Page 40 of Targeted By Desire

When our backup finally showed up and saw the disastrous scene, our supervisor chewed us out about our mistakes.

How did we miss the details and documentation of this deal? How didn’t we know it was a setup? Why didn’t we go in sooner?

The stern finger our commander gave us was almost as bad as watching Gabriel sit in the ambulance, grimacing as the paramedics treated his wounds.

Throughout the scolding all I could think about was what could’ve happened. What if I didn’t get to him in time? What if the blast severely injured him? What if he died?

Gabriel had become more than a partner, more than a friend - he was my brother. And I’d be damned if I let anything happen to him. Especially because of something I caused.

I wanted to stick a knife in the smug smile the asshole probably had after the explosion. I felt his cold, mocking eyes on me, and I wanted to rip them out.

The two of us could play this game all he wanted, but the people I loved stayed out of it.

My phone buzzed again, this time with a text message.

Unknown

So, you didn’t like the gift?

The nonchalance in his tone made my grasp tighten around the phone. I wanted to break the screen almost as bad as I wanted to break his face.

Unknown

You look so pretty when you’re angry.

I looked up at the surveillance camera in my room. His gaze penetrated through the lens, sending an all too familiar tingle down my spine.

Meeting it with a glare, I raised my hand and flipped him off. He was not about to sit there and think I was lying here, moping in defeat. If he wanted to break me, he’d have to do a lot better than this.

Not even a moment after, another text came through.

Unknown

Damn, I’m really in the doghouse, huh?

What can I do to make it up to you?

Me

Go to Hell and stay there.

Unknown

Only if I get to drag you down with me.

A frustrated scream crawled up my throat as I hurled my phone straight into the camera. It slapped straight into the lens, and I imagined I’d popped him right in his eye.

The image alone wasn’t enough. My fists itched to slam against his face, knocking out a tooth or busting his nose or blacking his eye - break every bone in it.

I haven’t felt this level of rage in a long time. Not consciously, anyway. I learned a long time ago how to suppress my anger. To bite my tongue and hold my fists back.

My mother told me such harsh emotions weren’t cute, and if I wore them on my sleeve, I wasn’t going to get very far in the upscale world she wanted to live in. I didn’t care about how I was perceived by others, but I did care about becoming successful. So, I did as I was told and found other ways to express my emotions.

While Isabelle was at dancing school twirling like the pretty princess she was, I was at the local boxing gym tearing someone a new one.

I wished one of them were open right now, so I could let loose on a punching bag. Pretend it was that bastard’s smug face and hit it until the seams became undone.

Sighing, I ripped off my bonnet and pulled my braids up into a ponytail. I climbed out of bed to change out of my pajamas and into a comfortable outfit.