Fallen Empire (Dirty Empire)

I can’t believe I’m doing this but given what I know about Gabriel and his family, it’s either the smartest or dumbest decision I’ve made in a long time.

“It’s not too much?”

“Too much clothing? Yeah, but I’ll fix that as soon as we get home.” He brings my hand to his mouth, to press a kiss against the back of it. There’s an odd, serene smile touching his lips when he settles our hands on the stick again.

“What’s that smile for?”

It grows wider, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just happy.”

“So am I,” I admit, adjusting the collar of his crisp white button-down. Never in a million years could I have predicted that the menacing criminal I locked eyes with in Fulcort’s visitor room would be someone I’d fall madly in love with. “I just wish my father could be here for it.” Not that he’d ever in a million years approve, but in the grand scheme of things, this seems like the least crazy thing I’ve done these past weeks. One day, I’ll fill him in… maybe.

“So then, we don’t tell anyone, and when this is all said and done, and your father is out, we can have something more formal.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” I snort. “And I’m sure Caleb would be happy about that.” He was standing in the kitchen in his briefs and a gaping silk robe when we left the house, still high, shoveling spoonfuls of cereal in his mouth. When he realized where we were going, his jaw practically hit the floor. He insisted on being a witness, but we didn’t have time to wait for him. Besides, DeHavilland and his partner are meeting us at the courthouse to fill that role, after plying a judge and clerk with wads of cash to issue the license and perform the ceremony outside of regular hours.

“Caleb won’t be invited.”

I laugh. “Shut up. He’ll be your best man.”

“Trust me, you don’t want that.” Gabriel smirks. “Every wedding he’s every been a guest at, he ends up naked and fucking someone. One time, it was the bride’s mother….” His words drift, his steely eyes flickering back and forth between the road and his rear-view mirror.

“What’s wrong?”

His brow furrows. “I think we’re being followed.”

My pulse jumps as I check the sideview mirror. “Which one?”

“Navy SUV with the tinted windows.” Gabriel changes lanes and speeds up.

I watch as the vehicle mimics the move.

With a sharp curse, he grabs his phone and dials a number before putting it to his ear. “We got a tail.” He recites the plate number and then ends the call.

“Farley?”

“Yeah. They’re on their way.” He shakes his head, anger marring his handsome face. “I should have listened to him. We should have taken the Lincoln and a team of guys. I just figured it was early and only a twelve-minute drive. I wasn’t thinking straight.” His jaw tenses, his eyes flipping to the mirror again. “At least they’re hanging back.”

“FBI?”

“Doesn’t look like a government plate, but I fucking hope so.”

Because if it’s not her, then it’s probably someone we don’t want to meet. My heart hammers against my chest as Gabriel weaves around the morning traffic and I watch our shadow from the mirror.

Gabriel’s phone rings a few minutes later. He answers it in an instant with a “yeah,” only to hang up a moment later, his face stony. “Your seatbelt is on?”

“Of course.”

The engine roars as he gives the car gas, and the odometer climbs.

My hands are balled into fists as we race down the road at double the speed limit, earning angry horn blasts as Gabriel cuts people off. At the last minute he makes a hard right turn. The wheels screech as we veer and then we’re flying down a quiet residential street of white stucco bungalows and looming palm trees. Few people are out this early, which is a small blessing.

“Did we lose them?” I ask in a panic, taking turns between checking the sideview mirror and looking over my shoulder. “I think we lost—”

The SUV whips around the corner behind us, squashing the speck of relief.

Gabriel speeds toward the intersection. Early morning walkers and their dogs scuttle away from the curb with alarmed faces.

“Who are they?”

“Either Puff’s people, which I highly doubt because they wouldn’t have the balls to chase me, or guys my father still has in his pocket, or Navarro’s guys.”

A gang, a disgruntled crime boss, or a cartel. Great.

We’re approaching an intersection with a busier cross street where the stream of cars is sparse but steady. Gabriel isn’t slowing. I bite back my scream as we careen and merge, swerving to avoid a collision with a pickup truck.

Gabriel isn’t just a rich prick who bought a car he can’t handle. He’s maneuvering around traffic like a seasoned race car driver. Still, a cold sweat coats my skin, the knowledge that all it takes is a car to change lanes to cause a wreck.