Page 63 of Gabriel

Reckless? Definitely. But what other choice did we have?

If my parents knew what we were doing, they’d lock me in the old Irish estate until Jet either showed up or didn’t. Either way, they’d be too terrified of losing their only child.

Elira and I following Jet’s lead and whatever chaos he’d run us straight into was the only viable option.

I stood by the window, my hand trembling slightly as I gripped the frame, the glass cool beneath my fingertips.

A tight knot of frustration curled beneath my ribs, coiling tighter with every shallow breath. I told myself it was because of Jet, but I wasn’t a good enough liar to believe it.

It washim. Gabriel Santos. My prisoner.

The heir to the Santos Cartel I’d spent years trying to ignore.

My mind replayed and mocked our first kiss, the way his eyes burned into mine. Why couldn’t I let it go? I’d only crossed that line to distract him, to get close enough to drug him. Right?

It should have meant nothing.

His mouth had met mine, although he suspected I was up to something. And he kissed me anyway. It was as if he wanted to prove he could make me falter.

And for a heartbeat, I had.

I felt it, the jolt of heat that went through me, the way my fingers tingled with the need to touch him. I hated how easy it was to lose myself. For the way my thoughts kept drifting back to the taste of him on my lips. And most of all, for how part of me wanted to do it again.

I couldn’t keep drowning in this. I wasn’t some romantic who dwelled on affairs of the heart, even if it was likely just lust.

Turning away from the vast stretch of blue, my gaze settled on my sister who was slouched in the corner, spinning her knife like she was waiting for the world to give her permission to use it.

“What were you thinking about just now?” she questioned, causing me to tense.

“Nothing.”

I answered too quickly, and Elira’s lip curled into a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Sure. I bet you my entire bank account that you were daydreaming about a certain prisoner.”

I shot her a narrowed gaze. “Why are you all of a sudden constantly bringing him up? And why are you pushing him toward me?”

“Maybe because you need to get laid,” she drawled. “And who better than the man you’re attracted to who happens to be shackled to a bed. Mount him and?—”

“Jesus, Elira, what the hell is wrong with you?” I snapped. “I’m not going to fuck a handcuffed man, especially since he probably no longer wants me after…”

I bit my lip, irritated at myself for slipping, but Elira smiled knowingly. “Oh, sis, I’d bet my money that he wants you. He’d thank all the saints if you were about to climb him and ride him like a goddamn bull rider.” My mouth practically touched the floor. She winked, then continued. “I bet he’s good in bed with that Latin blood running through his veins.”

“Maybe you’re attracted to him since you keep bringing him up,” I pointed out dryly, trying my best to smother images of me grinding against Gabriel.

She shrugged. “He’s not exactly my type, but I’d shag him if there was nobody else.”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Elira,” I hissed, and knew I slipped again when I saw her victorious smile. “You’re so fucking annoying, I swear.”

“But you love me,” she deadpanned. “You love Jet too.”

“I do.” There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation. “Although, I can’t help but feel like he’s playing us and leading us into a clusterfuck.”

“Pfft. What could possibly go wrong?”

I didn’t look at her.

“So many things,” I breathed. “But we can’t let anything happen to Gabriel.”