Young Love Murder

by April Brookshire

  Leaning back in my chair, I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t believe Anna is capable of love. I don’t believe she ever loved me. She’s a professional deceiver.”

  “She is a young woman who was taught not to fall in love but did anyways. With you.” She says it like she’s proud of Anna, like I should be grateful.

  I lean forward in my seat and in a conspiratorial voice ask, “How young? How old is she really?”

  She lifts one elegant eyebrow. “How old did she say she was?”

  “Seventeen,” I answer automatically.

  Marie looks smug. “Well then, I guess she did not lie about everything. Although . . . .”

  “Although . . . ,” I prompt her.

  She smiles lightly, affection apparent in her voice, “Today is her birthday.”

  The news stuns me for a moment. The part of me that still loves her feels a brief flash of tenderness at the thought. Wishing things had been different and we could have been celebrating it together at this very moment. Her eighteenth birthday. Of course, the part of me that hates her, wants her dead, thinks it would be fitting to end her life on her birthday.

  Confused by my own thoughts, I mumble, “So, she’s only a few weeks younger than me. Funny, I’d convinced myself that maybe she was several years older.”

  Marie has an understanding expression on her face. “Yes, Annabelle has had more experiences than one so young should. Many people will never come close to understanding her world. Not even me.”

  The part of me that loves her wishes it could understand. I’m hoping that part dies along with her. “How did she become what she is?”

  Marie shakes her head gracefully. “That is her story to tell.”

  I scowl, disgusted with myself. “You know what? I don’t even need to know the why of it.”

  “She loves you very much, Gabriel,” Marie says softly, then sips some water from her glass.

  “No. She doesn’t.”

  “She needs you.” Marie’s tone has softened even more, but I ignore the plea in her eyes.

  “She needs a bullet to that black heart of hers,” I mutter under my breath.

  “Excuse me?” Marie asks, not hearing my quiet words.

  “Nothing.”

  The look she gives me is one of disappointment. “You will just have to learn for yourself.”

  “Where can I find her?” It doesn’t hurt to ask. Not that I’d tell me if the roles were reversed.

  Marie studies her nails for a long moment before saying, “Room 404.”

  “Room 404?” I’m wondering if I heard her right. “In this hotel?” Can it be that easy?

  She looks at me with a sneaky smile. “That is what I said.”

  Jumping out of my chair it falls backwards, landing with a thud on the ground. As the other diners look on in reaction to my clumsiness, I reach down to right it with trembling hands. “I have to go.”

  “I know.” As I start to walk off, she calls out, “Oh Gabriel?”

  I whirl around, taking a few more steps backwards, almost colliding into a waiter who narrowly avoids me. “Yeah?” I answer impatiently.

  “I taught her everything she knows.” Her smile is naughty, proud once again.

  I think back to the remark Anna made about the French Madam who taught her the many ways of pleasing a man. The memories hit me, causing my blood to rush.

  “She told me . . . and thank you.” If my cheeks weren’t already flushed from excitement, I’m sure I’d have a blush coming on right about now.

  Spinning back around to run through the lobby, dress shoes tapping along the marble, I’m anxious to get on an elevator to the fourth floor. I tell myself that my heart isn’t beating fast at the thought of seeing her. I tell myself that I’m not feeling happiness at finally finding her.

  I tell myself that, despite my traitorous heart, I have no choice but to kill her.

  Chapter 21

  Annabelle

  After the heartbreaking almost-encounter with Gabriel in front of his hotel, I go back to my own to be alone. Thank god Jackson isn’t here. I don’t want to deal with any more lectures from him while in my current mood. Mood isn’t quite the right word for it. Devastation would be more fitting a description. The look of hatred on Gabriel’s face, those beautiful green eyes that mesmerized me from the start filled with so much coldness now.

  And I did it to him. Whether we ended up together in the end or not, he should have never known that the girl he loved was a killer. Especially not that I was his father’s executioner. I should have smoothly slipped right back out of his life the same way that I’d slipped in. Was it ridiculous to think there would ever be a future for us where we could be together?

  I am what I am, there’s no changing that.

  But for a moment there, hope was alive. I’d ridiculously thought that Gabriel was searching for me for romantic reasons. That he’d forgiven me for killing his father and wanted us to be together. If only . . . ugh, stop being a girl, Annabelle!

  Why is he searching for me? That’s what Simon sent Jackson and me here to find out. Simon ordered us not to confront him until we had more information. I have a feeling, though, that a confrontation is inevitable. How else am I to find out what he wants from me? I could bug his hotel room and the private investigator’s room. Jackson always gets a kick out of doing that and it wouldn’t take long for Porky to express the equipment to us.

  Going into my plush hotel bedroom, I decide I’ve done enough thinking for today and change out of my dress and G-string and into an oversized band t-shirt I’d stolen from Jackson, more comfortable underwear and cotton sleep shorts. Time for a nap, something I’ve been indulging in often since my breakup with Gabriel. Depressed people sleep a lot. When I wake up I’ll figure out my next step. Throwing a few of the excessive pillows off the bed, I plop down on my back and stare above me at the cream canopy shot with gold threading.

  Despite my determination not to cry anymore, the tears fall as I drift off into much-needed oblivion.

  Only to be awoken minutes later, before I can even enter into a deep sleep, by a knock on the door. Feeling groggy and irritated, I pull myself out of bed and walk to the door to look through the peephole. There’s no one there. Well hell, that wakes me up. Rushing to my bag and pulling out a gun, I move back over to the white paneled door, standing off to the side. “Who’s there?” I shout through the thick door.

  No answer.

  Unlatching the door to swing it open, I bring my gun up at the same time, aiming it right at Gabriel’s face. A myriad of expressions pass over the face that I cherish so much. Surprise, confusion, longing, anger and finally determination. Then he speaks with his tone devoid of all those emotions, “Hello, Annabelle Claire Blanc.”

  That startles me. “How’d you find out?” Shit! Stupid Annabelle, don’t acknowledge it!

  He looks coldly amused. “A mutual friend.” Gabriel has an innocent expression on his face as he asks, “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  I stare at him suspiciously, pretending that my heart isn’t racing, that his presence hasn’t scrambled my emotions. “Why would I do that?”

  He doesn’t answer, but instead hooks his foot behind my ankle, causing me to almost fall on my ass. I’m trained for something like that, however. I throw my arms back and do a back somersault, ending in a crouching position facing him.

  Unfortunately, my little maneuver caused me to drop my gun, which he now has in his hand. Wow, I am seriously off my game. But who can blame me while I’m in the presence of my kryptonite? He aims the gun on me while stepping fully into the room, closing the door behind him, swinging security bar and all. If Jackson comes back he won’t be able to enter, not without a security latch opener. Which it would take him a whole minute to charm a maid out of.

  Gabriel takes a step forward and I slowly stand up from my crouched position. He smiles, but not in a pleasant way, then cheerfully says, “I just saw your panties, Annabelle.”
/>   His strange mood swings are throwing me off, not that I show it. I shrug in an unconcerned manner. “I’m not gonna blush about it.”

  “I didn’t think you would.” He takes another step closer. “Whores usually don’t.” Despite his obvious contempt for me and my attempt to not let it get to me, his words still sting, but I manage not to flinch.

  Tilting my head to the side, I paste a defiant look on my face. “Whores usually sleep with more than one guy.” Not as childish as ‘takes one to know one’, which was the first retort to cross my mind.

  He scowls, obviously not liking the reminder that I was a virgin before I met him. The malicious gleam returns in his eyes. “It’s been four months, Annabelle, I’m sure you’ve managed to fuck and kill lots of guys since then.”

  He wants to be that way? I try for a smug smile, but am afraid that it comes out hurt. “Tons.” Well, at least my voice sounded calm.

  I see the jealously in his green eyes before he even acts. Pouncing on me, he probably thinks that he catches me off guard as his arms wrap around me, effectively trapping my own within his grip. He has a look of triumph, not knowing that I just let him do it. I’m also playing docile as he holds me, knowing of more than one way to get out of his hold if need be. I missed this, being in his arms.

  His lips are centimeters from my ear as he whispers, “But I was your first. Even a cold-hearted bitch like you won’t be able to forget your first.” His warm breath and proximity cause me to shiver.

  Getting a wicked idea, I turn my face to lick his ear and say huskily, “I don’t know. My memory is a little fuzzy. Care to remind me?”

  His arms tighten around me before he tosses me down on the off-white couch, following right after to lean in a sexually menacing manner over me. I don’t care how I get him, I want him. I’ll take whatever he’ll give me. Just the thrill of being with him again, in his arms, no matter how hateful he’s being, is making me feel better than I have in months. I’m alive again.

  He’s still gripping the gun in his hand, no longer pointed at me, but resting to the side of my head on a yellow throw pillow. He’s preoccupied with unzipping his dress pants with the other hand and I contemplate just snatching the gun away. Deciding to wait for now and let need take its course, I allow him to remove the barrier of my panties. This isn’t making love, I think as a flicker of unease washes through me. Before I can think more, he’s kissing me and moments later, he’s moving rhythmically above me.

  “I love you, Gabriel,” I gasp out, gripping his back as he breathes roughly above me.

  Stopping, he grips my throat with the hand not holding the gun. “Don’t you dare say that! I don’t want to hear any more of your lies!”

  My voice breaks, “But it’s true.” My eyes widen trying to hold in the tears.

  His grip on my neck tightens, but not enough to cut off my air. Slowly, he releases me with a look of confusion on his face. But there’s no tenderness in his eyes and I need to see it so badly. Instead I see pain and hatred. This isn’t about love for him, but domination and payback.

  Despite all of this, it’s Gabriel. I love him regardless of the empty feeling when it’s over minutes later. Keeping the gun on me again, he fixes his clothing as I do the same, smoothing down my large t-shirt and slipping my cotton panties back on. Wiping roughly at the tears on my face with the back of my hand, I laugh bitterly. “Oh yeah, I remember now.”

  Gabriel looks at me remorsefully and quietly says, “It wasn’t like that before and you know it.” Then he makes a frustrated noise, running a hand through his hair. “Happy Birthday.”

  Surprising me once again with his knowledge, I look at him warily. “Thanks.”

  His determined look returns. “I’m going to kill you, Annabelle.” I notice that he keeps calling me Annabelle, instead of Anna like he used to. Maybe it’s a way of distancing himself from what we were to each other before I killed his father.

  I place a look of skepticism on my face before saying, “Do you even know how to use that?”

  He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s nothing but cold resolution there. “I’ve learned all sorts of useful things in the past four months.”

  “Oh yeah? Have you learned this?” Before he can react, I kick my leg up and the gun goes flying out of his hand, spinning in the air before landing on an armchair a few feet away. Pouncing on him, so he lands on his back, I use my knees to pin down his chest.

  He looks so adorably surprised that I lean down and kiss him playfully. As I’m pulling away from his lips, he grabs onto my throat with both hands. I smile at him and tauntingly ask, “So, at what point do you stop playing around and actually try to kill me?”

  “Now,” he says and starts squeezing my throat with his hands, cutting off my air this time. I bring my forearms up between his and push them apart, effectively disengaging his fingers from my neck.

  Rolling away, laughing hard I gasp out, “That was pathetic, Gabriel. I still don’t believe you’ve learned anything useful.”

  Standing up, I watch him do the same. He grins evilly and stalks towards me, then throws out his arm in a punch that’s skilled and would have been damaging had I not been able to dodge it. Okay, now I’m getting pissed. That would have actually hurt. Not badly enough to put me down for the count, but still, it’s the principle of it.

  As he kicks his leg out and I barely manage to dodge him, backing up and around a table. I’m curious to know who taught him his moves. “Where’d you learn your skills?”

  He laughs humorlessly. “A very expensive private instructor.”

  “You’re good, but I’m better.” Scrunching up my face, I tease, “Would you be terribly offended if I suggested more lessons?”

  He gives me a look of mock exasperation. “Not all of us can be as good a killer as you are.”

  Shaking my head, I patronize him, “You’re just not killer material, Gabriel.”

  He makes a move to get around the table that’s between us. “I guess I’ll just have to prove it to you.”

  We circle each other and the toffee-finished dining table. “If you were going to kill me, why didn’t you do it the moment you had the gun on me?” Behind me is the open balcony doors, with long, sheer white curtains fluttering in the cool breeze that’s wafting over my bare legs.

  He scowls and then shrugs one shoulder arrogantly. “It won’t happen again.”

  I walk over to where the gun is laying on the armchair and pick it up, tossing it to him. Confident now that he won’t do it, I’m not worried. More than just anger over the death of his father is driving him. He’s still upset about me hurting him. That gives me hope that he still loves me. Hope that there’s still a chance.

  He catches it without it going off, rights it in his hand and walks forward, gun raised. I stand in place, allowing him to come near. He presses the gun to my chest, right over my heart, looking me straight in the eyes. “Is there even a heart in there to shoot?” His voice sounds blasé, but his shaking right hand tells another story. Jeez Gabriel, don’t shoot me on accident.

  Before I can utter a response, he smacks me with his left hand so hard that I land on the ground, barely catching myself with my elbows to keep my face from smacking against the floor. Motherfucker hit me! Didn’t even see that coming! Fucking kryptonite!

  Kicking my leg out, I hit him on the calves, pulling his legs out from under him. He lands on his back with a loud thud that practically shakes the maple hardwood floor. The gun flies through the air, hitting the floor and skidding to a stop under the dining table. I crawl over and grab the weapon, getting to my feet, pointing it down at him. I can both see and feel the anger radiating from him. Too fucking bad. Now I’m pissed.

  His dirty look tells me that he’d like to get his hands wrapped around my neck again. The heat in his eyes would burn me, were it tangible. “Why don’t you just shoot me, Annabelle? Murder me like you did my father?”

  “That was justice, not murder. Stand up!” I s
hout.

  He gets up at a leisurely pace, looking far too arrogant while straightening out his expensive clothing. As if on cue, following a beeping noise someone tries to open the door of the suite, cursing as he’s denied entrance by the security latch.

  Gabriel

  As someone tries to open the suite door and the latch catches, I hear a deep male voice curse then call out, “Come unhook the latch, Annabelle!”

  Who the fuck is this dude?

  I find out a moment later when Annabelle walks around me, still keeping the gun on me and unlatches the door. Wearing dark blue jeans and a navy button up shirt rolled at the sleeves, it’s the fake Russian guy. His hair is no longer blonde, instead a dark red. Standing there, looking annoyed with Annabelle, he doesn’t notice me at first.

  Then he does and raises his dark eyebrows over gray eyes. He glances from the gun in Annabelle’s hand and back to me. A smile slowly brings up the corners of his mouth. “Interesting, did I miss all the fun?”

  Annabelle rolls her eyes, making an exasperated noise. “The fun is still in full swing.” Sarcasm noted and not appreciated.

  Giving her a dirty look, I spit out, “Who’s he, your real boyfriend?” A jealous rage has me trembling. I want to beat this guy’s face in, or in the very least, slap that smug smile right off it. Man, it’s messed up to be jealous about this girl. I already feel horrible enough about loving my father’s murderer.

  The guy laughs, looking incredulous. “Oh my god, he’s jealous, Annie! This is too good!” He shuts the door behind him, obviously enjoying himself.

  “Shut up,” she says, clearly annoyed with his joking demeanor.

  The guy’s good humor disappears when he eyes her shorts crumpled on the floor. “What the hell is going on? Why do you have a gun on him?”

  Annabelle keeps her eyes on me as she tells him, “He’s here to kill me.”

  “Shoot him,” the guy says casually, glowering at me.

  I give Annabelle a look of mock amazement. “Wow, you two are made for each other.”