Page 5

Chapter Five

Gabriel

Marta is eating her lunch when I find her at the table in the back corner. She takes a large bite of her sandwich that’s stuffed with lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, and meat that looks like turkey but could be something else.

“I don’t know about this guy,” I say as I drop into the booth across from her.

She glares, pausing mid chew, which makes her look kind of scary.

Yeah, Pit Bull indeed.

And here I am like a naked cat, shaking in my furless skin.

“What did he do this time?” she questions in that tone that tells me she’s sick of my crap. I know that because she’s told me so.

I hold her gaze, itching to tell her what’s bothering me, but she’s just going to tear it apart. Still, I need to let it out, and she’s the only person I trust.

“He offered to pay me more money,” I blurt out.

“Give me your phone.” She offers out her hand calmly and I lean away, putting my hand on my phone that’s inside my pocket, as if she could get to it from where she is.

“What? Why?”

She smiles, but it is not nice. Her demeanor is still calm, though. “Gabriel, hand me your phone. Right. Now.”

I gulp and hand it over. She yanks it from my hold, chewing her food as she does… whatever it is she’s doing.

My skin grows hot. There’s nothing on my phone I’m worried about her seeing. I don’t take naked photos of myself and I’m not into weird porn. But she could be… talking to people and making them think it’s me. I don’t want that.

“Marta—”

She holds up a hand and I snap my mouth shut. I have a feeling I know what she’s doing and maybe it’s better off this way. Or maybe I’ll end up being Storm’s meat suit. Or worse—with my ass in the toilet water. Guess only time will tell.

She hands me my phone back after locking it and she smiles mockingly.

“He will be at your house at ten o’clock in the morning on Saturday.” I open my mouth, but again, there goes that hand and, like magic, my mouth closes. “I told him it was the only time you had available, so if he wanted the place, he had to make it work. You better not, and I mean better not, do anything to compromise that. Do you understand me?”

I nod as my mouth goes dry.

She points a finger at me. “I’m not kidding, Gabriel Dane. This is for your own good. I swear, one day you will thank me.”

She gets up, grabs her empty food tray, and walks away.

“Yeah, from my grave!” I call after her.

A few people around the cafeteria give me strange looks and scowls, but I ignore them. It happens often. I sigh and get up from the table so I can grab something to eat. When I’m done eating, I go back to the lab.

Somehow, in the thirty minutes I was gone, my workload piled up. I’ve got nine samples to run. I get lost in work, which is the one thing that can take my mind off just about anything. No, there isn’t anything special about urine samples and throat swabs, but considering I have to be meticulous when working with them, so I don’t cross contaminate, my brain goes into full work mode—and I pay attention to nothing else.

Which is how it’s suddenly a few minutes before four and I’m being relieved by the next shift.

“There’s nothing in the queue for you. Clean slate,” I say as I grab my messenger bag and put the strap over my head to rest on my shoulder.

The guy, someone I don’t recognize and is probably a fill-in, nods and drops into the chair. His head falls back and he closes his eyes. It’s people like him that make me wish I could work 24/7, if only to make sure things get done correctly. You aren’t going to tell me that guy doesn’t skip corners. It’s practically written on his forehead.

I skip corners.

I shake my head and hurry out of the lab because it’s none of my business. Marta is working a double today, so at least I’ll have a quiet night alone. Not that she visits me, but she does like to call to chat or check in.

The drive takes longer than usual because there’s a crash and I get caught in the traffic. Once I’m home, I’m relieved. Until my phone rings. There are only three people who call me.

Marta. Telemarketers. And my mother.

I prefer them in that order.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I see mother flashing across the screen. I consider not answering it, but she’ll only call back. It’s not that I hate my mother, it’s just… Well, it’s something.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Gabriel, how are you?”

“Fine, Mother. How are you?”

I force the words out slowly, making sure to enunciate each one.

“I’m calling to remind you of the anniversary dinner.”

“Thank you for the reminder, but I have it in my calendar.”

“Have you found a date yet?”

“A date as in…”

“As in someone to attend with you, considering you scared off poor Tara with all of your… hullabaloo.”

Hullabaloo?

I run a hand over my face and drop into the armchair in the corner of the living room. “I’m not taking a date.”

“Gabriel, I’ve verbalized my expectations on many occasions. The meal is paid for. I will not have an empty seat at the table, and I cannot call to change the number of guests. Find someone to go with you, as long as it isn’t that vulgar doctor friend of yours.”

I grit my teeth, not wanting to cause issues with my mother by saying something that will set her off. She’s my mother, after all. She made me. Raised me. And is completely disappointed in everything I’ve done with my life.

“Okay, Mother.”

“Don’t be late to Sunday dinner this week, either, Gabriel. Your father was awfully upset last week.”

I roll my eyes. Sunday dinner. How I wish Sundays didn’t exist at all…

“I will be there.”

“And make sure your shirt isn’t wrinkled. It looked like it was run over by a tractor a few weeks back.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Be sure your hair is combed, not brushed—”

I zone out after that, not listening to another word she says. Until she’s screaming into the receiver and I’m startled back to the present.

“Sorry, bad reception.”

“My goodness, I’ve never dealt with such a rude child before, Gabriel. If only you could be more like your brothers.” She huffs. “Have a lovely evening.”

She ends the call and I drop my cell to the floor. Resting my head back and slinking down against the couch, I focus on breathing. On calming myself. And breathing. Lots and lots of breathing.