Young Love Murder (29 page)

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 shout.

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.”

The guy laughs again, but menacingly this time. He reaches for the gun but Annabelle slaps his hand away with her free one. “If you don’t shoot him, I will.”

“This is none of your concern,” she tells him tonelessly.

“Like hell it isn’t!
You
are my concern and you know I’ll kill anyone who threatens you!” he barks at her.

“Go pack our bags,” she orders him, as if unfazed by his statement.

He doesn’t look like he would normally take orders from her, but stomps off into one of the bedrooms. Annabelle just stares at me in silence, her beautiful face is emotionless. Her black hair is unbound and wild around her face from our earlier activity. A sense of male satisfaction shoots through me knowing that I contributed to her sex hair. 

The guy stomps back in a minute later, carrying a large black leather duffel, and says, “Pack your own shit, Annie.”

She lets out an amused sound. “Fine, be a bitch.” Then she holds out the gun to him. “Keep an eye on him and
do not
shoot him.” Pointing a finger at him, she lowers her voice, “And I won’t believe that it was an accident.”

He ignores her gun and pulls out one of his own from under his un-tucked dress shirt. “Yeah, yeah, hurry the hell up.” He waves the gun in an impatient gesture.

What a loving relationship. And she chose him over me?

Instead of going into the same bedroom as he did, she goes into one on the other side of the suite, which may just save his life. So, her stuff isn’t in his room? Guess they might not be screwing after all. That shouldn’t matter to me, definitely shouldn’t make me happy, but it does.

When Annabelle is out of earshot, I can’t hold back the question, “Are you fucking her?”

He makes a strangled sound in his throat. “My tastes don’t run that way.”

Relief comes from that, but my curiosity is whetted. “Oh, so you’re gay?”

“Fuck no!” His look can only be described as a mixture of startled and disgusted. It’d be funny if he wasn’t holding that gun on me and if I wasn’t still feeling jealous despite his denial.

“So what are you, her partner?” I ask, wanting my questions about the fake Russian guy finally answered.
Part of my closure
, I assure myself.

“Annie doesn’t need a partner, she’s almost as talented as me,” he states cockily. Then he scowls at me, threatening me with, “I’d shoot you in a heartbeat if she’d let me.”

“Why doesn’t she?” ‘Cause I really don’t understand that myself. More games?