. Politicians are merely the puppets. There are a million ways to go to hell, and I’ve earned them all.

  None of the old crowd who knew the neighborhood is left. My father’s cronies from way back who collected money on this beat are gone. Steven died of a heart attack with his pants around his ankles on the can. Dawie kicked the bucket when he fell down his front steps and broke his neck. Barney went out the old-fashioned way, gunned down in his front yard. Mickey passed away from cancer, and Conrad caught AIDS from the whores he pimped. My father’s death, going peacefully in his sleep, is the most gentle and uneventful of them all, contrary to the violent lifestyle he led. How will my end come? Will I die for the business, with a bullet in my brain, or like my father in my bed?

  Rhett pulls up to the curb and nods at the flaky house with the missing roof tiles. “This one?”

  “Yeah.” I cock my gun and slip it into my waistband. “Let’s go.”

  Lambert has the door open before I’m strolling through the weeds in his front yard.

  “Gabriel.” He gives a nervous laugh. “You’ll give me the wrong idea, calling on me all the time.”

  I motion for him to enter. Rhett and I follow. The firm click of the door when I shut it makes Lambert go tense. His yellow skin takes on a pasty color.

  “What can I do you for?”

  I hate his slang, but I swallow my insults. “Tell me about the bar that used to be around here.”

  “The bar?” His shoulders relax visibly.

  “Neon sign, bald bartender, pool table at the back.”

  He scratches his head and thinks for a while. “Ah,” he says after a moment, “that’ll be Porto, but the place doesn’t exist, anymore.” He sneers. “Won’t find much other than squatters living there.”