Page 85 of Wolf.e

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 easy going 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.

“You’re acting like a little brat, Brinley, and you’ll eat what I took the time to prepare you.”

A simmering fury takes over and I raise my eyes to him. He meets them and we sit, dead locked while he waits for my response. I feel the tears in my eyes, the anger of this entire situation brimming to the surface.

“And if I tell you I am going to the rally? I have my own car. What will you do? Send me to my room? Ground me? Oh, wait”—I let out a haughty laugh—“I’m already grounded. Permanently.”

Gabriel’s fist hits the table with a thud and I jump.

“Enough,” he says as he picks up a forkful of food and eats. As threatening as he looks right now shirtless at the table, I stay as strong as I can, if for no other reason than to get my point across. He can keep me, but he can’t own me unless I let him.

Leaning back in my chair, I fold my hands in my lap and wait. My stomach growls and I hope he doesn’t hear it.

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