Hustle Read online

  “Who’s visiting?”

  We both turn to the bed where Mom is slowly raising herself up onto the pillow, a crooked grimace on her face.

  “No one, Mom,” I say.

  She scowls at me. “Gabriel.”

  I know by that tone I’m in trouble here. I look to Matt for a clue, but he simply shrugs back.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Mom says.

  “Of course, Mom. You know I’m here for you,” I tell her.

  She’s on the attack. “I know, but what I’m concerned about is how you treat others.” I look to Matt again, who shoots me back a similarly puzzled expression.

  What the hell’s bringing this on?

  “Mom,” I begin, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Her features screw up in frustration. “I think you know full well. It’s about choices—the bad choices you’re making.”

  Does she know?

  She’s on a lot of painkillers, sometimes get confused, but she’s completely lucid, more lucid than I’ve seen her to date.

  “When she came here…” Mom starts.

  I’m trying to work out what she’s talking about. “Who, Mom? When who came? Was it Shannon?” I ask the question even though Matt said she hasn’t been around.

  “No, Gabriel. It was the other one, calling herself your girlfriend.”

  It takes a second for it to sink in, but once it does I’m speechless. I literally cannot speak.

  Matt too, seems shocked, looking at me dead-on. His expression also says ‘Who the fuck is she talking about?’ Maybe the painkillers are really doing a number on her.

  “Are you cheating?” says Mom. “I don’t think that’s fair, on either of those poor girls.”

  She yawns and her eyes close, head sinking deep into the pillow.

  I stand. “Mom?”

  She’s fallen back asleep.

  I look to Matt. “Do you have any fucking idea who she’s talking about?”

  Matt lifts his hands. “Hey, I don’t know how many girls you’ve got involved here.”

  “Just the one, and even that’s enough. Do you think she’s confused?”

  “Go check at the nurses’ station. Maybe they know something.”

  I head down the hall, almost bowling over a guy in a wheelchair I’m in such a rush. I arrive to the nurses’ station breathless, hands on the counter.

  The nurse on duty looks up slowly and smiles in that practiced away only medical professionals know how. “May I help you?”

  “I’m Gabriel Reed,” I begin, “Ah, Mrs. Reed’s son.”

  Duh.

  Another false smile. “Yes, Mr. Reed. How can I help?”

  “I was just curious if anyone beside my brother Matthew has been by to visit our mother.”

  She calls over another nurse, an older woman with a square jaw and marbled eyes. “Jan, has Mrs. Reed in forty seven had any visitors lately besides her sons?”

  ‘Jan’ provides the same, practiced smile to me. “Yes, there was a woman—dark hair, olive skin. I didn’t catch her name, sorry.”

  “You don’t have any records?” I ask.

  The nurse at the desk shakes her head. “No, sorry.”

  “She said she was a family friend,” continues Jan.

  It’s possible this is some acquaintance from Mom’s old work, maybe a distant friend or acquaintance.

  But they’re saying she was a family friend?

  Whatever the case, my suspicions are raised. I see the darker side of people, the scam artists and those ready to prey on the weak and sick, get their wills signed over or worse.

  I’m paying for this facility, so I try to make my next point clear without coming across too aggressive. “From now on, only myself, my brother and my fiancée Shannon Bailey are to be admitted. Is that clear?”

  The first nurse replies. “Yes, Mr. Reed. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

  I’m sure they’re talking behind my back when I leave.

  I head out front. I hold my cell ready to call Shannon and double-check she didn’t, in fact, visit at some point.

  I’m standing there about to hit call when I hear a familiar voice behind me.

  “Long time no see, Gabe-Gabe.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SHANNON

  I wake up born again, the mysteries of the world laid out before me, everything solved with a simple ‘O’.

  Nothing simple about it.

  Which is completely true. For the longest time I’ve believed the female orgasm to be a myth, like a unicorn or healthy fast food, but what Gabe has been delivering is no myth. There have been times lately I seriously thought I was going to go blind.

  It happened, he happened, and I’ve never been so happy.

  I slide a tentative hand down the front of my panties and touch myself, my fingers jumping away at the fresh sensitivity.

  I frame Gabe in my head—his hard cock and chest, his arms holding me tight as I shook and moaned against him again and again—when the kids start to squawk and squeak down the back. “Yes!” I shout. “You’ll get your breakfast when I’m good and ready.”

  *

  Whatever glow I’m wearing, it does not go unnoticed at work. People smile at me, compliment my appearance. It’s like I’ve got a big sign slapped to my forehead stating ‘Shannon Bailey, virgin no more!’

  Juliana, one of the more esoteric employees, looks at me across the lunch table. “Your aura,” she says, her hands enveloping me a wide circle, “it’s really beautiful today.”

  I place my cheese sandwich down. Even it tastes better today. I swallow before speaking. “Thank you.”

  “Seriously, Shannon,” she continues, “have you been doing reiki or something?”

  I shake my head. Only raking the garden.

  “Chakra cleansing?”

  Maybe not my chakra, but perhaps something else…

  She clicks her fingers like she finally has it. “A healing crystal, am I right?

  If by ‘healing crystal’ she means ‘massive penis,’ then yes, I’ve been working on that a lot.

  I nod.

  She claps her hands together. “That’s so wonderful. You must know what you’re doing. There’s no negative energy there whatsoever.”

  She collects up her trash, calling out a final “Expect miracles!” before leaving the kitchenette.

  My mind drifts to Gabe again. If you had of told me a week-and-a-half ago I’d lose my V-card to a guy like Gabe, I would have laughed you out of the room, but I’m happy it was him.

  Perhaps it will add a touch of credibility to this whole fiancée thing. I’ve got no qualms keeping it up.

  And neither does he.

  It’s true. His stamina is insane. I’m barely breathing and there he is with his cock hard again ready to rock, over and over again. Maybe it’s some magic voodoo they teach in the SEALs. I have no idea.

  After lunch I head into the abandoned office down the back and take out my cell, dialing Gabe’s number. I don’t know why, but I just want to hear his voice—the sexy, gravelly growl of it.

  The call rings until his voicemail answers.

  I try again, with the same result.

  It’s no big deal, right? He’s probably busy. He’s a busy guy.

  Yeah, that makes sense.

  Maybe he’s with his mom and his cell on silent?

  Of course. That settles it for sure, but through it all there is a nagging doubt, a hair in the soup, so to speak.

  I settle back to my desk and call again when Daryl is out.

  No answer.

  I call an hour later, cursing myself for suddenly turning into one of those needy beings I’ve silently rolled my eyes at for so long.

  Come another two attempts at the end of the day and I’m worried.

  Doubt starts to quilt its way through my thoughts, threading itself through them until I’m questioning everything.

  Yes, he did stay the night, but maybe he’s lost interest now we’ve ha
d sex. Maybe he really is a ‘hit it and quit it’ kind of guy.

  Maybe you just weren’t a very good lay.

  I gulp hard at this, thinking back to the way he gripped me with his own release, the smile on his face as we lay side by side that first time… and the many times following. Surely that wasn’t an act.

  But now I’m not so sure. It seems like he’s avoiding my calls, and I’m running out of reasons why.

  I concentrate on work instead, but I barely get anything done. The sun is low outside, cutting across the partitions. The lower it gets, the more I begin to fret and obsess. Calm rationality has never been my strong suit, especially in matters of the heart.

  Have a little faith, Shan. Seriously.

  I dump the files I have managed to get through on Daryl’s desk while he’s away, shutting down my computer and heading out.

  I turn the corner to the elevators and come awfully close to taking Daryl out.

  I stand aside. “Sorry, Daryl.”

  He smiles, pointing to his office. “You got a second, Shannon?”

  I swallow hard again. He hasn’t called me into his office since Gabe’s little visit. I’ve heard barely a peep from him and thought he’d moved on the next brunette in the office.

  I follow him into his office and take a seat, pressing my thighs together tightly while he closes the door and comes around in front of his desk, leaning on it with his hands in his pockets.

  The sun’s a peachy orb outside. It drops between the buildings beyond the window.

  Daryl’s head is hung. He’s quiet.

  This is not good.

  Finally, he looks up, awfully more subdued than normal. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you go, Shannon.”

  I freeze, actually turn solid in the chair. “Sorry?”

  His eyes flicker around my cleavage before lifting to my face. “You’ll get a severance package, of course, but I’m afraid I have to move you along.”

  Move me along?

  Shock turns into confusion turns into anger. “I don’t understand. Is this cost-cutting?”

  I have no idea where that idea even comes from.

  Daryl shakes his head, lips pursed together smugly. “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “Is it… me?” I ask.

  He pushes off the desk, standing tall in front of me. “Your performance just isn’t where I need it to be for a PA. It’s as simple as that.

  “But I’ve been working hard, really hard.”

  He taps the files I left on his desk. “You delivered me a faulty report. I can’t let that slide.”

  “You haven’t even read that report yet,” I protest.

  He smiles and ignores the question, eyes dropping back down to my chest. I want a shower his look’s so slimy and dirty. I want all the soap in the world.

  I want Gabe.

  “Let’s just say,” Daryl continues, “you’re just not living up to expectations.”

  Asshole! I know exactly what he’s saying now.

  Perhaps it’s Gabe rubbing off on me, perhaps I’ve finally had enough, but I stand and step forward, facing Daryl, my finger jabbing at him in accusation. “You’re firing me because I won’t, what? Flirt with you? Sleep with you?”

  He puts his hands up. “Now, now, let’s not get into nasty allegations here. I’d hate to add a lawsuit into the mix here.”

  “A lawsuit!” I stammer, loud enough for the entire office to hear. “Are you serious? You are the one who’s always coming onto me. You don’t think I’ve noticed?”

  He looks me up and down. “You’re really not my type. I prefer my women…”

  “Submissive?” I suggest.

  “Attractive,” he retorts.

  If I could summon the strength to kick him in his tiny, Tinkerbell balls, I would. Instead, I stand there with mouth agape while he moves past me and opens the door, a hand opening out. “I think I’ve said everything I need to.”

  I turn and stop before stepping past him. He’s not going to have the last word on this.

  I go to speak, but stop.

  I can see others watching, their heads perched on their partitions, beady eyes soaking in the drama.

  There’s no point, I tell myself. He’s not worth the breath it would take to cut him down.

  I straighten my skirt. “Goodbye, Daryl,” I state, keeping my head held high as I make my way to my desk and start to pack up my things. It doesn’t take long.

  Even once I’ve made it outside into the fast-chilling air, a box of belongings between my feet, I do not allow myself to cry. I’m not going to give that prick the satisfaction.

  I take out my cell and call Gabe again.

  “Come on,” I plead. “I need you.”

  He doesn’t answer, even now in my time of need.

  Something’s definitely wrong.

  I just wish I knew what.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  GABE

  I’m at The Hole staring across a table at a dead woman. It sounds like the start of a bad joke, but there’s no denying this is Triss—flesh and blood, real as the glass of whiskey before me.

  Her hair’s still raven black, her wide-set eyes full of mystery.

  The table we’re sitting at is one of those high-back numbers with the bench that goes the whole way around. It reminds me of a poker table.

  I notice she has new scars, a deep, jagged line under her left eye. She looks leaner, wilder than she did before, and I can guess why after what she’s been through.

  But it’s her civilian clothing that’s really throwing me off. We met in the military, toured in the military, fucked in the military. Here, back home, she’s a stranger.

  She taps her nails, filed short, on the table. “I suppose you want to know what happened?”

  I take a hit of whisky, wondering if the burn of it will snap me out of this dream, but when I open my eyes, Triss is still there. I place the glass down. “That would be a start.”

  “We can get to that,” she says, her voice throatier than I remember. “But how are you? How’s civilian life?”

  “It’s fine,” I reply. “I’m fine.” I can’t let it go. “I need to know what happened, Triss.”

  She looks up to the ceiling and exhales. Clearly, she doesn’t want to talk about it, but I need answers.

  “I thought you were dead,” I tell her. “I saw, watched…” I can’t bring myself to speak the words.

  She pushes a Coke and Beam between her hands. “Alright. You want to know? I’ll tell you.”

  I try to brace myself for what comes next.

  Her amber eyes look deep into mine, casting for a reaction. “After that bitch blew up, I was injured. I was bad, unconscious, buried under rubble. I came to with fucking concrete in my mouth, but I wasn’t out in the open. I was in a cell.”

  I shake my head. “Shit.”

  “Yes, shit. Suffice to say, it wasn’t Disneyland. Mickey Mouse wasn’t home.”

  I don’t know if I’m ready for the details, and it’s obvious Triss isn’t ready to provide them.

  “In short,” she says, “bad things happened—to me, to the others that were there. Some didn’t make it.”

  I ask the obvious. “How did you get out?”

  Her eyes flicker with life, specks of gold alight. “A mercenary detail raided the place—Eastern European, mostly. I took one of them down with a pencil I stole from one of the guards, almost killed the poor bastard until I realized what was going on. They dropped me off at a hospital, left me a card.”

  I pick up my glass again, a sip becoming a gulp. I place it down and turn it slowly with my fingertips. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

  “I got in touch,” she says. “They’re going back in.”

  “The mercenaries?”

  “No, the fucking Brady Bunch. Yes, the mercenaries. No one knows I’m alive and I’d like to keep it that way, work as a ghost. I’m sure you can understand the unique opportunities that provides.”

  I can.
/>   “These guys operate independently, no red tape or bureaucratic bullshit to weigh them down. They’re fucking lean, baby. No room for fat on a squad like that.”

  ‘Baby’ throws me, even as I see the burn in her eyes that drew her to me in the first place.

  “I don’t want to sit here yapping all day. I want you to go back with me,” she says.

  It’s like a sucker-punch to the gut. “You what?”

  “Come back with me,” she repeats. “There’s plenty of action, the pay’s fucking amazing, and the chow… They’re living like fucking kings.”

  “I can’t. There’s my mother, Matt… I’m done with that life, Triss.”

  She laughs in my face, her back straightening. “No, you’re not. A SEAL is never ‘done’ with that life. You can only live out of the ocean for so long before you need to go under again.”

  “Triss…”

  “Don’t tell me this is about that Shannon girl?”

  I’m confused. “How do you know about Shannon?”

  “Your mom filled me in,” she says nonchalantly, examining her fingernails, “gave me the full rundown on your recent, and I must say surprising, engagement.” I can’t tell whether she’s going to reach across and stab me in the neck or congratulate me. “Seriously, baby?”

  I go to take another swig of the whiskey, but there’s nothing left. Triss wolf-whistles to the bartender and holds up my glass. She’s never been shy.

  I breathe slowly. “Look, it just happened, and she’s a nice girl.”

  “‘Nice’?” Triss laughs. “Fuck me. Since when do you even use that word? From what your mom told me, she’s like something out of fucking Enchanted.”

  The bartender arrives with the whisky, placing it on the table. I look into the glass, Triss reflected in it a hundred different ways.

  I’m having trouble consigning myself to the fact that Triss is alive, right here in front of me. I could reach out and touch her if I wanted to.

  But I don’t. That’s the cold, hard truth of it.

  Triss starts to slide her way around the table. I watch her until she’s sitting right beside me.

  “Sorry,” she says, flashing the smile that won me in the first place, when I found her single-handedly changing a tire on a Humvee. Five minutes later we were fucking in the bunker down back, Blackhawks whipping overhead.