Page 56 of Gabriel (Legacy of Heathens #4)

Amara

T he hospital waiting room was starting to look way too familiar, suffocating in its familiarity. I’d been taking shifts with Raphael and Sailor, keeping watch over Gabriel like he might vanish if one of us so much as blinked.

They had just arrived to relieve me. I gave them a small wave, traded the kind of half-hearted pleasantries only exhaustion could birth, and ducked out into the early evening.

The revolving door gave way with a soft whoosh and the cool air slapped my skin. God, I needed a shower—a hot one—and preferably followed by real clothes and four uninterrupted hours of sleep.

I was halfway down the steps when I collided into something—or rather someone. A very solid chest.

I blinked, took a step back, and glared upward. And upward.

“Dammit,” I muttered. “Watch where you’re going.”

“Well, well,” came the reply. “What kind of language is that, coming from a supposed mermaid?”

I tilted my head. “Huh?”

He sighed. “Dios santo, I’ve never seen a mermaid so confused. I guess I should be grateful you’re not singing.”

“Funny. The psychiatric wing is on the third floor. You’re only a few yards off. Might want to check yourself in.”

He didn’t so much as blink. He leaned lazily against one of the tall cement columns just outside the ER doors, like he had all day to argue.

“Gabriel,” the man said sharply, like his patience had a short fuse. “How is he?”

I stared at him, confused by the demand. “And you are?”

“Luis DeLuega.”

I tried to step around him, but his arm shot out, blocking me.

I arched my brow. “I suggest you remove your hand, Luis… before I do.”

He smirked, utterly unfazed. “Must be the personality that got Gabriel. Definitely not manners.”

That had me pausing.

“You know Gabriel?” I asked slowly.

“Better than you do,” he said simply. “I’m his right-hand man.”

“Hmm.” I crossed my arms. “Weird. He never mentioned you.”

His lips twitched, just shy of a smirk. “I know about you. You don’t know about me. What does that sound like?”

“Like a minor inconvenience I could bury in the woods,” I replied sweetly.

Luis chuckled under his breath. “You’ve got claws. I can see why he likes you. But I’m still not convinced you’re not going to set him on fire by accident.”

“You’re really charming. You give all the mob wives this treatment?”

“No, just the ones who blind my best friend.”

His words hit hard. I didn’t let it show. I’d done enough crying in hospital bathrooms this week.

“He’s alive,” I said flatly. “You’re welcome.”

He gave a tight nod. “Yeah. And I’m grateful, but it doesn’t mean I like the price tag.”

“Gabriel made his choices.”

“Sure. But don’t pretend like your family didn’t nudge him toward the cliff.”

“Your metaphors are giving me a headache.”

“Your family has been giving me a headache.”

A silence stretched between us, filled with the hum of traffic, the faint blare of a siren blocks away, and the buzz of fluorescent lights spilling from the hospital entrance. People passed by, giving us a wide berth, maybe sensing the threat in the air.

“Look,” I said finally. “I get it. You’re protective. So am I.”

“Tell me, Amara. What happens if he doesn’t regain his sight?” Luis asked, voice cooler now. Less accusation, more calculation. “You still gonna play wife when he can’t see you?”

“I don’t care if he never sees me again,” I snapped. “He sees me better than anyone ever has. Sight or no sight, we’re in this together.”

Luis studied me like he was still trying to find the trapdoor, my weak spot, in my words. But I didn’t have any left to give.

Finally, he pushed off the column. “Good answer.”

“Shocked you, didn’t I?”

“A little,” he admitted. “I was expecting more siren, less substance.”

“You’ll learn not to underestimate me.”

He gave me a long, dry look. “Just make sure you don’t underestimate Gabriel. He’ll always choose loyalty over love. If you make him pick… Well, just don’t make him pick.”

The words were gentle. Almost too gentle.

“I’d never make him pick,” I said quietly. “He already did.”

Luis blew out a breath like he’d been holding it for days. Then, in the same typical suave fashion that I’d seen in Gabriel before too, he ruined the moment with a smirk.

“Can’t wait for the wedding,” he muttered. “The toasts are gonna be a riot. If I feel generous, I might throw you off a building just to lighten the mood.”

“Make sure it’s after I cut the cake.”

“Deal.” I moved past him, my shoulder brushing his lightly. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Amara.”

“Keep both eyes on me, Luis.”

He didn’t answer, just tilted his head, gave me one last unreadable look, and vanished through the hospital doors.

Gabriel

The door clicked open with a soft hiss of air, and I shifted on the bed, a sharp bolt of pain radiating from my shoulder. The bandages across my chest pulled tight with the movement, and the itch beneath them was a constant, maddening presence.

“Who’s there?” I gritted, my voice edged with fatigue.

“Your favorite voice of reason,” Luis replied dryly, his familiar tone cutting through the air. “Santo Cristo, Gabriel. You got really fucked up.”

“You don’t fucking say.” I let the sarcasm coat my words like armor. “And here I thought you were the voice of bad judgment and bad news.”

“Oh, how you wound me.”

His footsteps approached—soft but steady, that same predatory calm he always embodied. I could feel him studying the room, scanning for threats he couldn’t name but always expected.

“I just had a one-on-one with your future wife,” he said, voice flat with undertone. “It was so pleasant, I can’t wait to do it again.”

“Luis—” I warned, my patience already thin.

“I had to talk myself out of throwing her off the roof first,” he muttered, almost like he was confessing a sin.

I scoffed. “You give yourself too much credit. She would’ve tossed you first, even wearing heels, and dusted off her dress after.”

“I know,” he grumbled, dragging a metal chair forward, the legs screeching against the tile. The sound of movement told me he had sat down beside me. A heavy exhale followed as he leaned back like this was just another day at the office.

“ Estás hecho un asco .” He had a habit of telling me I looked like a mess, always delivering the insult with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

“Been a long week.”

“I heard.”

I could almost feel him dissecting the damage. He wasn’t only evaluating the bruises or bandages but the fallout from the choices we made back in Buenaventura.

“You gonna lecture me?” I asked finally. “Or just sit there like a disappointed priest?”

Luis huffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. A priest would’ve sprinted out of this family years ago. Now Satan… He might pull up a chair and pour a drink.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I always am,” he said smugly. Then his tone dropped. “I also know she’s had you wrapped around her little finger long before she ever looked at you.”

“I’m not a fool, Luis.”

“No, you’re worse. You’re in love.”

I let out a breath. “Yeah, so?”

“She kidnapped you, Gabriel.”

“I let her,” I reminded him.

Luis scoffed. “Jesus Christ.”

“No. Just me. Making decisions you don’t like.”

I leaned back into the pillows, feeling the pain settle in my bones like concrete.

“I know you’ve been burned,” I said quietly. “I know you don’t trust easily, especially not women who don’t play by the rules. But Amara… She’s not what you’re afraid of. She’s not pretending to be something she’s not. She’s raw. She’s fire. She owns her mistakes, even when they cost her.”

“She’s chaos,” he muttered.

“And I’m not,” I said. “That’s why it works.”

“Are you really marrying her?”

“Yes,” I answered without hesitation.

“I see.”

“It would mean a lot if you and she could find a way to get along.”

He didn’t respond right away. I knew him—he was running the calculations, measuring every angle, every risk. Luis didn’t offer loyalty lightly, even to me.

“And if we don’t?” he asked finally.

“I’m going to choose her,” I said. “No matter what, I’ll always choose her.”

Luis exhaled slowly, like he was exorcising something heavy and bitter from his chest.

After a long beat, he said, “You always did have a soft spot for trouble.”

“That’s why I made you my right hand,” I shot back.

He snorted.

“Touché.” A pause followed before he continued. “I’ll stick around. Watch your back. Watch hers too. But if she sings at me, I’m walking into traffic.”

That made me laugh—really laugh—for the first time since he walked into the room.

“Noted,” I said, still grinning. “No singing near Luis.”

We both chuckled, and the weight on my chest felt a little lighter. Not gone. But bearable.

And in this world, that was enough.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A steady beeping and the scent of disinfectant and something else dominated my senses.

I tensed, a creeping sense overwhelming me, and my sixth sense flared. There was someone in the room.

“Who’s there?” I called out, frustrated at this vulnerability.

There was no immediate answer, but I couldn’t shake off the feeling of being watched. I didn’t relax, my hand wrapping around the knife I had placed next to me.

I waited, my grip tightening around the knife, and I didn’t have to wait long.

“Santos.”

Fuck, I’d recognize that voice anywhere. “What did you do to my sister, Jet?”

I heard his footsteps then, and judging by the shuffling, he took a seat. “I’m keeping her safe. She’s my concern now, not yours.”

I let out a sardonic breath. “Wrong, you fucker. She’s my concern and always will be. Is she here?”

“No.” A heartbeat passed before he continued, “I came to assure you she’s safe, that I’d never hurt her and… to apologize.”

A shock rolled through me. Jet and apology in the same sentence made up a perfect oxymoron.

“Kind of late for an apology, don’t you think?” I said with a sardonic breath.

He didn’t answer immediately, but when he did, it surprised me again.

“My mother taught me it’s never too late to apologize, but the key is to mean it.”

“Do you?” I questioned. “Mean it, that is.”

“I do.” Strangely, I believed him, and I hated it. I wanted to fucking murder him and then bring him back to life just to murder him again. “More than you’ll ever know.”

The anguish in his voice was hard to miss, but I suspected my hindered sight enhanced my other senses, spotting emotions being one of them.

“It doesn’t fix anything,” I gritted. “And if you were truly sorry, you’d bring my sister back.”

I felt him tense. “I’m sorry, Santos. I’ll do anything besides give her up.”

“Bringing her to see me isn’t exactly giving her up,” I stated, loosening the grip on the knife. He remained silent, and suspicion crept into my soul. “Unless she’s mad at you.” He didn’t answer, and I suspected I hit the nail on the head. “She is, isn’t she?”

“No.”

The single clenched word told me otherwise and I chuckled softly, ignoring the pain shooting through me.

“Oh, this is priceless.” The irony was hard to ignore and my chuckle grew into full-blown laughter. “And so damn worth this.”

“Maybe you lost your mind in the explosion too. Goddammit, Santos, you have to get better,” he rasped through gritted teeth.

“Oh, boy. I think you’re about to get the taste of sweet Anya’s Latina side, because it’s clear you’re clueless about who my sister is.”

Two quiet moments passed.

“I’ve never seen someone’s temper flare so fast,” he muttered under his breath, almost as if he were speaking to himself. However, it was all I needed to envision the situation.

“Bring her back home,” I said. “You went about this all wrong, and it’s time you admit it, Jet.”

“She’s my wife.” The cold tone crept through the room, and so did his stubbornness. “I’ll make all this right, and you… for fuck’s sake, Santos, you have to get your vision back. I threatened the doctors and…”

He trailed off, clearly despairing. It might have been wrong, but suddenly, I didn’t want my vision to return soon. I wanted this motherfucker to suffer, and he would. I knew my sister enough to know that when she reached a pissed-off point, there was no return from it.

I could practically envision her setting him on fire, throwing away the match, and walking away with a sweet, slightly crazy smile on her face. It might make me petty—fucking sue me—but I relished in it.

We sat there in silence, and I wasn’t exactly sure why he was here, but I suspected he was lost in his own thoughts.

“I am sorry,” he said, breaking the silence. “And not only because it backfired, but also because you got hurt. That was never the intent.”

“Apology not accepted.”

He let out a breath. “I figured, but I am sorry and grateful that you protected Amara, which leads me to my next to-do item.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I’m sorry for the few encounters we’ve had as well,” he continued. “My sister is a grown woman, and she’s always been capable of making her own choices. It was her choice to make, not mine.”

“Well, she chose me anyway, so you only delayed the inevitable.”

“Holidays are going to be awkward as fuck,” he grumbled.

“Not if you’re not invited.”

He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “I deserved that one.”

“And more,” I pointed out.

The scraping of the chair against the hospital floor told me he was getting up, and my grip tightened on the knife. He might have apologized, but it didn’t mean I trusted him.

However, the echo of his footsteps grew distant and I slightly relaxed.

“Jet,” I called out.

“Yes?”

“Does Anya want to leave you?” I questioned.

“I’m not sure, she’s too busy throwing shit at me and trying to kill me to voice her plans,” he grumbled.

My lips twitched. That was my sister alright. “A word of advice: If she wants to leave, let her.”

“I really am sorry, Santos,” was his answer, choosing not to comment on my advice.

The door shut with a soft click, and I knew he was gone. The worry for my sister remained, but suddenly, I felt lighter because I knew Anya could handle Jet, and if I were a betting man, I’d wager that it wouldn’t end well for the fucker.