Page 51 of Wolf.e

Even though I don’t love Evan anymore, I don’t want him involved with this in any way. “That part of my life is long over. I think he just texted me to check in on me.”

I wait as Gabriel studies me.

“You didn’t answer me… about what you’re going to do with me,” I say, growing more self-conscious by the moment as I sit here in just a t-shirt with his heady stare on me. My nipples harden when this man simply looks at me, for God’s sake. My body is a lost cause.

“Because I don’t know what I’m going to do with you yet,” he answers honestly.

“Does Layla know?” I ask. “What you all… do?”

His eyes narrow, and he turns to remove his coffee. He adds nothing. Of course he doesn’t. This man screams I take my coffee black.

“You don’t know what we do just because you witnessed one night,” he retorts.

“I think I have a pretty good idea,” I say, in a more snappy tone than I intend.

“You have no idea,” he says.

I don’t argue, only because the way Gabriel says it tells me maybe I don’t.

“There are two ways members deal with their ol’ ladies, or in your case a woman under protection.”

“Captivity,” I correct.

He shrugs. “Semantics.”

I watch as Gabriel wraps his perfect lips around the rim of his paper cup as he sips. “Most of them either tell them everything or they tell them nothing.”

“So Layla doesn’t know much,” I whisper, looking down at my cup.

Gabriel nods, confirming.

“Would he tell her if she wanted to know?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Depends. Every man handles their ol’ ladies’ knowledge differently. He may not want her to know, or she may not be able to handle it.”

“I would want to know all of it. I would never tolerate that,” I say matter-of-factly, sounding very much like my mother. I internally cringe. “Hypothetically, of course,” I add.

Gabriel smirks and I soften. I don’t have a clue as to why this dirty, bloodied version of him is doing it for me, but here we are.

I take a big sip of my coffee and smooth my hair. It’s wavy and knotted from letting it air dry while I cried myself to sleep last night.

“Will I go home?” I ask, feeling weak and at his mercy. I hate it.

Gabriel swallows a big gulp of his coffee, probably the whole cup.

“I can’t trust you yet.” He looks me over as he says it but it’s no answer as to my fate.

I finish what is in my cup.

“Go meet your friend.” He points to my toiletries and clothing under a mirror that hangs on the wall. “I’m going to take a shower. I have club business and then I’ll be at breakfast with you”—he grabs fresh clothes from his bag as he speaks—“and clean up that glass. Don’t do that again, losing your temper won’t serve you.”

“I’m not a child,” I tell him with more attitude than warranted and self-admittedly like a petulant child. I look down and see his foot covered in white gauze.

“Then don’t act like one,” he says. “Chris is outside. He’ll walk you down to the main building,” he adds.

“Am I not safe because of what I saw last night?” I ask, just before Gabriel steps through the bathroom door, but he stops in his tracks. He turns and makes his way back to me, climbing onto the bed and grabbing both my thighs. My breath hitches as he pulls me down under him and hovers over me. He smells like campfire and leather mixed with whatever his aftershave or cologne is.

It's enough to make me crumble.

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