Eva swallowed her concern. “Then let’s focus on enjoying the rest of our night, okay?”
And not think about the unsettling things swirling around them both.
CHAPTER 7
Gabriel stood at the bar in the packed club, feeling as if someone had snuck up and ball-peened him in the temple without him noticing. Because he was fucking stunned. And more than a little pissed off.
He, Alek, and Quan had shown up shortly before ten, wanting to be there when the girls arrived. And now here he stood, slack jawed, the pounding music killing him with the dirty all-about-fucking lyrics.
He ran his eyes down the length of Eva’s scantily clad body and felt fury surge through his body.
What. The. Fuck.
“Who’s the redhead?” Alek asked over the noise, having followed his gaze.
“Caleb Paynne’s sister.”
“Surprised he left her out here on her own,” Quan said from his other side.
“She’s married.” He watched the girls leave the bar and move over to a recently vacated table.
A shot of adrenaline blew through Gabriel’s veins at the sight that greeted him. He sucked in a sharp breath and held it, raising his eyes to the ceiling as he fought for control.
Her dress had no back. From nape to tailbone, fragile ribs to fragile ribs, she was bared for all to see.
He didn’t like that. Jesus Christ, he did not like that.
“Boys.”
They all turned to see Jak leaning against the bar. “Green sedan met up with her just before the bridge and tailed her all the way in. Took off when she joined with the smokin’ redhead. Who the fuck is that?” He gave Nika the once-over and whistled appreciatively.
The news of the tail didn’t sit well with Gabriel. “The biker’s sister. She’s married, so put it away. Did you get a look at the driver?”
“Couldn’t without revealing myself or losing her, so no. I’ll run the plates in a second.”
“What’s your guess?” Gabriel asked. “Another of Stefano’s guys or the PI?” He’d prefer the latter at this point. At least the private investigator wouldn’t be a danger to her. Unlike the others.
“PI for sure. The guy had a few clear stretches where he could’ve nudged her off the road but didn’t.”
Shit. Regardless who’d been in the car, Stefano was closing in. What his brother didn’t know yet was that Gabriel was willing to take a bullet before he’d let anyone hurt the woman now sitting—half-naked—speaking so seriously with her friend.
Alek waved his once again empty glass at a bartender. His accent was heavier than it had been an hour ago. Guess that’s what came from him switching over to the hard stuff the second they’d arrived. He looked away from his best friend’s pale, shadowed expression . . . and wanted to level his Glock between the eyes of three players now gawking at the girls, no doubt plotting how to maneuver to their table.
Jealousy was new to him. Unfamiliar. Fucking sucked, to be honest, because he wasn’t sure how to deal with it. Should he act on it, get it out of his system?
He pictured smashing two of the flyboys’ heads together.
His mouth turned down and he nodded slightly. That would feel good.
Or should he ignore it? Wait for it to pass. Allow the trio—who now looked as though they were arguing over who would get which girl—to make their play and get shot down. Let nature take its course.
Gabriel snatched up his fresh Stoli and swallowed it whole. “She’s mine,” he rasped through the slight burn, wishing his voice could carry to the three fucks pissing him off.
Alek, Quan, and Jak stilled, tossing questioning looks in his direction. They’d heard his statement. He couldn’t blame them. It was an astounding claim coming from him. Jak eventually nodded as if it wasn’t news. Quan did the sign of the cross, kissed his three fingers, and sent them skyward, as though he was sending up a prayer of thanks. Alek’s eyes narrowed.
“Your responsibility. Right?”
“No.” That was the only explanation he offered as he watched Eva remove the clip from her hair so that the mass fell down her back in the darkest of waves. Better.
Jak laughed and slapped the bar with an open palm. “I’m heading out before the jealous tears come. I’ll be available again at oh-six-hundred, boys. See ya.”
Once Jak had walked away, Alek turned to Gabriel. “What’s this about, G? Fucking her? Or something more.”
Gabriel clenched his jaw. He wasn’t used to being challenged by one of his own. “I’m not talking about this with you, brother.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“That’s it? ‘Because’? You sound like Vincente.”
“Nah. If I’d been trying to sound like Vincente, I’d have said, ‘Because. Now fuck off.’ ”
“True. You’re lucky my uncle loves you the way he does,” Alek said as he leaned his back on the bar. “Because if this was Maks or V? We’d be finding body parts in the most unexpected of places. You know that, right?”
Gabriel nodded but didn’t say anything more as memory surfaced. Something in his chest shifted. He, Alek, and Vincente had met when they were thirteen. All of them had grown up in the life. Vincente’s father had been one of Gabriel’s father’s lieutenants. He and V had gravitated toward each other, hanging at the park in their neighborhood or at each other’s homes after school. Vincente’s house was where they usually ended up because he’d been raising his sister pretty much single-handedly—yes, at thirteen years old. The odd time—if Stefano wasn’t around to level them with his cold, unwelcoming stares, or the Don to the Moretti family doing the same—they’d hidden out in Gabriel’s basement.
But the best was when they went to the Tarasovs’ place. By that time, Alek’s mother was already gone—passed from complications due to pneumonia—and it had been Evgeny, Vasily, and Alek. Even though it had been just the two brothers, they’d taken over and raised a young Alek with all the love and acceptance one would expect in a family. Gabriel—having come from a home that was nothing but training camp—had soaked up the atmosphere like a desiccated sponge. Vincente, who’d lost his own mother in a car bomb meant for his absentee father, had done the same.
Vasily, with his seemingly casual advice and “let me give you a hint” way of communicating, had helped shape all three of them into the men they were today. He’d brought Maksim Kirov into the fold when they’d been juniors in high school, relocating the emancipated, detached giant back with him from Russia. To this day, none of them knew the details of that trip. It had taken a while, but he, Alek, and Vincente eventually gained the abused kid’s trust and brought him into their circle.
Vasily had helped them all, and now Gabriel was mentally undressing the very daughter he’d been asked to protect.
Not that there was much mental undressing left to do with that barely-there dress.
As Nika stood and dragged Eva to the dance floor, Gabriel couldn’t help but wonder what the fallout his coming relationship with Eva would bring. Because, despite his memories from the past—Vasily’s acceptance and easy aid, his understanding and discussion of Gabriel’s mangled emotions when he’d made a kill that was expected of him—Gabriel could not walk away from a relationship with the man’s daughter. Looking at her now, at the way she stood out in the grinding crowd like an onyx jewel dropped into a toy box with a bunch of broken Lego pieces, he didn’t have it in himself to resist her. Couldn’t have walked away and turned her care over to her cousin and his boys if someone had the barrel of a gun pressed to his temple, finger on the trigger.
Flames licked at his skin as he watched the smooth sway of her hips, arms rising sinuously above her head, bare back curling and straightening with her sensual movements.
Mine.
There was that word again.
Both girls were stunning, easily seen in the crowd, particularly with those long luscious manes—Eva’s nightfall to Nika’s sunri
se. Just the kind of satiny tresses a man loved to imagine wrapped around his fist as he devoured a willing mouth.
Gabriel’s phone buzzed. He withdrew it and glanced at the screen before bringing it to his ear. He hit the volume button on the side so he could hear around the noise in the club. “Paynne. How’s it going?”
“Eva texted again this afternoon,” the biker reported. “Wants to know if I’ve learned anything new about your brother’s visit the other day. I can’t put her off forever, Moretti. What can I tell her?”
Fuck. “The truth,” Gabriel suggested. “That you don’t know why he was there.” In his original debriefing, it had been the Russians that had been the threat, so the biker hadn’t been informed of Stefano’s vendetta, only that he and Gabriel were brothers. He’d have to let Vincente, who was his and Paynne’s usual go-between, know it was okay to fill in the blanks.
“The truth. Right,” Paynne snorted. “She’d be pissed as hell if she found out I only came back to New York to watch her ass. That I lied to her about it for weeks.”
“I wouldn’t recommend full disclosure,” he said dryly. “Might make for an awkward pickup at the airport when she returns next week.”
“What do you mean, ‘returns next week’?”
“She’s filling a position at TarMor and will come back with me when I relocate to New York. It will make watching her that much easier.” Among other things.
“Shit. Nika’s gonna freak. Okay. So, I have to tell her we’re amateurs and can’t find out why some goon broke into my place. She’s not going to swallow that, Moretti. She’ll definitely wonder why I’m letting it go.”
Having enough on his plate, Gabriel recommended, “Then think up something plausible to tell her before the question is popped. Later, Paynne.”
As he tucked his phone away, Quan caught his attention as he smoothly made his way between the loosely packed bodies and intercepted the trio of gawkers who’d been discussing the girls earlier. They’d decided to make their move, it seemed. Quan motioned them in, as if he was going to share a secret, and said something that had all three sets of eyes widening and shifting to where Gabriel stood with Alek. The young blond in the group cupped himself, giving Gabriel some idea as to what Quan had threatened. They gave up on their prey and scampered toward the rear of the club without a backward glance.
Quan returned, taking up his position on Gabriel’s right, not a word spoken.
But, then, none were necessary.
Gabriel relaxed slightly, content for the time being now that one small threat had been dealt with—if you could have even called the trio looking to get laid a threat.
Which Gabriel wouldn’t.
He’d save that label for his brother.
Ian Preston slid his credit card out of the slot on the front of the pump and lifted the nozzle while he chomped down on the TUMS in his mouth. He turned and nearly choked on the chalky remains when he saw that mean fucker with the stupid hairdo leaning against the quarter panel of his car. What the hell? Had the Moretti underboss followed him to Seattle from New York? Had they thought he was gonna fuck them over?
Tempting. But Ian wasn’t that stupid.
“Hey,” he said around his now-thudding heart. Had to can it with the fuckin’ burgers. “Where’d you come from?”
“Where is she?”
Dammit. How the fuck had he gotten involved with these guys? Fuckin’ mafia. Why hadn’t he listened to his mother—may she rest in peace—and become an electrician? He could’ve been lookin’ at some chick’s tits while he fixed her stove for her. Maybe got a blow job from some desperate housewife. But no. He’d wanted to play spy. So, here he was, screwin’ around with the fuckin’ Moretti family.
“I had to bail at the club she landed in,” he explained to Stefano Moretti’s main boy, at the same time reciting what he remembered from the prayer his mother—may she rest in peace—had taught him when he was a kid. “She met up with the redhead and they tagged me. I didn’t want ’em gettin’ suspicious. They’re over on First, ’bout six blocks over.”
“Give me her home address.”
Man, he really didn’t like this guy. But, seeing no other way, Ian took out his pad—no electronics for him—and rattled off the girl’s addy. The girl he kinda had a crush on. The one who reminded him of that chick from those Transformers movies.
An innocent girl who didn’t deserve to have this fuckin’ guy knowing where she lived. What if he hurt her? Did some weird sexual shit to her?
Furio’s eyes met his, and he really had to work hard not to take a step back. “Go home, tubby,” the underboss drawled as he turned away. “And go on a fuckin’ diet before you drop dead where you stand.”
Ian Preston’s lips thinned as his face burned with humiliation. A humiliation he’d lived with for too many years; ever since he was a kid sitting in that doctor’s office with his worried mother, listening as they talked about something called a thyroid. He hadn’t known then that the malfunctioning little fucker in his neck would cause him nothing but abuse from guys like Furio Abella, the bully who’d just climbed into a Chrysler 300 and driven away.
Ian nodded once and pulled out his puffer. As he pushed down on the pump and inhaled the meds, he couldn’t help but think that payback wasn’t as much of a bitch as people thought. He kind of liked her.
Not as much as he liked the Transformers girl. She was a nice one. Even as pretty as she was. Didn’t seem stuck-up at all. She’d even held the door open for him when he’d followed her into a Starbucks a couple of weeks ago on Broadway.
The Morettis should go at it, he thought as he pumped the handle to reach an even number on the gauge. Gabriel could kick Stefano’s ass for getting the girl involved in whatever shit they had planned for her. Although, neither of the brothers seemed to be a threat to her. It was Furio Ian was worried about.
And he was rarely wrong. He knew how to read people. Always had.
Stefano was a follower, even though he was boss. Was tough but not much of a threat unless provoked.
Furio was a cruel wannabe, the type one had to watch out for because they stopped at nothing to get what they wanted.
Gabriel Moretti? Now he was a smart one, and dangerous. But fair. Ian had seen that in the first week he’d tailed the guy. You didn’t fuck around with him, because he’d bust you up, but he didn’t bust anyone up unless they fucked around with him. Fair.
And it seemed like all three men wanted one thing.
The pretty Transformers girl.
Ian smiled as he looked at the couple staring out from the folded page of the Times that sat on the front passenger seat of his rental. If he’d chosen for her, he’d have gone with that brother, too.
Hopefully he didn’t have a crew like Stefano’s. Otherwise the girl was fucked.
Eva sipped at her second cosmo, so glad she’d agreed to this night out with Nika. Dancing. Music. No drama.
No overly gorgeous men to tempt her.
She turned to ask Nika to repeat what she’d just said—and almost sprayed what was in her mouth all over both of them when she saw a very clearly pissed off Kevin pushing his way through the crowd toward their table.
He’d gained some weight on his six-foot frame and cut his light-brown hair to the wood since the last time she’d seen him, but his hooded brown stare was as cold as ever.
“Hey, girls.”
Nika’s head swung around so fast Eva was surprised she didn’t snap a vertebrae. Dread swamped her features.
“Kevin! What are you doing here?”
“Tubs and Junior are at the bar. Thought I’d meet ’em for a drink, since you took off.” He stepped closer to the table, looming, as if he was trying to intimidate them. Evidently Nika had come out against his wishes. “You mentioned a new club. Didn’t think you meant this one,” he added through tight lips.
Nika’s gaze met Eva’s and her eyes said it all: Sure he didn’t.
“You don’t look happy to see me, Niki.” An odd edge roughened his voice. “Is it a problem that I showed?”
Hoping to avoid a scene, Eva looked past Nika’s tense features to scan the bar for Kevin’s friends, offering, “Why don’t you go get your friends and join—”
She almost fell out of her chair when her gaze clashed with the overly gorgeous man who wasn’t supposed to be there to tempt her.
Gabriel.
He towered over the people around him, so dark and utterly commanding no else seemed to exist. Excitement bloomed under Eva’s skin, making her flushed and hot. How could he do that to her with just a look?
He said something to the guy beside him—his business partner from what he’d said the night before. She narrowed her eyes. The guy still looked familiar to her. But she couldn’t place him. Never mind. Quan, his security, was there, too.
She straightened, her lower belly twisting with anticipation when Gabriel started toward her. He moved with lethal grace, so fluid and sure, and the crowd parted like the proverbial Red Sea.
Eva fisted her hands with the need to touch as she checked out the black pants hugging his muscular thighs and long legs—in much the same way she wanted to. Covering his wide chest was a pewter summer-knit shirt. The sleeves had been pushed up to expose his powerfully built—and tattooed—forearms. The top two buttons of the thin shirt were undone to reveal an obsidian wolf tooth hanging by a gunmetal chain. His only other adornment was the heavy ring on his thumb and a chunky platinum watch on his left wrist.
He was low-key and all the more glorious for it, looking like the quintessential bad boy and utterly, utterly yummy.
Eva searched his features for some sign of what he was thinking as he neared, but they revealed nothing. Without a word, he extended his hand. She began to lift hers, then hesitated. But Gabriel never withdrew. Only waited patiently. She touched her fingers to his palm and was immediately enveloped in his strong grip and drawn to her feet. Electric sparks fired where his skin met hers, and she trembled in spite of herself.
A Love of Vengeance (Wanted Men Book 1) Page 10
