Mine to Take(29)

Yet not today.

It’s her. You know it’s her.

Gabriel ignored the thought, and flicked his gaze back toward Eva. “Did you find something about the Tremain reservations then?”

“Yeah, I did.” She took her feet off his desk and leaned forward. “There’s a pattern. For each of his hotels, just about every day, there’ll be a certain number of less-than-twenty-four-hour cancellations. Sometimes more, sometimes less, but there’s always at least one or two, never zero. I looked into the names of the people making the reservations and canceling them. Some of the names are fake and lead to dead cell phone numbers or defunct e-mail addresses. Some of them are people who had no idea they were even making reservations, let alone canceling them.”

This news did not surprise him in the slightest. The moment Eva had mentioned there was something suspicious with Tremain Hotels’ reservations, he’d known it was sketchy. And he knew exactly why, too. Hell, he was intimately acquainted with the business since he’d once been involved with it years ago.

“Money laundering,” he said. “It’s got to be. The money is paid to the hotel and because the reservation is canceled less than twenty-four hours from the reservation time, the hotel gets to keep the money.”

“Yeah,” Eva said. “That was my thought, too. Because there’re lots of microtransactions, they can slip easily under the radar. I mean, they’re not much taken in isolation, but when you put them all together, over a worldwide hotel chain, every day? It adds up.”

“Hmm.” Zac leaned against Gabriel’s desk. “Seems our Mr. Tremain isn’t quite the upstanding businessman he appears to be. Which makes it interesting that now his company is going down the tubes.”

Gabriel stared at him. “You think they’re connected?”

The other man lifted a shoulder. “Seems like a strange coincidence if not. The real question is why he’s doing it now.”

“Jesus,” Eva muttered. “So you think he’s bankrupting his business on purpose?”

“Could be,” Gabriel said slowly, thinking it over. “Maybe he wants out. Or maybe we’re not the only ones to catch the cancellations and he has to cover his tracks. Either way, winding it up could seem too purposeful. Like he had something to hide. But pretending to be careless when it comes to business is better. Or better yet, blaming the failure on lack of good advice even more so.”

Eva sat back in Gabriel’s heavy black executive chair, frowning. “We can’t jump to conclusions just yet. We need to look into this more closely. Find out who the hell’s making these reservations and why. Where that money’s coming from.”

It was a good plan, but Gabriel’s gut instinct was already telling him Tremain was guilty. That there was something big behind the man’s failing company. And if it was true, if he was purposefully bankrupting himself, it was going to make Woolf Construction’s unexpected investment probably the worst thing to happen to the guy.

The thought was satisfying. Yet it wasn’t exactly what Gabriel had in mind when it came to his plans for exacting justice. He wanted to be the one who ruined him. He didn’t want Tremain ruining himself. And there was another variable he’d been trying not to think about for the past day or so.

Honor. She’d also invested money in Tremain Hotels. And quite a lot of money at that. If Tremain failed, then so would she.

He didn’t like the feeling that sat in his gut at that thought. Didn’t like any of the feelings she seemed to arouse in him. Fucking hell, he hadn’t succeeded in his goal of getting information on Tremain out of her in Vermont. And he hadn’t because he couldn’t seem to think clearly when she was around. He’d had to let her go when she’d wanted to in order to give himself some time to get a bit of fucking perspective.

So she’d sucked cock like a dream. That shouldn’t have made him lose it the way he had. Shouldn’t have made him walk out just to get away from her. And yet, he’d done both.

It couldn’t happen again. He was going to have to go after her, inform her of her stepfather’s dealings, but this time, he’d know what to expect. And this time he’d be better at making sure she didn’t get under his guard like she had before.

“It might be worth examining those financials again,” Zac commented. “See if there’s anything dodgy with them.”

Gabriel frowned. “Good point. I had a look over them a day or so ago. He’s spending shitloads up front, buying quality materials, and using the best of the best to do the work, so that would explain some of his current financial problems, plus he’s had a few investors pull out. I’m sure we can find out whether they did so deliberately or whether they were frightened off.”

Eva leaned her elbows on the desk, her pale brows descending. “Do you think Honor knows anything about this? She’s invested quite a bit of money in Tremain herself.”

Gabriel cursed silently in his head. He didn’t want to talk about Honor with either Eva or Zac. “She didn’t mention it to me.” He looked at Zac and changed the subject. “You have any contacts you can use to look into this stuff?”

“I have a few.”

“Use them then. If you turn up anything, let me know. I’ll deal with Honor.” He was conscious of Eva’s gaze on him, but he ignored that. “Now, if you don’t have anything better to do, you can both fuck off. I’d like my office back.”

Eva pushed back the chair and got to her feet. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Gabe,” she said, her usual, guarded façade dropping for a moment. “Tremain’s covering up something and I don’t think it’s going to be good. I want to be involved, especially if Honor’s business is on the line. She shouldn’t have to suffer for anything he’s done.”

“So what do you want to do? Let the police deal with it?”

Instantly she scowled. “Fuck no. I wouldn’t trust them as far as I could throw them. This has to be dealt with by us.”

“Agreed. But don’t forget, Tremain is mine. Whatever shit he’s gotten himself into, I’m going to be the one who deals with him directly. Okay?”

Eva threw up her hands. “Hey, you’ll get no argument from me. He’s all yours.”

After the two of them had gone, Gabriel leaned against his desk and ran a hand through his hair, unsettled.

Eva’s question had him thinking. Did Honor know anything about what Tremain was doing? Sure, she’d invested her own money but that might have been all part of the plan. He didn’t think she’d be the type to get involved in something like this, but then again, you never knew. People did all kinds of shit. After all, it wasn’t as if her family were beacons of honesty.

The thought that Honor may not be all she seemed disturbed him.

Abruptly he pushed himself away from the desk and walked out of the office.

“Mr. Woolf?” his secretary said. “Your nine fifteen is here.”

“Reschedule it,” he snapped on the way to the elevator. “I’ll be out for the rest of the morning.”

Half an hour later, he stepped into the cold, damp space of St. Sebastian’s, still not quite sure what had drawn him here. Only that he needed the icy cold of the church to quiet the restlessness inside him.

A few people were sitting in the pews, their heads bowed. They didn’t turn as he entered, too engrossed in their own prayers or problems.

Gabriel slipped into the back pew and sat down, leaned back against the hard wood, and closed his eyes. He could still feel her fingers on his skin, the curious tone in her voice as she repeated the words he’d had tattooed onto his stomach. His vow.

I will repay.

“Keep it cold, boy,” the Reverend had told him. “And don’t get distracted. Don’t get sidetracked. Not by money or pussy or anything else. If you want to take him down, deliver justice, you have to have a plan. A goal. Keep a clear fucking head. Understand me?”

He’d understood. Even at eighteen, his heart full of rage at the injustice of his life, he’d known. His anger would destroy him, eat him alive if he didn’t direct it. And it might have if he hadn’t had the Reverend to set him on the path of cold, clear justice.

The old president was dead now, killed in a gun battle with a rival gang a couple of years after Gabriel had become one of the Angels’ most feared enforcers. But he’d never forgotten. Then he’d become the president, keeping the old man’s last words close.

“Revenge is for pussies,” the Reverend had said. “Justice is for men.”

Gabriel had earned justice for the Reverend’s death eight years later, as club president himself. Driving out the rival MC from their neighborhood through a combination of planning and icy ruthlessness. It had worked then and it would work now.

He’d get justice for his mother. For himself. All he had to do was keep a clear head. Keep his end goal in mind. And not get distracted by one uncommonly good blow job.

Gabriel bowed his head but he didn’t pray.

He thought about vengeance instead.





CHAPTER ELEVEN

Violet leaned forward and put her elbows on the table, blond dreads falling over her shoulders. “So, dude. Tell me everything.”