Part 17 (1/2)

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 p.i.s.sed. 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 blase, 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. Motherf.u.c.ker hit me! Didn't even see that coming! f.u.c.king 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 f.u.c.king bad. Now I'm p.i.s.sed.

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 f.u.c.k 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 b.u.t.ton up s.h.i.+rt 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 G.o.d, 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 h.e.l.l 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 h.e.l.l 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 s.e.x hair.

The guy stomps back in a minute later, carrying a large black leather duffel, and says, ”Pack your own s.h.i.+t, Annie.”

She lets out an amused sound. ”Fine, be a b.i.t.c.h.” 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 s.h.i.+rt. ”Yeah, yeah, hurry the h.e.l.l up.” He waves the gun in an impatient gesture.

What a loving relations.h.i.+p. 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 s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g 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 f.u.c.king 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?”

”f.u.c.k 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 a.s.sure myself.

”Annie doesn't need a partner, she's almost as talented as me,” he states c.o.c.kily. 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?

He looks at me like I'm an imbecile, saying slowly, ”Duh, because she's an idiot who loves you.”

”So, you're a liar just like her,” I grit out through my clenched jaw, looking away from him towards the doorway she disappeared through.

”Now who's lying? You love her right back.” He seems far from ecstatic about that thought, adding, ”You two idiots are made for each other.”

My gaze darts back to him and I give him a dirty look. ”I'm going to kill her.”