Chapter 20

After a dramatic and crazy morning, the spell I’ve been in, the fantasy Gabe wove around us, shatters. It feels awkward and there’s something niggling in the back of my mind that I can’t stop prying at.

But I can’t figure out what it is.

Gabe drops me off at the Gravy Train for my shift with a kiss and a soft question of whether I’m sure I’m okay. I reassure him that I am, even though I’m not sure myself.

“I’m sorry about Carraby. I didn’t mean for that to happen, but I’m glad you’re safe. I won’t let him hurt you, okay?” He pushes a lock of hair behind my ear, eyes imploring me to believe him. “I’ll see you tonight for your nine o’clock dinner break?”

There’s something in Gabe’s voice that piques the little concern working itself around in my brain, an uncertainty he doesn’t usually have. He’s not arrogant, but he’s always come off as confident.

But maybe this morning bothered him too?

I nod and get out, shutting the door behind me with a deep breath. Fuck. I can’t believe Russell attacked Gabe and Gabe had to fight him off.

The scene replays in my head—Russell’s leering threats and attack, and Gabe’s immediate and powerful response.

As the mental movie of this morning replays again in my head while he pulls out, I see a different side to Gabe. A side I didn’t know he had. He threw that knee with the skill and ease of someone who’s done it before.

Suddenly, it clicks.

Carraby.

That’s the thing that’s bugged me this whole time. When I shared my problems, I told Gabe about Russell and his threats, but his last name? I can’t remember ever telling him Russell’s full name. But Carraby rolled off his tongue like... he already knew.

But how? Why?

And what does that even mean?

Memories of Charlotte’s words ring in my ear. You should run a background check, girl. Wish I had, would’ve saved me a lot of heartache if I’d known who he really was.

Shit. Is Charlotte right? Only one way to find out.

I run inside and head straight to the back, hollering, “Martha!”

“What?” she exclaims, coming out of her office quickly, her eyes wide and questioning.

“I need your keys. It’s an emergency. Please,” I say, holding my hand out and bouncing on my toes.

She digs in her purse, grabbing them and handing them over to me. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

I shake my head, hoping I’m not too late. “I’ll explain later, I promise. Cover for me today, please!” I take the keys from her, running out to her silver Toyota. I have just enough time to fire it up before Gabe’s bright red SUV pulls through the intersection just down the street, turning left.

I do my best to follow, glad that Martha’s car is small and nondescript. More than once, I ‘hide’ behind other vehicles, wondering what I’m doing as I follow him.

Last night, everything had seemed to be going amazingly well. I’d begun believing that maybe Mia was right and that love, or at least the first tingles of it, can strike when you least expect it. Certainly, I’d felt like this thing between Gabe and me had grown well beyond a one-night stand considering all we’d shared, the stories we’d told, and the multiple times I’d seen his dimpled smile in response to a story I told, even when they were more tragically funny than outright humorous.

And I’d learned a lot about him as we chatted, flirted, and slurped down those delicious noodles. He told me about his job, or well... some about it. He told me about the things he likes and dislikes, and while we didn’t get too deep into his family history, he never shirked a single question I had for him.

But this morning, when he looked at Russell, there was something in his face that scared me. I felt like I was looking at a totally different person, someone with the same face and body as Gabe but a totally different soul.

I don’t know how I ended up following him. It just seems like the thing to do in the moment. Questions and concerns overlap each other in my mind with my sudden mistrust of Gabe, making me a little crazy.

Am I being irrational? Have I just gone a little cuckoo?

I know it’s a bit much, but even so, I don’t stop. I don’t turn around.

Gabe pulls off the road and into the parking lot at a strip mall, and I follow, watching as he goes into... a Walmart?

That seems anti-climatic. I don’t know what I was expecting, but my gut is still telling me something is up. And since I’m not really one to get weird vibes, I’m listening to this one, no matter how nonsensical it may be.

So I sit in Martha’s car, waiting.

When Gabe comes out, he’s got two bags and calmly beelines for his SUV. As he turns, I can see that one bag looks like it’s got some snacks in it, while in the other, I can see the clear outline of a rubber mallet.

Gabe gets in his Range Rover, and I have a moment of clarity. Do I stop this madness or keep following? I glance up to the rearview mirror, seeing my eyes bright with worry.

“What am I doing?” I ask my reflection. Relationships are built on trust, but relationships are also built on honesty, and my gut tells me I’m missing something important here. I just don’t know.

But when I see the candy-apple red SUV pull out, I know I’m doing this. No matter how weird, how stupid, how embarrassed I’m going to be later when it ends up that I’m overreacting to nothing, I need to know.

I keep sight of him, following as he makes his way to one of the motels in what could be called the industrial section of Roseboro. Not that Roseboro has a huge industrial zone, but there is that chunk of town that’s sort of older businesses, I guess.

I park across the street, watching carefully as Gabe goes into a motel room. I’m just about to give up, thankful that nobody caught me going stalker psycho and thinking about how I’m going to explain my behavior to Martha, when the room door opens and Gabe walks out.

But he looks different than he did when he went in. I guess that’s understandable. He was still wearing his dress shirt and suit pants from last night before, but looking at him in black jeans, a dark grey hoodie, and work boots... I don’t know.

There’s something off.

It’s not like there’s anything all that different about what he’s wearing from what I’ve seen before. Almost every time we’ve been together, he’s worn jeans and a T-shirt or something. Last night’s fancier dress was definitely the outlier for us both.

But it’s in the way he walks as he crosses the parking lot that has me confused.

He looks like he has a purpose. A mission.

And there’s no hint of his boyish smile or charming personality. He looks robotic, mechanical.

I’m even more confused when he passes his Range Rover and goes to the end of the lot, getting into a silvery gray Ford truck.

“Wait... haven’t I seen that truck before?” I murmur as I scooch down in my seat so he doesn’t see me. I swear I have, but it’s so common a style and color that maybe I’m just mixing it up with another vehicle? I mean, it looks just like Russ—

No.

No fucking way.

That time Russell came by, it was right around the time I met Gabe, if I remember right... there was another truck just down the block. At first I’d thought it was Russell coming back to bug me again.

But what if it’d been Gabe? Is that possible? Surely not.

Or maybe?

What does that mean, though? Maybe he was just in my neighborhood or knows Russell some other way? That might make sense I guess.

But something tells me that’s not the case. Or at least there’s a chance there’s something else going on. And that’s what’s making me chew my lip.

I wait until Gabe pulls out of the lot, and then going by my gut, I take a shortcut toward my house. It means hopping on a dirt backroad for a mile, which does a number on Martha’s suspension. But it can’t be helped, I keep telling myself as my head bounces off the roof of her Toyota. I come up on the back of my neighborhood and park along the curb by the main road in, watching.

The car is dead silent as I pray that I’m wrong.

He could be going anywhere, might need a mallet for any number of things. Maybe Gabe is contracted to fix a problem at a warehouse and is on his way there now? And the truck, maybe he just has a work vehicle and a personal one? That’s not unusual.

Even as I try to talk myself into believing that, my tears threaten to spill.

And then the gray Ford truck drives by.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What do I do? Do I keep following him or call the police? And tell them what? That my kinda-sorta boyfriend whom I’ve known for all of two weeks is acting sketchy as fuck and I think he’s up to something beyond being overly protective of me?

They’d laugh me out of the precinct.

So I follow, still wishing none of this was happening, wondering how it’s come to this.

He doesn’t stop at my house and instead heads further down the street, turning two blocks up. There’s only one house this far out in the neighborhood that Gabe would be interested in, and my stomach drops.

Russell’s.

So he is going to pay Russell a visit.

My inner voice whispers, you already knew that.

It’s true. I knew this was going to end with Gabe beating Russell up. Russell deserves it for sure, but I can’t help but feel this is too much. I guess I was hoping the knee to the gut Gabe delivered this morning would be enough to warn Russell off?

I abandon the car, breaking into a jog and ducking through Mrs. Reddington’s back yard to cut some more distance off my trek. It’s not far, and I’m only part of the way there when I see Gabe’s truck, Gabe behind the wheel, parked on the side of the road and waiting.

“What the hell are you doing?” I whisper to myself, kneeling behind an overgrown bush near Russell’s house, watching. I know I should approach Gabe, stop whatever he has in mind. On some level, it was my whole purpose of following, but something stops me. I need to see what’s going on. I need the truth of whatever this is. Of whatever he is.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I see that it’s The Gravy Train. I ignore it, I’ll make sure to call Martha immediately after. After what, I don’t know. But I shut it off and keep watching.

It’s surreal. I swear Gabe’s watching for Russell, while meanwhile, I’m watching Gabe. A little tickle goes up my neck, and I wonder... is someone watching me?

No, I’m just paranoid and weirded out by what’s going on. But still, I look behind me, scanning the street and bushes.

Suddenly, Gabe’s door opens and he gets out of his truck. He approaches Russell’s door, but there’s something odd about his gait. Like his arms aren’t swinging naturally but are stiff at his sides instead. He moves out of my view, but I hear loud knocks, three forceful bangs that reverberate through the still, cool air.

I hear the door open and chance peeking around the corner, staying low to the ground and looking between the branches of the bush. I have a decent view, can see Russell in faded smiley-face boxers, his face bleary and maybe even a little high. He looks at Gabe, who’s lifted his hood up, with confusion.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Instead of answering, Gabe grabs Russell by his greasy hair and hurls him backward into his house. I’m so shocked I can barely believe what’s happening, and a second later, Gabe’s inside as well, gently closing the door to the house behind him.

It’s the quiet click that shocks me the most. It’s too calm, too premeditated.

Fuck. I shouldn’t have sat there and watched.

“Gabe, what are you doing?” I ask, feeling like I’m yelling, but an almost inaudible whisper comes out as I move, leaving the camouflage of the bush in favor of pressing my face to a window.

There’s barely a crack in the yellowed curtains, but it’s enough to peek into the living room. I can hear Gabe’s voice but can’t see either of them, just the back of the dingy couch and the wall on the far side of the room.

“You... threatened her with breaking and entering, sexual assault... you harassed her with propositions of sex,” Gabe growls, his voice low but so threatening that I shiver even though I’m outside. “You fucking deserve this.”

“Dude... what the... what are you talking ab–OOOWWW!” Russell replies, his voice rising in a scream at the end. There’s a wet thudding sound, and I realize what it is. A rubber mallet smashing down on Russell.

No. No way. Admittedly, I had suspicions that something was off, but not this. I didn’t dream it would be . . . this. I guess I’d thought the worst-case scenario would be that he threatened him with it, but this is so much worse.

Gabe, my heart cries as it shatters.

There are no other houses nearby. Russell’s property is at the dead end of the street and only the mailman comes down here. Besides, I know nobody gives enough of a damn about Russell to check out what’s going on, even if they did hear him scream.

“That was your shoulder,” Gabe says conversationally before a slapping sound splits the air and Russell starts sobbing. There’s the sound of bodies moving, and suddenly, Russell’s in a chair next to the window, his movement having shaken the curtain enough that I can see a little more.

Gabe’s... not Gabriel. At least, not the charming, deliciously naughty man I’ve known and dreamed about for the past few nights.

This man’s... ice. His dark eyes are emotionless, his face tense but totally neutral.

He really is like a Terminator. My God, this whole time, he’s been this way. Charlotte was right. He has been hiding something.

“Please... please, man, whatever you want, I’ll—” Russell pleads, but Gabe swings the mallet again, and even though it’s rubber, the sound of it smacking into Russell’s thigh cuts his words off into another scream.

“Shut up. I’ve spent days looking into you, Russell Carraby. How you’ve pissed away your family’s fortune. How you take advantage of the few tenants you’ve got left. You’re a waste of oxygen.”

There’s another thwack, and I recoil, realizing I have to do something. “Gabe, no! Stop!”

I stand from my hidey hole, running for the front door. I turn the knob, and it sticks for a split moment, making me think it’s locked, but then it gives way to reveal Gabe with his gloved hand around Russell’s throat, who’s an utter mess. A spray of blood is already splattered on Gabe’s face, and the mallet is lifted for what has to be a final blow.

Russell’s out, unconscious with his head lolling and only held up by Gabe’s grip. Gabe’s eyes are deadly, focused and cold.

“No, don’t!” I plead as he looks at me in utter shock.

Then Gabe blinks, and while it’s not my Gabe, the Gabe I’m used to... he’s human, at least. I can see the pain flashing hot and sharp in his eyes as his brow furrows.

“Bella? You shouldn’t have seen this,” he says, letting go of Russell’s throat and stepping back as the body drops to the floor. “Fuck, I wish you wouldn’t have seen me like this.”