by Jessica Roe
Somehow he doubted that explanation would be enough for them.
“We went to school together,” he told them eventually, rubbing a hand over his jaw where stubble was beginning to grow. Flakes of dried blood came off in his hand. He wished they'd let him smoke down in headquarters. “She's a...she's...just a girl I went to school with. I haven't even seen her since I was sixteen.” It was mostly true.
“She's not a girl now.” Zay let out a low, appreciative whistle and his eyes went dreamy. Nicky felt like kicking him. “She's all woman. A fine looking woman.”
“Xavier Penn Quinn, you are the grossest guy I've ever met!” Queenie announced, pulling a face. She finished putting the last butterfly stitch on Nicky's eyebrow and sat back in between him and Zay. “Gable is evil. You can't get the lusties over evil people!”
“Poison Ivy, though,” Kain pointed out, thoroughly proving her wrong.
Zay and Nicky nodded in agreement, and even Charles looked thoughtful.
“You jealous?” Zay asked her, blowing her a teasing kiss.
“Ego much?” She nudged his shoulder playfully. “But seriously, ignoring the fact that you guys are all freaks, we don't know that much about Gable, or even where she came from,” she told Nicky. “I guess until now. But we do know that she's Pablo's right hand gal, right up there in his inner circle. Closer to him than even Zebb and Uang. She's bad news, Nicky.”
Damn. It was a dire situation when Queenie, the girl who thought the best in everyone, was warning him about Gable.
Walker gingerly touched the black eye Gable had given her. “You can say that again,” she muttered darkly.
“No.” Nicky shook his head. He couldn't believe that Gable was truly evil, no matter the evidence that stacked up against her. The girl he'd seen earlier just didn't match up with the girl he'd once known. “She wasn't like that when I knew her! She was...she was sweet, and innocent. Well, maybe not innocent, but she wasn't evil. Bitchy, yeah, but definitely not evil. She used to volunteer at an animal shelter!”
Zay was looking at Nicky in pity. “Sorry, bud. She may be hot to trot, but that girl's as bad as they come. I doubt she's anything like the teenager you knew.”
“She's a ruthless tramp,” Walker claimed. She'd spent the entire time they'd been talking watching Nicky through narrow, calculating eyes. “Exactly how close to her were you when you were at school together anyway?” She obviously wasn't convinced by his story.
“God!” He slapped his hands down on the sofa in frustration and leaned back. “It's none of your damned business. What is this, gossip time? I'm not here to share and care, people.”
“Nicky, we don't want to pry into any painful memories.” If possible, Charles' calm tone was even more annoying than Walker's condescension. “But we must know the facts. Being blind about any situation to do with Pablo and Gable will only put us in danger.”
He huffed a sigh, loathing that Charles had a valid point. “Whatever. Fine. But don't bitch at me if you don't like what I tell you.”
BY THE TIME Nicky had reached high school, the cute—yet ever so slightly odd—little kid he'd once been was nothing more than a fond memory. Sixteen year old Nicky was a punk. A pierced, gelled punk with a bad attitude and a wardrobe full of black. His tendency to do all his talking with his fists had gotten him in trouble way too often, and it was only through sheer luck and the fact that his father was a respected surgeon in town that he'd managed to avoid being thrown out of school. People who didn't know him very well liked to imagine that he must have had a difficult upbringing, because there had to be a reason he vandalized cars and had a tattoo of a dinosaur on his ass. People tried to rationalize his behaviour into something that made sense, as people often seemed to do, but the truth was that there wasn't a sensible reason, because the people who did know him knew that his parents were actually incredibly supportive and very loving, and his upbringing had been wonderful. Sometimes, Nicky privately thought that he got into so much trouble because of his childhood issues with the shadows, but if he was totally honest, he just enjoyed the way that most of the kids at school were so afraid of him.
Not all of them though.
Gabrielle Xanders was as blonde and bitchy as they came and couldn't have been more opposite to Nicky if he'd picked out her attributes himself. Of course she was a cheerleader—girls like her just seemed to gravitate towards tiny skirts and pom poms.
Man, he hated cheerleaders.
He hated jocks, too. And nerds, and skaters, and the God awful Council Reps. Actually, there weren't many people he didn't hate, fellow musicians aside.
But yeah, he really hated cheerleaders. He hated their snotty attitudes and their perfect hair and their cheery cheers and most of all he hated the way they were just so damn peppy. And out of all of them, he hated no one more than Gabrielle Xanders. She was the only one who ever took his shit and gave it right back to him.
“DUDE,” KAIN INTERRUPTED. “Do you really have a tattoo on your butt?”
“You wanna see it?”
Kain pretended to gag.
“Are you seriously trying to tell us that Gable was blonde? And a cheerleader?” Walker demanded. “My father home schooled me on the road, so I never went to high school, but even I know what they are. She was not a cheerleader. I don't believe you.”
Walker was really starting to piss Nicky off. “Do you want to hear this or not?”
She pouted sullenly. “Yes.”
“Then shut up already.”
IT WAS COMMON knowledge that when Nicky and Gabrielle were in ten feet of one another, sparks were bound to fly. Hell, forget sparks, the moment the two of them came into contact, giant, screaming fireworks exploded. They were famous for their arguments—in classrooms, hallways, parking lots. And the gravy incident in the cafeteria was something that would go down in history. Other students loved to watch it, though none of them could ever figure out exactly where it all started. Nicky didn't even know how it had started.
All he really knew was that she was a fiery little princess and nothing in the world made him happier than getting her all pissed off and angry.
NICKY'S THROAT CLOGGED up in a ridiculous way, and he pushed up off the sofa. “I don't want to do this any more,” he bit out, escaping towards the elevator. “It's nobody's damned business but mine!”
As he keyed open the doors, he heard Walker murmur, “Obviously she was more than just some girl he went to school with, huh?”
He swore loudly at her as the doors closed behind him.
GABLE SCOWLED DARKLY at anyone who dared make eye contact with her as she stomped through the elegant lobby of The Serpent.
The Serpent, located in the Upper East Side, was one of Pablo's hotels, but he'd decided long ago that it would make an ideal place for his offices and so had taken over the top five floors.
Guests who were there for the hotel only and didn't work for Pablo blinked as Gable walked by—in her black tank and leather pants, she didn't at all look as if she belonged in the posh surroundings.
She swept past Haaken—the insanely ripped Scandinavian security guard—without pulling out her ID card; it had been a while since he'd even bothered to ask her for it. He winked at her as she passed. Normally she would have stopped to flirt, but the night's events had blackened her mood and she was more likely to kick the poor guy in the nuts than stroke his ego. Better for both of them that she didn't stop.
“What floor?” asked Melvin, the annoying old Elevator Operator. Like there was even a need for him to exist. Just because the people who stayed at The Serpent were super posh, didn't mean they couldn't press their own frikkin' buttons.
“Pablo's office.” She had to work really hard not to snap at him. She never went anywhere else in the building, and he knew that.
The hotel was over fifty stories, and Pablo's office was at the very top. It made for a very long and awkward ride. Gable was furious—positively fuming—over the outcome of the evening. How the hell had everyt
hing gotten so messed up? And Nicky...God, she couldn't even think about Nicky without wanting to bang her head against something.
She left the elevator without thanking Melvin—because really, all he'd done was stick his finger on a bit of plastic—and entered the large waiting room outside of Pablo's office. The grand area was decorated in reds and golds—a running theme throughout the hotel. The small desk outside the door to Pablo's office seemed almost out of place, as did the harassed looking man who sat behind it, still hard at work even though it was nearing midnight.
Gable liked Chase. He was a genuinely decent kind of guy, and she suspected that he hadn't really known what he was letting himself in for when he'd taken on the job as Pablo's assistant. He was older than she was, nearing thirty, but the way his dark hair flopped over his big, blue eyes made him look like a teenager, and Gable had felt responsible for him ever since she'd met him. The darkness that surrounded their worlds didn't seem to have touched him yet, and she'd be damned if she'd let it happen under her watch. He was still innocent, and hopeful, and all of the things she wished she still was.
Chase glanced up at her through his bangs and smiled sympathetically. “No Earth?” he asked, in his posh English accent.
“No Earth,” she confirmed glumly. She perched herself on the edge of his desk. She knew he wanted to check out her chest in her tight tank, but he didn't. She liked that about him.
“That sucks. Next time though, huh?” He reached out to squeeze her hand, and then picked up his phone and pressed a button. “Gable's here.” After a moment, he put the phone down and told her, “He says you can go straight in.”
She thanked him and let herself into Pablo's office. It was the kind of room smart business guys had wet dreams about; walls lined with overflowing bookcases, furniture encased in dark, expensive smelling leather, thick, rich rugs, and a gorgeous desk across a giant window with a wicked awesome view of the city.
Pablo was sat behind his desk, leafing through a stack of papers with disinterest. He didn't look up when she entered, though she knew he'd heard her.
He looked perfectly put together as usual, even at such a late hour. His expensive white shirt was clean and without a single crease, his black hair combed back neatly from his face, his jaw as smooth as if it was just freshly shaven. Pablo's eyes were dark and deceptively warm and framed by the darkest lashes; they they showed nothing of the hard, calculating man inside. His gorgeously smooth Spanish skin was golden and suffered no blemishes. He was a babe, and if Gable had been older she'd have totally jumped his scary mother fudging ass. But he'd been in his late thirties before the whole immortality thing had been thrust upon him, and she didn't go for older guys. On his last birthday when she'd asked him how old he actually was, he'd answered five hundred and twenty eight. She was pretty certain he hadn't been kidding.
She flopped down into the seat opposite his and folded her arms sulkily, propping her feet up on the edge of his desk and crossing them. When he continued to ignore her presence, she gave a loud huff.
Very slowly, he placed down the papers and looked up at her through the golden rimmed glasses he always wore while reading—Gable was sure he didn't actually need them, but they did make him look kind of dashing. He made an arch out of his fingers and rested his chin upon them, amused by her bad temper. “Are you sulking, Gable?” He had perfected an effortless American accent, and only very rarely did a hint of Spanish sneak through. Gable privately thought that Pablo did it on purpose, just to remind himself where he came from.
“Yagoona tricked us,” she admitted. “Again. Stupid old Witch.”
“I know.” He pulled off his glasses and put them away inside their case without taking his eyes off her. He had that closed off look, the one that made it impossible to tell what he was thinking. “Zebb called me earlier. He has already informed me of tonight's events. All of them.”
Of course he had, the little rat. He'd probably called Pablo as soon as Gable had turned her back. Zebb had been working for Pablo longer than she had, and he despised how Pablo always put her in charge when they had to work together. If there was ever an opportunity to get one over on her, Zebb was all over it like melted cheese.
She wanted to call Zebb a few choice names, but she knew Pablo hated when the two of them fought. He'd said it made him feel like the harried parent of a pair of squabbling children, and he'd always disliked children of any kind. “Yagoona's a menace,” she said in the end, because he seemed to expect her to say something. It was an exaggeration though, really, because the old Witch was more of an annoyance, if anything. “She should be...arrested or something.”
She saw his lips quirk slightly. “Arrested for what, exactly?”
“For the crime of...of being a pain in the ass! And lying and shit.”
“Don't curse,” he scolded. “It isn't ladylike. And we aren't the police, Gable, we can't go around arresting people. Besides, it's far better to leave Yagoona to her own devices. On the odd occasion that she actually does give us valid information, it's usually of importance. Also, it amuses me that she dares to double cross me; not many people do.
“We'll get an Earth Elemental soon, don't you worry. Out of the four types of Elementals, Earths have always been the most uncommon. There are many Air and Water Elementals about, and practically a Fire Elemental on every corner, but Earths are rare. But I'm a patient man, I can wait.”
His deep, smooth voice oozed over her like melted chocolate, and she found herself relaxing just a fraction. She uncrossed her arms and ran a hand through her long hair, working out the knots with her fingers. “What do you want with an Earth, anyway? Got an earthquake you want controlling?”
“I just have a spot of business I need to do with one. Nothing you should concern yourself with.”
He was hiding the facts, Gable knew that, but she said nothing. He'd been speaking with lies and half truths ever since they'd met, and she'd gotten used to living with the unknown. After all, he was the boss, and no matter how close he allowed her to get, she knew her place. It wasn't her job to ask questions; he gave orders, and she followed.
Pablo picked up a jewel encrusted letter opener and tapped her boot with it. “Manners. You don't live on the streets any more,” he reminded her.
She pulled her feet down quickly and sat up straighter in her chair. It was probably crazy, but she felt a deep need to impress Pablo, to earn his approval, make him proud of her. It was because of him that she tried to mind her language, to speak properly, dress smarter, stand taller. It was because of him that she tried. Ever since the day he'd picked her up off the streets when she'd been at her very worst, he'd encouraged her to be more than what she was, to be better. He'd shown her what she could be—strong, smart, powerful. In a messed up way, he'd been the closest thing to a father she'd had since she'd lost hers. Pablo was no saint, she knew that for sure, but God, he'd been good to her.
“Zebb also had some other interesting news,” he announced, watching her carefully. “The Guardians have a new recruit, it seems.” He sat back in his chair, waiting.
Damn. She knew that look. It was the 'I already know your secret but I want to hear it from you' look. Considering he wasn't her actual parent, he had the whole vibe down pretty well. God, Zebb was such a loud mouthed pain in the butt. “Yeah, I uh, I knew Nicky back in high school.”
He seemed to sense there was more to it than that. “Go on.”
She sighed. Her memories of a life that included Nicky Pierce were ones that she hadn't allowed herself to dwell on in a long time. It just...hurt.
GABRIELLE WAS ALONE in the changing room after cheerleading practice had finished. Her mom had called while everyone had been changing to tell her all about the amazing new drapes she'd just bought—not that Gabrielle cared all that much, but her mom always seemed to feel the need to call her with boring updates several times a day, and she didn't have the heart to tell her to quit it—and by the time she'd managed to hang up, everyone else had already
left. It totally sucked, because she'd been meaning to ask the girls if they wanted to go out to get ice-cream. She'd been craving a mint-choc-chip for two days, and eating alone was just sad.
Sighing, she opened her locker to grab her change of clothes.
A low chuckle came from behind her and she made an embarrassing squeaking sound as she span around, clutching her jeans to her frantically racing heart.
Nicky Pierce, and his ever present smug smirk, lounged in the doorway. His deep brown eyes, always so full of secrets, sparkled with amusement as he watched her.
Gabrielle tutted dismissively when she realized it was just him and turned back to her locker. “Pervert,” she called scathingly. “What are you even doing in here? Pretend like I care for a minute.”
She heard him snort. “You're so full of it.”
“Kiss my ass, Nicolas.”
Suddenly he was behind her, so close that the front of his body pressed her against the locker and his warm breath touched her ear. His large hands ghosted up her bare thighs, skipping over her skirt to grasp her waist. She turned to face him, and his hands slid down to cup her butt underneath her cheerleading skirt. He pulled her tight against him and murmured, “I will if you ask nicely.”
“Nicky Pierce, you're such a pi—”
But she didn't get to finish her insult because Nicky leaned forward and pressed his soft, full, gorgeously male lips against hers. His kiss was hard and invasive, and Gabrielle grinned into his mouth and dropped the jeans to the floor when her back slammed into the locker next to hers. She clutched the spikes of his black hair with one hand and slid the other up the front of his t-shirt to tug on his nipple ring. He touched her tongue with his and when she bit down on his bottom lip, he ground up against her so deliciously that both of them moaned.
He pulled back and rubbed his nose along her collarbone. “God, you smell so good. How do you always smell so good? I missed you.” Boy, he could be so darned charming when he wanted to be. He was a dick, but he was a charming dick.
