Maybe I will.
“I want you so badly,” Gabriel whispers. He guides me back, kissing over my collarbone and down my cleavage. “I always want you. You’re all I think about all day, every day. It’s maddening.”
His teeth scrape over the top of my breasts and I moan at the exquisite mix of pain and pleasure.
We are miles away from shore, from our problems, and from the lies we tell each other. That knowledge makes every touch, every kiss, every caress so much sweeter.
Gabriel’s hand moves up my ribs and over my breast, thumb flicking over my hard nipple through my shirt. I cling tighter to him, beginning to rock my hips as much as the somewhat constricting positioning will allow.
There is a tightness in my belly that screams for release, but Gabriel is taking his time. He continues playing with my nipple, kissing my chest, teasing me mercilessly.
“I need you,” I whimper. “Please, Gabriel.”
He chuckles and it vibrates across my skin. “Now you know how I feel all of the time.”
He brings his mouth to mine again, kissing me harder this time. Deeper. His tongue tangles with my own and I open wider for him. My fingers tangle in his inky locks. My core pulses and throbs.
CRACK CRACK CRACK.
Both of us freeze.
CRACK CRACK CRACK.
My heart crashes into my stomach because I would recognize the sound of gunfire anywhere.
24
Gabriel
“Stay down,” I bark, guiding Alexis onto the floor. She crawls over to Harry, who has started to cry.
A speedboat careens past the window and more gunshots rattle outside. What the fuck is happening? Who is attacking us? And why?
I lurch across the room and fling back the green rug in the corner, revealing a metal hatch.
“Bring Harry here,” I call to Alexis, extending my hand to her. She crawls across the floor with Harry gripped against her chest. Her expression ripples with fear, but something else too—determination. She does not cower or cry. She does not shake. She is strong, her movements quick, and I wonder if she is more suited to this life than I thought.
I pull the door open and take Harry from her while she climbs down the ladder, then I pass him down and follow them into the small panic room. One of the walls is lined with guns and ammunition, and I gear up while Alexis sits on the small sofa and tries to soothe Harry.
“Who is it?” she asks.
I shake my head, ripping off my sweater and pulling a Kevlar vest over the T-shirt underneath. “I don’t know.”
I pocket a grenade and shove a new clip into the magazine of a semiautomatic pistol and tuck it into the back of my pants, then unhook the AR-15 rifle from the wall. I face Alexis.
“There’s a latch on the door,” I tell her. “Once I leave, lock it. Do not let anybody in except me, I don’t care who it is. I will be back for you.”
“What if …” She trails off, the words fading on her tongue.
What if you die.
“I’m coming back,” I tell her. “I promise.”
I am in no position to make such assurances, but I would dig my way back from the grave for this woman and my child.
I lean forward and press a chaste kiss to her forehead and climb the ladder, closing the hatch behind me and then waiting until I hear the sound of the lock click into place. Good. She and Harry are safe—now I can deal with whatever fuckery this is.
I climb the stairs to the main deck slowly and the sound of gunfire amplifies. I hear Vito shouting orders from the upper deck.
“Whatever you do, don’t let them board!” he cries.
I climb the rest of the stairs and then dart around the corner and up the ladder to the upper deck, where I find Vito crouching beside the body of the captain. Blood is pooling from the gunshots in his chest. He isn’t moving.
“I’m getting you a T-shirt for your birthday,” Vito calls above the din when he sees me. “It’s going to say Never Trust a Walsh.”
Trust him to be making jokes at a time like this. But what the fuck does he mean? I peer out through the railing and spot three speedboats circling the yacht, two or three men shooting from each of them. Sure enough, Patrick Walsh is on the flashiest boat, his submachine gun carving a line through the side of my yacht.
“That bastard,” I say through gritted teeth.
I recognize the man driving the