Page 93 of Raine
Justyce walks between us, placing his palm over his other hand in the shape of a T. “Time out, you two. Can someone clue me the fuck in?”
“Yeah, for sure, brother. You remember Gabriel Marx?”
“The gun dude?”
“Yeah, and the guy who once worked for my father.”
I feel the color drain from my face, and I grapple for something to hold onto before my legs fold underneath me. “What?”
“Oh, he didn’t tell you that piece of information, did he? Maybe you should go back to yourloverand ask him a few questions, Raine. Learn about the man you’re in bed with.”
I stand there gaping at him, but he gives me his back and stalks out of the room without another word, leaving me wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into this time.
Chapter30
Raine
After promising Justyce I wasn’t going to run to the comforting arms of drugs like I used to, he agreed to take me home and told me to keep my phone close by. There was a war on the horizon; we just didn’t know when it was going to break out.
I enter my house and walk straight to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. I take a healthy mouthful and stew on what I learned about Gabe from Acheron. Was that why he was so quiet on the way home and why he didn’t push me to open up to him on the way — the reason why he stayed watching me leave as if it were the last time he’d see me?
Whatever the look and reasoning, I knew I had to get to the bottom of this bullshit and find out exactly what Gabe’s ties were to Avernus before we proceeded. Is that how my estranged sperm donor knew Gabe and I were at the bungalow? Are they still in contact?
Those thoughts slashed through my head, leaving a bloodied gash in their wake. But it didn’t matter because I was going straight to the source and I was going to rip him a new one if I found out he’d been playing me, playing my family.
Chugging the rest of my water, I grab another bottle and head toward the garage where my car is parked. Once I’m settled in, I start the car and peel the hell out of my driveway, not even bothering to make sure both gates have closed before speeding off toward Gabe’s.
Ten minutes later, I’m turning into his street, and my rage and aggravation haven’t ebbed. If anything, I’m angrier. Angrier at him and at me for being so fucking stupid.
Those ugly and insecure feelings resurface, trudging over the pretty ones Gabe and I made together recently. He didn’t really want me for me; he wanted intel, that’s what it had to be.
I slam the brakes, my car skidding out on the gravel a little before it stops. Grabbing my phone, I rip the keys out of the ignition and stalk up Gabe’s white marbled stairs until I reach his gray timber door.
Lifting my hand, I bang on it loudly, forfeiting the doorbell because I really need to fucking hit something. I feel betrayed, humiliated and stupid for ever believing a word Gabe uttered. When I asked him who he was and what he did for a living, he was so fluid in his answers, almost as if they were rehearsed.
He opens the door in sweat pants hanging low on his hips and shirtless, his graying hair flopped down and over his eyes slightly, causing my thoughts to halt. Clenching my jaw, I keep my eyes on his face, and he must sense the fury pulsing off me because he steps to the side.
“Raine,” he welcomes, sounding cautious. “Come in.”
“You lied to me,” I seethe, stepping forward.
“Come in, and we can talk about this.”
My hand snaps up before I even realize what I’m doing and connects with his cheek, his head snapping to the side. I glare at him, watching the configuration of emotion ripple over his features, the most prominent being pissed off.
“I’ll ask you again, little girl. Please, come inside so we can talk.”
He has his demanding daddy voice on, and I silence the inner whore inside me and step over the threshold, taking in his home as I hear the door click shut behind me.
White floors span the area with what look like Persian rugs in shades of red and green that I assume he’s acquired over the years on his travels. There is a flight of stairs that roundhouse up to the second floor.
Gabe steps in front of me, and I follow him down the hallway.
Photographs line the cool gray walls — photos of Gabe and some of his friends, ranging from him as a teenager up until now. I pause at one, my eyes squinting and my stomach dropping at what I see in front of me.
Gabe must sense I’ve stopped and turns around. Sighing, he walks toward me and guides me down the hallway. I slap at his hand, and he groans in what could only be frustration.
We reach the kitchen area, and he walks toward the stainless steel fridge that sits beside his matching oven. Opening it, he reaches and pulls out a beer, offering it to me. Nodding in acquiescence, I accept the beer and pop the top off before having a sip.
