Page 9 of No Mercy

He chuckles. “Then my job is done.”

“Ass.”

“Takes one to know one.” He ends the call.

Donovan’s laugh still echoes in my ears as I make a tray of food and head to the bedroom.

THE RATTLING OF DISHES HAS MEglancing through the open bathroom door to the adjoining bedroom where Gabriel sets a tray of food on the bed. Before I can look away, his eyes meet mine. “Feeling better?”

“Mm-hmm.” He’s still wearing his black jeans and t-shirt from last night at Clover's where he said I was dancing likeslut meat. I cringe at the memory. He’s probably right. I was desperate to get Austin’s attention. I got Gabriel’s instead.

He stalks like a jaguar on the prowl, stopping inches from me, his eyes perusing me wearing his t-shirt and boxer briefs. “My turn.” He tugs his t-shirt off by the neck and tosses it to land on the hamper on the other side of the bathroom. His body is on full display, a body I’ve ingrained every sinewy dip, angle, and curve of into my brain so thoroughly, I could probably recognize it by touch alone, though I’ve never touched him—at least not in the way my mind is racing to do now. The breadth of his shoulders is as impressive as the definition of his abs and obliques. If there were an ideal MMA heavyweight fighter’s body, it’s standing before me now on glorious display.

He touches my wet hair as I try to brush the tangles free with one hand. “Eat while I shower. I’ll brush and dry your hair when I get out.”

My gawking—not only at his body but his comment—doesn’t go unnoticed. His brows arch as a laugh escapes his expansive chest. He grips my hair in one hand at the base of my neck and twists it, holding it in place with a clip he found in a vanity drawer.

“Eat.” He gently urges me out the door as he turns and starts to remove his jeans. I stand frozen in shock, only looking back at the sound of the shower door opening, and catch sight of his naked ass stepping inside.

Holy hell. He’s one fine man—asshole or not.I swallow my lust and close the bathroom door. He apparently doesn’t need privacy, but I sure as heck do. A girl can only take so much Gabriel at one time. A much larger dose, and I might explode from exposure… Or embarrassment.

I’ve barely settled on the bed and taken my second bite of the bacon and egg sandwich when he emerges from the bathroom. He finds me immediately, taking in my stance and the sandwich in my hand, my chewing paused as my attention is drawn to him. A towel wrapped around his waist is the only layer protecting me from his utter nakedness. Water still glistens on his tanned skin as if he couldn’t bother to dry off before checking on me. His black hair, cut to spikey perfection, drips in ignored chaos, and his hands flex at his sides, fingers twitching to touch.

Jesus. What’s wrong with me?I’m ogling my ex’s best friend only hours after said friend trampled all over our relationship and my heart… And my body.

Shame floods me, and heat warms my cheeks. I look away, setting the food aside. I’m a horrible person.

“Hey.” Rough fingers lift my chin till I meet his blue gaze. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop.”

I grimace over the emotions building.Do not cry.You cannot break down in front of Gabriel!He’s being all sweet, but it doesn’t erase the past five years. Between Austin’s confession of infidelity and abandoning me after injuring me, and Gabriel’s personality transplant, my head is swimming. I can’t decipher what’s real and what’s a lie.

I shake off his touch. “I’m fine.”

He scowls, knowing it’s a total lie. “Let me get dressed, and I’ll help with your sling. Then medicine. Then hair.” He disappears into the closet while I stare at my hands, absorbing his list of to-dos, and try to come to terms with my broken body responding to him the way it is. I have no self-preservation. I’m obviously high on drugs to be considering any of the things my mind keeps throwing out in random blips that are far too dirty and delicious.

“Eat, Frankie,” he barks from his mancave of a closet, causing me to jump and then gasp from the pain. His hawk ears must have heard as he sticks his head out. “Sorry.”

“For barking at me or causing me pain?” I glower, knowing the latter is not his fault.

“Both,” he simply replies, pulling a white t-shirt over his head, further mussing his towel-dried hair. Barefoot and in workout shorts, he stops next to the bed, reaching over to nab one of the other three sandwiches he made.

“You have to stop that,” I protest.

“Stop what?” He sits on the edge of the bed, lopping off a sizable bite of his breakfast. I try to scoot over to give him room and me space, but he stops me with a hand on my thigh.

“Being so nice.” My eyes remain on his hand as he squeezes, his thumb slowly moving back and forth.

“You need to heal.” He stands, taking his sandwich with him and talks around another bite, “We can go back to hating each other when you can move without groaning in pain.”

He says it like our hating each other was a game. It wasn’t a game to me. His words hurt. He’s dead-stare unraveled me more times than I care to admit. At times, it was a barrier between Austin and me, yet Austin seemed to tolerate it better than I did. I avoided Gabriel. Gabriel avoided me. But given our working relationship, it wasn’t always possible.

So, why is he taking care of me? Out of pity?

He finishes his sandwich as I watch him collect stuff to do my hair.

“I don’t hate you,” I whisper my confession. I may not always like him, or how he makes me feel, but I never hated him.

He turns, his eyes intense and masked. “I don’t hate you either.” He swipes a pill bottle from the nightstand, opens it, and hands me a pill. “Never have.”

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