Chapter 4 - Waking Up in the Lion's Den
When Ella opened her eyes hours later, the storm had passed, leaving behind a sky stained with the pale, bruised purple of early dawn.
She expected to wake up in a hospital bed with monitors beeping and nurses hovering.
Instead, she woke up wrapped in a heavy cashmere blanket on a massive leather sofa, the scent of burning cedar and expensive cologne filling her lungs. Her right leg throbbed with a dull, heavy ache, but the searing, white-hot fire of the laceration had been replaced by clean, tight stitches.
She shifted slightly, wincing as her muscles protested.
“Don't move too fast,” a deep voice murmured from across the room.
Ella gasped, her head snapping toward the sound.
Gabriel was sitting in a high-backed leather wing chair by the massive stone fireplace, a single glass of amber liquor in his hand. He had discarded his suit jacket, his white dress shirt open at the collar, his dark wavy hair slightly messy from the long night.
He looked like a king guarding his vault.
“Where... where am I?” Ella asked, her voice raspy.
“You’re still in my office,” Gabriel replied, standing up and walking over to set his glass down on the desk. He poured a fresh glass of water from a crystal pitcher and handed it to her, supporting her shoulders gently as she drank.
Ella drank greedily, the cool water soothing her dry throat. She handed the glass back, her eyes wide as memory rushed back in a violent wave.
“The flash drive... Barlowe’s men... my leg—”
“The flash drive is safe,” Gabriel interrupted, his tone unreadable. “Barlowe’s men are being dealt with. And your leg has been stitched by the best trauma surgeon in the Midwest.”
Ella clutched the blanket tighter around her chest. “You don't understand, Gabriel. Marcus Barlowe isn't just a local thug. If you retaliate against him, his backers—the syndicate—will come after you. I shouldn't have brought this to your door. I just wanted my brother out—”
“Your brother is out,” Gabriel said firmly, cutting her off.
Ella stopped breathing. “What?”
“Tyler is in the east wing of this building. He’s clean, he’s fed, and he’s safe,” Gabriel said, walking closer until he stood right beside the couch, looking down at her with an intensity that made her heart race. “He’s never going back to Barlowe. And neither are you.”
Ella stared up at him, tears welling in her eyes again—not from pain this time, but from the overwhelming, terrifying realization of what he had just done for her.
“Why?” she whispered. “Why do this for a forensic accountant you met three weeks ago? I’m nobody, Gabriel. I’m just a woman who walked into your office with a folder and a prayer.”
Gabriel knelt down beside the couch, bringing his face level with hers. His gray eyes were fierce, stripping away every defense she had spent a lifetime building.
“When you walked through those doors last night bleeding onto my floor, you didn't drop the drive, Ella,” Gabriel said quietly, his voice dropping into a register that sent a shiver straight down her spine. “You didn't ask for a doctor. You asked if your brother was safe.”
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He reached out, his warm fingers gently brushing a stray lock of blond hair away from her pale forehead.
“In my world, people lie, cheat, and sell out their own blood for a fraction of a percent,” Gabriel continued. “You walked forty floors with a torn muscle just to honor a transaction and protect a worthless brother. You are not nobody, Ella Bennett. You are the only person in this city who has ever earned my absolute respect.”
