Page 52 of Wolf.e (The Soldiers of Bedlam #1)

Brinley

Over three weeks later

“Fuck you!” I spit out obscenities I wouldn’t even have been comfortable with two months ago but now the sound of my voice echoes through the space.

All my clothing sticks to me with sweat.

We’re on hour two of this little routine we’ve got going.

We’ve been at it every day and I’m about to go crazy.

Always an hour at the shooting range, then hours in the gym.

I’ve learned over the last few weeks that every plane of Gabriel’s body is an integral part of the weapon he is.

He’s all rippling muscle, hard lines and simmering just below the surface is all his power and rage.

It never ceases to both piss me off and turn me the fuck on to watch him hardly break a sweat in training with me.

“I can’t do it…you’re too goddamn heavy,” I bite out. “And we’re both already bleeding.”

He could go on like this for weeks and I’m panting after the first forty-five minutes. At least this last week I’ve made it forty-five before panting, so I guess that’s progress.

“Yes, you can, just get fucking angrier.” Gabriel chuckles as I struggle to get out of his hold.

I’m pinned below him; we’ve been working on this particular move for days.

My lip is still bleeding from ten minutes ago when I tried to push him off of me from my stomach and he forced me back down.

My teeth met the nice plush middle of my bottom lip, which in turn made me claw at his neck deep enough to draw blood.

“You’re never more alive than when you’re bleeding,” Gabriel grunts as he holds me, trading between looking like he’s either going to tighten his hold on me or kiss me, or both.

“If I gave up when I saw my blood in that cave I wouldn’t be here. Every drop I bled meant I was still living.”

I stare up at him as a new piece of his sadistic mind is revealed to me.

Gabriel leans down even closer, that cruel light in his eye glints as he holds me. “And I like the look of my blood on you, hummingbird,” he says, his voice low and even. “It’s when I feel the most alive. Now, secure your position and fucking fight me !”

I do my best to remember the steps while his forearm is currently cutting off my air supply.

“Come on!” he snarls. “Knee to my stomach, foot on my hip.”

I try, but he weighs so much.

“Shit,” I grit out but I somehow manage to find the will, simultaneously lifting and twisting his weight with my foot and my knee, using it against him.

“Attagirl,” he growls as I pull my hand away while pushing up with my leg to escape his hold entirely. I fall onto my back on the mat, my arms in an outstretched U.

I feel like I might die. Every muscle in my body screams at me and I look like I’ve been run over by a truck, while he looks like he just got back from a leisurely ten-minute walk.

I let my eyes rake over him, sweat glistening slightly on his chest. As frustrating as he is, that is a really nice half naked body to stare at while I die.

“Stop eye fucking your attacker.” Gabriel smirks as he throws his T-shirt on over his head and makes his way past me, heading for the stairs.

I breathe out a sigh, surprised we’re done for the day, but at the same time? Thank fucking God.

***

“I want to come with you to the Glen Eden rally this weekend. Layla is going, there are vendors and so many people. I need people. It’s one day,” I plead, taking a seat at his kitchen island.

I’m showered and feeling slightly more human after that workout, while he makes us a version of the same meal I’ve eaten every day for the last four weeks.

Some form of protein, quinoa or jasmine rice, and veggies.

I’m not going to lie and say the effects on my body haven’t been startling.

In just under a month I’m more sculpted, I’ve grown physically stronger, I’m lifting much heavier weights and I’m faster. Physically, I’ve never been healthier.

Mentally, I’m going insane.

Gabriel eyes me up, still shirtless, as he stirs chicken with some sort of homemade marinade, in a cast iron pan. As it simmers, my stomach growls but it’s not the food that makes my mouth water. It’s the sight of him.

There hasn’t been a single day he hasn’t been inside me every night before we spend hours lying in bed and talking. It’s mostly him asking me questions about every single part of my life—what my favorite foods are, my other childhood friends, who has ever been mean to me.

He’s making a list, says he’ll save it for a rainy day when he feels like hunting.

But through all of it, I have been able to get to know him a little better.

Or as well as Gabriel allows anyone to know him.

I know what makes him tick, like his morning runs, the passion he has for his work in creating beautiful bikes people fall in love with, how he never embellishes a story.

He says it exactly like it is. The way when he tells me when he’ll be home, he is—on time, every single time.

He’s also been honest with me whenever I’ve asked him a direct question.

I realized it wasn’t because he was keeping things from me, but because he’s simply not used to having someone ask.

Gabriel openly tells me whatever I’d like to know, except that he’s tracking my car, but that’s okay because I’m tracking him too.

When he was in the shower, I lifted up the thick insole in his boot and slipped the little AirTag in, super gluing it back down.

At first, I felt bad for doing it without his knowledge but then I realized that’s just my conscience, and if Gabriel himself has taught me anything, it’s that I don’t always have to listen to it if it’s for the right reason.

I’ve never even checked it, but I feel like if he’s going to know where I am, I can know where he is.

It’s like I’m letting him track me by choice.

I breathe out a sigh. After that intense workout I’m sore, I’m exhausted yet keyed up, and I’m ready to lose my mind if he doesn’t let me out of here for something other than work.

“It’s not safe,” Gabriel says without looking up from cooking.

“I’m not Rapunzel,” I retort, bracing myself for an argument with him.

“If I’m going to go anywhere, it’s the safest place I could go.

Layla told me nothing but good things ever happen at these rallies.

She said it’s an unspoken rule to keep the peace at them.

There will be hundreds of people there, you said it yourself…

and I’d be with you , plus”—I raise an eyebrow—“you could always give me my own gun if you’re that worried about it. ”

Gabriel chuckles that deep laugh that I love. “Take it easy G.I. Jane, hitting a few targets—”

“Seven out of ten, three times in a row yesterday,” I remind him, smiling smugly.

“Seven out of ten,” he repeats. “Doesn’t make you an expert. You’ve never fired at anything real. ”

I sit back in the chair, looking down at my braised knuckles, swollen from hitting his heavy bag with him. This isn’t going the way I hoped.

“So what? I need to hunt an animal or something before I can have my own gun?” I ask, my voice rising at the end. That doesn’t sound like something I could do, but maybe that’s his point.

Gabriel pours me half a glass of straight tequila; this isn’t something I’d ever drink so I look up at him in question.

“For your muscles.” He smirks. “And you won’t be hunting a wild animal but…something like that.”

“I want to go to the rally,” I say firmly, lifting my chin.

Gabriel is neither fazed nor amused by my persistence, it’s like something more is weighing on his mind.

I remind myself it’s probably how he’s planning to execute the Disciples of Sin president and take over their club.

The idea of what’s in front of him settles deep within me as he fills our plates, working carefully.

I was right, chicken layered with brightly colored peppers, and quinoa. He looks like some sort of ominous Food Network chef as he licks his thumb and swipes sauce off the side of his own plate, keeping it as neat as mine. I’m absolutely starving after a grueling day of work and training.

The office at Crimson Homes is busy with two clients going simultaneously, both at different build stages.

The air isn’t easygoing anymore but it is still relaxed.

Dell doesn’t push me and he’s friendly enough, but I feel the looks he gives me every time he glances out the office window and sees a prospect waiting to escort me home after my shift.

I know he wonders what the hell I’m wrapped up in, the same way I worried about Layla when I got here.

But the discernment and silent judgement irritates me more often than not. He doesn’t even know Gabriel.

I won’t be able to keep this job for long if I have HOH members hanging around the building, but so far they’re happy with my work and seem to need me.

It’s a means to an end. Gabriel won’t take a penny, nor would I offer him one anyway when I have a perfectly good home that I could live in on the other side of town.

So I’m saving everything I have, holding on to a sliver of hope that I could maybe open my own interior design studio at some point when this is all over.

One with local artisans’ pieces and rustic Georgian vibes.

“ Eat, ” Gabriel says, breaking into the silence and causing me to flinch.

I muster the energy to fight back the tears and rage at the thought of him just dismissing my request.

I push my plate aside. I know I’m acting childish, using my rejection of this beautiful meal he’s made, but I need him to listen. I need his attention. Hole a woman up in a house for almost a month and see how childish she can become.

“I’m not hungry, thank you,” I say politely, shrugging my shoulders.

He stands over me for a few seconds, watching. I can feel his eyes roaming over me as I check my nails as if they’re of the utmost importance. He moves to the other side of the table and sits.