Page 36 of Wicked Submission
“Sounds like someone is doing something dirty, but it’s not us,” Gabe says dryly, still holding onto my arm. “There’s good news here.” He looks at me, understanding in his eyes. He gets the panic I feel. He knows I’m about to blow. “Really good news, Abbie.”
“What’s that?” I ask, following along.
“You know I’ve been bored lately.” He turns his attention back to them. “I love playing these kinds of games and nobody has wanted to play with me.” He smiles. “I’m in. Let’s do this.”
The older man’s eyes harden. “You don’t want to play this game.”
“Yes,” Gabe says. “I assure you, I do. Now, it’s time for you two to either go to the back and help dry off some wet dogs, or leave. Take your pick.”
The older man glares at Gabe and then the two men eye each other and turn to leave. Gabe and I watch them until they exit and the minute the doors shut, I turn to Gabe. “My mother didn’t do what they said. This is going to destroy her in all kinds of ways.”
His hands come down on my arms. “I won’t let that happen. I know she’s being set-up. I just need to find out why. And if you know anything that you aren’t telling me, tell me now. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”
“There’s nothing more to tell,” I say, and I want that to be the truth. I don’t want to lie to Gabe. I’m not. I’m not lying. “I know this is my ex. I know he’s behind this.”
“He is,” Gabe confirms. “Give me a few minutes, Abbie. I need to make some calls. Go help your mother while I protect you both. Okay?”
“How? How are you going to protect us from this monster of a man?”
“Ah now, Abbie,” he says softly, brushing my cheek. “You underestimate me. I am, without question, my father’s son, which is exactly why your ex is going to hate me, and then lose.” He kisses me. “I’ll be back in a few.” He releases me and heads for the door.
I watch him exit and then it hits me that I’ve forgotten something larger than life here for just a minute. My ex nowknows that Gabe and I are together. He will go after Gabe. He will hurt Gabe. I can’t let that happen.
I rush forward and exit the building, but I can’t find Gabe. He’s not headed toward the parking lot. His voice lifts, a low, deep rumble—God, I love his voice—that I follow down a path to the right. He’s behind a huge dumpster, and when I would round it to speak to him, I hear, “What the hell don’t I know? Why would a billionaire go to this much trouble to hurt an animal shelter?”
I lean against the wall and squeeze my eyes shut. It’s not about the animal shelter. It’s about me and that’s what I haven’t been honest about.
My ex wants to hurt me and there are reasons. There are things I did, things that make me need to end this with Gabe before it’s too late for him to survive this and me.
Chapter twenty-two
Gabe
The cold New York City winter chill cuts through me where I stand outside the shelter talking to Royce Walker from Walker Security behind a damn dumpster of all things. The cold cuts like a blade, but I don’t bleed with its impact, not yet at least, but some part of me is certain that is where I’m headed. I’ve been cut by a woman. I’ve bled for her. I’ve bled because of her and that’s not what I intend to live through again, but no matter how many warning bells I hear, I can’t seem to turn away.
“What do you think is going on with this woman?” Royce asks, cutting through the bullshit and getting right to the point.
“Who goes after a shelter?” I ask. “It’s bad press. Even asshole billionaires know this.”
“Well, he could disconnect himself to avoid the press and if you point fingers without evidence, he could sue you. Assuming that’s his plan, we have to assume either this is about your new woman or that property is worth a hell of a lot more and we don’t know it yet.”
“It would have to be substantial,” I point out. “Because if he takes the shelter, bad press won’t be as easy to hide from as it is now.”
“What are you thinking, Gabe?” he presses again.
“That this is about Abbie, not the shelter.”
“What does she say?” he asks.
“That it’s about the shelter.”
“But you don’t believe her?”
“I just need answers,” I say, avoiding one of my own.
He doesn’t push me. “We’re resourceful,” he says simply. “If there’s a reason he wants it, we’ll find out and fast.” He’s silent a moment. “What aren’t you saying?”
What am I not saying?