Authors: April Brookshire
We walk out of last period, holding hands, and run into Max in the parking lot where he’s waiting for me. Oh shit moment here. Max looks down at our hands and up at Gabriel. Gabriel holds up his free hand in a pacifying gesture. “Just-”
Max punches Gabriel in the face before Gabriel can get out another word. Ouch, but nice punch. Gabriel looks shocked, then charges at Max and slams him against the nearest car, a tan sedan. Better hope that doesn’t belong to a teacher. Kids start yelling “Fight!” and get excited looks on their faces. Whoa, this is just like the teen movies that Jackson made me watch. They go at it for a few minutes. Not bad, but their technique could use some improvement. They also aren’t hitting the right spots on the body that cause the most amount of pain, the maximum damage.
Amateurs!
Gabriel executes a dirty move, causing me to sigh in appreciation. This sort of reminds me of a show I watched on Discovery Channel where male Bengal tigers were fighting over a female in heat.
Dumb animals.
Not the tigers, but Gabriel and Max
A teacher comes out and breaks it up, giving them detention tomorrow and a speech about blood being thicker than water. As much blood as I’ve seen in my life, I can attest to that. It oozes, water runs. Of course, sometimes blood sprays too, horribly messy stuff. Max comes up to me before he leaves, placing a hand on my face and says, “I would have treated you good.” He turns on his heel to walk towards his car and I think this is the part where I’m supposed to feel remorse or confusion. He’s implying that Gabriel won’t treat me well. How sweet, but he’s pitying the wrong person.
Despite my cynicism, something about his words seems prophetic.
Quit being paranoid, Annabelle!
Gabriel comes up to me and I muster an apologetic look. “I’m sorry about coming between you and your cousin.”
His smile is at odds with the regret in his eyes. “That’s okay. He always forgives me eventually.”
“I hope so.”
I don’t really feel bad about coming between them. It’s hard to feel guilt over something so trivial with all of things I’ve done in my past. Surprisingly though, I don’t like seeing Gabriel unhappy. That’s weird.
He smiles more warmly at me, his voice changing to match, “So, I guess you need a ride home? Or do you want to hang out?”
“Yeah, we could hang out,” I tell him thoughtfully, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to me. Of course it had, it’s part of the plan.
“So, your place or mine?” he asks, opening the passenger door of his car for me.
Here is the perfect opportunity to scope out his father’s estate and look for weaknesses in security. “Let’s go to your place? After we stop by my hotel, so I can change.” He agrees with a nod, shutting the door once I’ve pulled my legs in.
As we head for the hotel, I send a text message to Jackson.
Stopping by the suite with Gabriel Sanchez. Make yourself scarce.
By the first stoplight, I get a reply.
Should I stay and chaperone?
His joke is more on target than he thinks. I text him back as a sister should.
Get lost!
Another text comes from him seconds later.
Fine, but no boys in your room young lady!
I laugh, slipping my phone back into the front of my checkered backpack. Gabriel raises an eyebrow. “What’s so funny?”
Watching him shift gears, I shake my head. “Just a retard being retarded.”
“
Okay
,” he enunciates slowly, obviously not liking my vague explanation. Minutes later, and lots of shifting in gears, we’re pulling into the hotel parking lot.
We take the elevator up to my suite, with Gabriel stealing a few kisses during the ascent. When I open the suite door and walk inside ahead of him, I come to an abrupt stop. Strewn all over the living room area of the suite are my undergarments. And, I’m not talking just bras and panties, but also garters, stockings and all sorts of sexy lingerie.
I’m going to kill him!
Only because of my years of training, am I able to keep from blushing. Some of this stuff is not what most teen girls wear.
Gabriel picks up a G-string that’s hanging from a lampshade and asks, “Couldn’t decide what to wear this morning?”
“Something like that,” I mumble as I go around picking everything up. I’m going to murder Jackson for this! I’ll take it out on his belongings if I have to, maybe his favorite gun should go MIA. He always tells me that he’s a big brother first, assassin second, as if it’s some sort of responsibility to him. Could he maybe not let the big brother role interfere in my jobs and my love life? Mentally slapping myself, I remind myself that I don’t
have
a love life. I have a job to do.
After gathering everything in my arms, I turn to where Gabriel is sitting on the arm of the couch, smirking in enjoyment. “I’ll just be changing in my room.”
“May I suggest the hot pink thong?” he says with a devilish grin, making my stomach flutter in excitement. He is so annoyingly handsome.
Pretending to be aggravated by his suggestion, I close the door to my room behind me, tossing the undergarments onto the bedspread. Going over to the safe in the closet, I punch in the code I’d programmed. Now to get what I really came here for. I pull out a box from the safe and open it. Inside is my .22 LR semiautomatic pistol and silencer. I put these in a brown leather shoulder bag, wrapped in a scarf covered with pink skulls, along with other girlie stuff to cover them up. Then I change into a turquoise cotton tank dress. I have the hot pink thong and matching bra on underneath, for no particular reason, of course. Throwing on a pair of black, strappy sandals, I’m good to go.
When I come out of the room, Gabriel gets up off the couch and pulls me into a hug, which I automatically return. Wow, being in his arms feels way too good, time to back off. “Okay, let’s go to your house.”
Twenty minutes later, as we’re pulling through the gates of his family’s home, I pretend that I’m seeing it for the first time. That Jackson and I didn’t scope the perimeter late Sunday night. “This is nice,” I state breezily.
Dealing drugs pays well
, I think to myself. But so does murder for hire. I have quite a bit of my own dinero. Not that a man like Xavier Sanchez doesn’t deserve to be murdered for all the people he’s killed. At least the people that I kill deserve it.
“Thanks,” he says proudly, speeding down a drive lined with matured palm trees on either side. They must spend a fortune each month on gardeners. The satellite picture Simon emailed me of the estate could pass for that of a botanical garden.
I’m curious as to how much he knows about his father’s illegal business dealings. In an indifferent tone, I ask, “So, what’s up with all the guards?”
“My dad’s just paranoid,” Gabriel answers breezily. Well, that doesn’t tell me much. I’m hoping it’s because Gabriel doesn’t know much.
He drives through the wraparound driveway and parks between the fountain and the white double doors that lead into the house. As we go inside the house, he grabs my hand to lead me up the winding staircase. “Are your parent’s home?” I ask him, pretending normal teen curiosity. From what I can glimpse of the downstairs, I see a large formal living room off to one side of the entryway, with what looks like a set of white French doors leading outside. There’s a hallway leading to the back of the house, with several closed doors. I assume that hallway leads to a family room or kitchen, but won’t know for sure until I get the exact layout. The home is done in cool and soothing colors, making it feel calm and inviting. Rather ironic when you think about it. But then, Xavier Sanchez is known for not letting his sleazier business dealings touch his family.
“My mom is probably around here somewhere. My dad is hardly ever home.” He looks back at me and grins wickedly. “I’ll give you the grand tour later. For now, I’ll show you my room.”
“Fine by me.” Though, I’ll need the grand tour later to get a layout of the place.
When we get to his room, he immediately pulls me by the waist over to his bed. “And
this
is the bed,” he announces as if it’s the end of a lengthy tour. Gabriel’s room is unlike the cool, soothing colors downstairs and is done in darker, more masculine colors. Deep blues, lots of black, light taupe for contrast and a few splashes of a deep red give the room a feeling of masculine dominance. The bed he’s obviously so proud of is king-sized and framed with a beautifully worked redwood headboard and footboard. There are at least six king-size pillows in different colored pillowcases. With the black comforter pulled back at one corner, deep red satin sheets are peeking out. The bed is a playing field that practically screams a play-by-play regarding the types of games it’s been privileged to host.
Naughty Gabriel.
If I was a nice girl, I’d be scandalized right about now. I’m not a nice girl. I manage to look skeptical instead of amused as I say, “Straight to that part?”
“Yup,” he remarks flippantly and flips me over onto the bed, so that he’s on top. This is not a position that I would normally let a male get me in. After all, it puts me at a disadvantage in case of a fight. He kisses me and makes me forget about any other male. “You are so beautiful, Anna.” Looking into his eyes, I see longing and something else that I don’t want to see, or think about.
“Just kiss me,” I tell him, grabbing a chunk of his brown-black hair and pulling his gorgeous lips back down to mine. He happily complies and runs his hands up my thighs like he did earlier at school.
His laugh is husky. “Still got the blades?”
“Always.”
Abruptly, he sits up and pulls me onto his lap. “Tell me about it.”
This is so a conversation I want to avoid. “About what?”
“Tell me why a girl like you would need to walk around carrying weapons. Do you even know how to use them?” His look is inquisitive, all thoughts of getting up my skirt forgotten for the moment.
How much should I tell him? A part of me wants to open up to him, wants him to know the real me. But I know that I’d have to be a complete fool to do that. “Of course I know how to wield a knife. I’m not carrying as a fashion statement.”
He raises his eyes to the ceiling. “Oh, my bad. Of
course
you know how to use it. Doesn’t every seventeen-year-old girl know how to use a knife?” Is it bad that I even find his sarcasm attractive?
“Only the cool ones,” I joke.
“You’ll tell me everything one day, right Anna?” he asks, green eyes looking searchingly into brown.
“We’ll see handsome,” I say and ruffle his hair. “I like your hair,” I change the subject, “What do you call this look?”
“Organized chaos,” he explains and kisses me on the jaw. “You know, I want more with you than I’ve had with other girls, Anna. But I also want to throw you on the bed and have my wicked way with you. I’ve never done this serious relationship thing before, what’s the protocol?”
“I haven’t done it either,” I tell him honestly. “Would you believe me if I told you that I’m a virgin?” I should not care one bit about his answer, and I won’t.
He laughs. “No, I wouldn’t. You’re too much of a seductress to be innocent.”
I slap him on the chest indignantly. “Thanks a lot!” Laughing, I add, “Innocent, I
definitely
am not.”
“Hey! I’m just saying. You wanted an honest answer, didn’t you?” He’s still laughing and making me want to kiss him again.
I actually don’t even want to think of the word ‘honest’. That word isn’t in my vocabulary. If there were such a thing as a
Hitman’s Handbook
, the word wouldn’t be included in the glossary. Well, maybe I can be honest about one thing. I grab both sides of the most wonderful face I’ve ever seen and look into the most captivating of eyes. “I like you a lot, Gabriel. Is that a good start to this serious relationship thing?”
He stops laughing, the feeling in his eyes shifting from mirth to intensity. “An excellent start and I like you a lot too, Anna.”
He’s coming in for what promises to be a passionate kiss when a buzzer goes off, loudly. “Gabriel honey?” a woman’s voice asks.
Gabriel reaches over, turning on his side, and presses a button on an intercom. “Yeah, mom?”