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Something passes between us in that moment—deep, electric, undeniable—a current that settles straight into my soul. How could I not have seen it? How could I not have admitted it earlier? This man is my life. My destiny.

Pete… I'm sorry, Pete.

He was a placeholder. A safe, gentle chapter that ended long before the bullet took him. I'll always mourn him; despite his faults, he was kind, he tried, and he gave me stability when I needed it most. But what I feel for Gabe is so powerful, so all-consuming, there is no room left for anything else. It burns brighter than grief, brighter than guilt, brighter than every careful, quiet year I spent convincing myself thatgood enoughwas enough.

Gabe is my fire. And I want to burn with him for the rest of my life.

"What happened?" I whisper, voice hoarse.

"Do you need anything?" he asks at the same time.

He's still kissing my fingers, my knuckles, like he can't stop touching me.

I manage another weak smile. "Thirsty…"

He moves instantly, producing a cup of water with a straw like he had it waiting. Carefully—so carefully—he slides an armbehind my shoulders and helps me sit up a little. The movement makes the room spin and my head throb, but the cool liquid sliding down my throat feels like heaven. Almost as good as the man holding me.

I drink slowly, eyes never leaving his battered face. When I've had enough, he sets the cup aside and pulls me gently back against his chest, cradling me like I'm something precious and breakable. For a long moment, we just stay like that, his steady heartbeat under my ear, his fingers stroking through my hair, my bandaged hand resting over his heart.

"I love you," I whisper against his shirt, the words slipping out, easy and true. "I'm so in love with you, Gabe. I don't care how fast or how wrong it looks to anyone else. You're it for me."

He makes a low, broken sound and tightens his arms around me, pressing his lips to the top of my head. His voice is thick when he answers. "I love you more, baby. More than I know how to say. When I saw you in that chair… when I thought you were dying…" He swallows hard. "I've never been so scared in my fucking life. Not even when we lost Catarina. You're my whole world, Audra. Don't ever scare me like that again."

I tilt my head up just enough to look at his damaged face, the swollen eye, the ugly stitches, the exhaustion carved into every line, and I feel my chest overflow with unstoppable fierceness.

"I won't," I promise softly. "As long as you don't."

He leans down and kisses me, slowly, carefully, full of everything we almost lost. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, breathing me in like I'm oxygen.

Slowly, the fog in my head starts to lift. Pieces come back in fragments: the bar, the blood, the gunshot, Gabe collapsing, the terror that ripped through me when I thought he was dead. But the clearest image, the one that hits me like a punch to the chest, is Brick lying on the floor with that neat hole in his forehead.

Oh shit.

I swallow hard, my throat still raw. "I'm so sorry about Brick. I know you guys were close."

Gabe nods. The exhaustion and grief are carved deep into his face, but he doesn't pull away from me. "Yeah… he was…"

He stays quiet for a beat, then something shifts in his expression, like he's remembering another loose end. "I still have Salazar in the basement."

He looks at me, waiting. Watching. Like he's ready to hand me the revenge I once screamed for. It's still there, but not as hot as it was before, right after the warehouse. I still want to see him die for what he did to Pete, but it's not that all-consuming fire that I felt before. That's reserved now for the so-called Collector. The man who killed my husband is just a cheap substitute for El Recaudador.

I reach for Gabe's hand, my bandaged fingers clumsy but determined. "I want him dead."

Gabe studies me for a long second, then nods once, understanding flickering in his eyes. "You got it, baby."

A small, quiet reassurance settles in my chest. Salazar won't walk away from this. It won't bring Pete back, but knowing the man responsible will be gone soon… It's enough.

I shift a little against the pillows, wincing at the pull in my stitched forearm. "So, who is this Collector?"

Gabe takes a deep breath. His features harden, and death is glaring at me through his eyes. "That's what we're trying to figure out."

"Okay, give me the rundown," I prod.

"It's a long story," he tries to evade.

I manage to lift my bandaged hand a little, gesturing weakly at the windowless room around us. "I don't think I'm going anywhere for a while."

He huffs a tired laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching in that familiar half-grin. "Fair enough."