Gabriel and Breah

Chapter 7: Breah

Well, it turns out it is perfectly legal to buy a tank in the United States -- as long as you have the private property to drive it around on and tens of thousands of dollars to purchase one. I had neither the property nor the cash, so I had to give up that idea, especially since my research revealed that you can't buy a tank with working guns. Seriously? Why buy a tank if you don't have some firepower to go along with its smashing/crushing features? But you can bet I Googled the hell out of it all morning since I was that pissed about the pictures James had dropped off the previous night.

As his creepy note suggested, I had, in fact, added those pictures to my collection. Why I kept them, I couldn't tell you. I didn't have plans to frame them or even look at them again, but I was reluctant to throw them away. I'd tucked the first pictures James had given me in an envelope in my top dresser drawer, and I shoved those new ones in there, too, hoping there wouldn't be any others headed my way.

Especially not if they were being delivered by James, whose scary factor had just shot through the roof. Gabriel had never told me the whys, but pretty early on in our relationship, he'd shown me several pictures of James.

"Take a good look at these, Breah," he'd told me, spreading out four close-up pictures of James from various angles. "This is James. You ever see him, you get away fast and call me immediately."

"What --"

"Leave it at that. You don't need the details. You don't want the details," he said flatly, his jaw working. "He's beyond bad and all the way into pure evil territory. Just memorize that face and remember what I said."

On the surface, James was incredibly good looking. One of the pictures was of him smiling, his dimples popped on either side of his mouth. He had dark brown hair, startling blue eyes and a strong jaw. But if you looked closely at his face, his smile didn't reach his eyes -- and those eyes were dead dead dead.

"What brought this on?" I'd asked Gabriel, indicating the pictures. 

"Club business," he'd answered succinctly, and I already knew that answer was shorthand for, "I can't tell you what's going on and you're not going to get any more information from me on the subject, so don't waste your breath asking any more questions and just accept what I'm telling you."

So I'd not asked any more questions and committed those pictures to memory. Six months later, I'd met James face-to-face when he'd kidnapped me.

I'd been in the grocery store when a tiny little girl wandered up to me, crying for her mommy. I'd knelt down to talk with her and asked if she wanted me to help her. I didn't have any experience with children, but I figured I should get her permission before just grabbing her hand and walking her somewhere. Stranger danger and all that. The little girl had nodded, apparently agreeable to me helping her, and she pointed toward some swinging doors at the end of the aisle that usually led to restrooms or employee-only areas. At the time, I didn't think anything of it. I should have. There were many questions I should have asked after the fact, but since Gabriel no longer existed for me, I didn't have anyone to discuss them with.

Taking the little girl's tiny hand in mine, we walked through the swinging doors. Almost immediately, a hand came from behind me and covered my mouth just  as I felt a sharp prick in my neck. I remembered nothing else until I came to and James was leaning over me, eagerly waiting to blow up my world.

I rubbed my hands over my face, my mind tired from working overtime and dealing with hit after hit. Less than a month ago, everything had been good...or so I thought. Now, there was nothing around me but bits and pieces of pain, unanswered questions and nasty pictures. Oh, and a semi-arrest that was, happily, not going to result in a conviction for me. But what had been the point of Gabriel having me hauled into the police station? Gah! That mystery could be added to the unanswered questions portion of my life.