Page 50 of Gabriel's Salvation

I feel one of the girls remove my dick from my boxers, but rather than spring to attention it just droops down. One of the girls attempts to revive it by stroking her hand up and down repeatedly, but nothing happens, not even a twitch.

“Come here, I'll show you,” the other girl says, physically pushing her friend out of the way. She attempts to give it the kiss of life. But still, my traitor of a dick refuses to budge.

“Err, maybe you drank too much,” one of them tries to soothe, but it just annoys me more. I bend down to pick up my jeans and spot my phone lying on the floor. As soon as I reach for it I'm greeted by Riley's picture. The one of her reading on the beach. When the fuck did I set that as my lock screen?

Like a rocket, my cock suddenly springs to attention. “Oh looks like we have lift off,” the girls giggle. I feel one of the girls wrap their lips around me and begin sucking. I continue staring at the picture while this girl goes to town on me. Finally, I squirt my load. Next, the other girl wants her turn. I try. But straight away I know this isn't right. “Get on all fours,” I demand. Hoping that if I can't see her face it won't seem like I'm betraying Riley so much. Perhaps I can fool myself into believing this is Riley. Just like I did with her friend's mouth earlier. I try my hardest, but just a few thrusts later and my dick is still as soft and flat as a pancake.

“This ain’t working,” I say as I push the girl away, pull up my boxers. I grab my trousers and shoes from the floor and walk out the door.

I walk back to my room not giving a fuck that I’m only wearing boxers and a t-shirt and throw myself back on the bed. Once I get comfortable, I pull out my phone, set it to Riley’s picture and prepare to finish what I started earlier. I take out my now throbbing, hard as steel dick and pump it to her picture until I’m blowing my load. Then I drift off to sleep.

I don't wake up till early evening by which time I feel sober enough to drive.

As I get near town, I pull up to gas up my bike, and find a voice message from John.

“You’re a fucking asshole Gabe, you have put the work back a whole weekend. The boys all had to work overtime. We’re all at Saints, I suggest you get your ass here and buy us a drink.”

I call John, my boss, apologizing for the fact I've completely skipped two days of work. He's annoyed of course, but knows he can't really say much since I know where the bodies are buried…literally.

“I'll be back at work tomorrow. I'll even work over the weekend to make it up to you,” I say begrudgingly.

“Fine, but don’t make a motherfucking habit out of it,'' John replies, “Oh and you still owe us all a drink, so get your ass to Saints, now.”

Internally I grimace at the thought of spending my night stuck with the scumbags from work.

“I’m on my way,” I say before hanging up. Spending my night with the guys I work with is the last thing I wanna do, but I haven't got much choice in the matter. Some of the guys I work with are okay, especially Jack. He’s an annoying prick at times, but I know when we're together on a job it's gonna go quick, at least.

Unfortunately though, I know exactly which ‘boys’ John will be with, his five goonies. Saints Sinners as they stupidly call themselves. Satan's spawn more like. Each one is more disgusting and devious than the last. I know I can be a dickhead 99% of the time and am known for being kind of heartless with women but these five are something else entirely. They hunt and share women like it's a sport and find some sort of sadistic pleasure in hunting their prey. That's how me and Declan, the bartender in Saints, became friendly in the first place. We both do our bit to minimize their reach in our own ways. Nothing would please me more than to kill the lot of them with my bare hands, but as John's right-hand man I learned young that power and fear work much better to keep yourself safe. While they respect me, they don’t fuck with me. I stay quiet and pretend I don’t wanna kill every last one of them. It keeps me safe and in control.

I jump on my bike and head straight to Saints. I walk in and see Declan at the end of the bar flirting with some brunette. I eye a half empty bottle of rum still on the side which I grab and head back outside.

“I saw that,” Declan shouts from behind me.

“Good, then do your fucking job and put it on my tab,” I reply with a smirk.

I push the door open and head outside to the patio. I hear Marko’s disgusting laugh and resist the urge to smash the bottle over his head. No point wasting a decent bottle of rum.

“Move,” I snap, placing my hand on the back of Deeno’s chair.

I see Deeno's eyes widen as he turns to look at me. He's a big guy, over six foot tall and built like a boxer. But he's the newest and youngest member of the Sinners and still hasn't quite figured me out yet.

“Did I fucking stutter?” I ask, turning to the group.

“No, sorry man,” Deeno stutters as he stands and pulls over an empty chair.

Sitting down beside John, I listen as the group continues excitedly discussing beating some poor guy to a pulp over some debt he owed.

“Gabe, is it true you killed a guy when you were just fifteen?” Deeno asks nervously.

“Sure it is; I was there,” John replies as he proudly pats me on the back. I move out of his reach and give him a death glare. He knows full well I hate being touched.

“Why do you think I've had this kid working for me since he was in diapers?” John chuckles.

“Thought the old man had gone senile when he told me this lil runt was coming to work with us,” Mike replies. Going into detail about what a scruffy, skinny little runt thirteen-year-old me was.

I then listen as John and Mike, both men in their late fifties, talk about me like my shitty childhood is some sort of villain origin story.

“So his dad was a nasty son of a bitch, beat him and his brother constantly…”

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