Page 74 of Gabriel's Salvation

I hear a chuckle leave his lips, but he makes no attempt to stop me. Over the years I've passed out here more times than I can count. Declan doesn’t seem to mind, he just closes up around me and tells me to lock up when I leave the next day. His only rule is that I’m not allowed to invite girls for late night parties or fuck anywhere in the bar, which is fine by me as I have no desire to be stuck at some shitty sleepover anyway.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Riley

It's been a couple of weeks since Tucker's birthday. I finally spoke to the girls and told them about what had happened between me and Gabe. Not that I had much choice after half the school saw him punch Chad in the face and then I got carried out like a naughty toddler. Not to mention something going down between him and Harper, although Harper can't remember much other than the fact that Gabe helped her somehow in the bathroom and then made Tucker and Ava take care of her while he disappeared. Thankfully they were all pretty understanding, but all any of them told me was what a mistake I had made getting involved with Gabe. If only I could force myself to feel the same. Despite all the heartache and anger he causes me, I feel drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Ready to fly myself into damnation for a taste of happiness.

Despite my better judgment, I agree to go on a date with Ashton, a guy from science class that Harper set me up with. We head to the movies, the film’s okay I guess, but the date itself is kind of bland. “How about we go for a drink?” I suggest.

“A drink? Where?” Ashton asks, sounding kind of sheepish.

“I know just the place, follow me,” I say, leading him to the place I would really like to be, hoping to see the guy I really wish I was with.

I walk inside and scan the room, the back booth, and the bar - even standing on tiptoes to try and see out the back door. But nope, he's not here.

“What would you like?” Ashton asks as we make our way to the bar. “A soda? Orange juice? Maybe a mocktail,” he suggests.

“I'll take a whiskey,” I say to the bartender.

“My kind of girl,” a guy a few stools down says.

“Coming right up, I guess,” the bartender says, as the other guy steps off his stool and makes his way over to me.

“And what's your little brother having?” the guy teases, “A juice box, perhaps”

“I’ll take a beer,” Ashton says with a bite in his tone.

The bartender hands us both our drinks, not even bothering to card us.

“How about I introduce you to a few friends?” the guy says as he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me towards him. “The name’s Marko, by the way,” he says, taking my hand and kissing it. The feel of his lips on my skin makes me want to hurl. But I don't care. At least it's interesting.

“She's here with me,” Ashton states, but even I can hear the way his voice quivers and lacks conviction.

“It's okay baby bro, you can come, too.” Marko reaches out and grabs my drink, keeping his arm snaked around my hip as he guides me outside.

When we get out, I'm greeted by at least four other guys, each much bigger and angrier looking than the last.

“Sit,” says Marko as his buddy kicks out a chair and Marko basically pushes me into it. “Look guys, I found us a new friend.”

Ashton gets a nearby chair and goes to sit beside me. Just then another guy grabs my chair and pulls it beside him just enough that Marko manages to slide a stool in on the other side, splitting me and Ashton up and wedging me firmly between these two strangers.

“You already know me, but that’s Deeno, Michael, Phoenix, Christopher, and Johnny Boy, himself,” Marko says, pointing around at the different members of this group.

“And what's your name, cutie?” the old man, the one they called Johnny Boy, purrs.

“It’s Stacey,” I say, holding my own while secretly hoping the name holds as much confidence and luck for me as last time. I see Ashton’s eyes widen, but he doesn't say anything.

The bartender comes around soon after and takes everyone’s drink orders again.

“I’ll take another whiskey, please,” I say politely. The men all bark their orders and continue talking. A few moments later the bartender comes back with everyone's drinks, gives them out, then hands me a beer.

“Excuse me,” I say, reaching out to get his attention as the rest of the group continue talking, “I ordered a whiskey.”

The bartender leans down close enough that only I can hear him and whispers, “You're gonna want a drink you can keep your thumb over the top of, and you're going to want to stay sober, too.”

“Is there a problem?” one of the guys bellows.

“No, not all. I was just telling the lady what cocktails we had on offer,” the bartender says with a fake smile.

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