Page 42 of Gabriel
Luis sidled up beside me, voice low. “Told you she’s the siren kind of trouble. One shrill, seductive note and just like that”—he snapped his fingers—“you’re smiling as she ruins your life.”
I rolled my eyes at his dramatics.
“Relax, Shakespeare,” I said. “The only spell I’m under is the one that makes me tolerate your shit.”
He shrugged, unfazed. “Just don’t come crying to me when you’re shipwrecked and she’s steering the wreckage.”
“That yacht must have a captain and crew. It wouldn’t even surprise me if it was stolen.”
Luis grinned. “Even better. You’re not just falling for a siren. You’re falling for apirate.”
“Are you done?” I muttered.
He shrugged. “Amara and Elira are up to something, and I’d bet my life Jet’s the one behind it.”
“Except Amara was asking me questions about Jet, which tells me she doesn’t know what he’s up to.”
He scoffed. “You don’t think Amara’s the enemy here?”
“My gut’s saying no, but you can never be certain,” I said pensively. “Jet’s pulling strings, possibly with the help of his twin, and my gut’s warning me it has everything to do with our encounter in Revelation eight months ago.”
Luis shook his head slowly.
“You’re too fucking blind, Gabriel. What if Amara’s helping him? Fuck, maybe she’s even pulling the strings with Elira.”
“Jet doesn’t follow anyone’s rules.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Okay, I agree. And judging by your fixation on Amara—and the stalking that borders on a restraining order—she’s not exactly the player type. She seems like a no-nonsense type of girl. But you and I both know that she would do anything for her siblings.”
My fists tightened, and my thoughts slipped back to Revelation—its low lights, that smooth jazz bleeding through the walls, the shadows thick enough to hide my meeting with Jet. Unlike our last two encounters, he was all teeth and charm, like a snake dressed in velvet.
He was trouble in a tailored suit, his mind fixated on a girl with fire in her blood and no idea what kind of predator was circling.
Anya.
Over. My. Dead. Body.
I could still see the top-shelf arrogance in him from our last encounter and I could only picture it now as he pulled strings from the shadows, playing his own sick games.
It would seem he didn’t heed my warning.
“Remember that little sermon you gave me about staying away from Amara?” I said, voice low, steady. “Take your own advice. Stay the fuck away from my sister.”
Jet’s lips curled into a lazy grin, one that said he’d already done the math and didn’t care for the results. He looked around with a bored expression, but I knew better. This wasn’t going as he’d hoped.
“She’s not really your sister,” he taunted.
I smiled without warmth. “And Amara’s not really yours, but that didn’t stop you from acting like she was state property.” I stepped in, relishing the few inches I had on him. “So do us both a favor and cut the bullshit.”
“Gabriel, you spacing out or what?” Luis snapped, dragging me out of the memory.
Back in the alley, the air felt heavier. Jet didn’t let go of things—especially not people. The way he’d backed off Anya didn’t feel like mercy. It felt like strategy.
I pointed my chin toward the yacht, then back at the abandoned-looking building. “You ready to see how deep this rabbit hole goes?”
He let out a slow, almost theatrical exhale, like he was dragging the weight of the world on his lungs. “No. But when do I ever get a damned choice?”
