Fallen (Seven Deadly Sins #2)(72)
Author: Erin McCarthy

She nodded. It was startling to see Gabriel, who she thought of as such a quiet, artistic, non-confrontational man, in a brutal fistfight. Alex was back on his feet and they were exchanging blows, without any sort of regard for the rules of good sportsmanship. When Alex landed a hit to the kidney Gabriel winced in pain, but came right back at Alex with a punch that collided with Alex’s skull with such force Sara actually heard the crack.

Jesus Christ. They were going to kill each other. Sara ran past Rafe and Marguerite, purse in her hand, her goal to get to Jocelyn and then call the police. They needed help, because while Gabriel looked like he was holding his own, she didn’t like the ferocity of his fight with Alex. Someone was going to wind up with a concussion or in a coma and she sure in the hell didn’t want it to be Gabriel.

The shadow rising on the wall in front of her as she stumbled down the hall had her instinctively turning to see what had caused it.

Then wishing she hadn’t.

Because what she was seeing didn’t make any sense. It was completely illogical. Insane. But there it was—Rafe and Marguerite embracing, his arms around her patting her back, her head on his shoulder. Three feet off the floor. They were hovering in space, in air, in nothingness, their feet flat like they were standing on solid ground, only they weren’t.

Sara squeezed her eyes shut hard. Reopened them. They were still floating like human helium balloons. Beyond them, Gabriel and Alex continued to grapple with each other, and Gabriel rammed Alex into the wall so hard that when he pulled back there was a hole in the drywall from his elbow.

It wasn’t right. None of it was right and she wasn’t seeing what she was seeing.

Afraid that she was on the verge of going down, her head swimming, mouth hot, stomach churning, Sara whirled and went for the bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind her.

Gabriel was glad Sara had finally left the room. She had lingered longer than he was comfortable with, given that Marguerite was a loose cannon and Alex hell-bent on beating the shit out of him. It made him feel better that she was in another room with the door closed.

Alex taunted him. “Your girlfriend doesn’t know anything about you, does she? She doesn’t know you’re a drunk and a drug addict.”

“Actually, she does.” Gabriel ducked when Alex swung to him in the face. “So no need to run off and tell on me. She’s perfectly aware of my flaws.” He didn’t bother to argue that he was no longer a drunk and a drug addict since he had been clean for seventy-five years. He didn’t need to explain himself or justify anything to Alex.

They were both out of breath and seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement to pause in pummeling each other, because they were just circling, fists up. Gabriel flicked his hair out of his eyes and watched Alex warily.

“This is nothing personal, Gabriel.”

“Then what the f**k is it?”

“I just want my daughter happy.”

“Your daughter shouldn’t have hurt those women.”

“What women? I don’t know anything about any of that. I just know she wants Raphael and I’m here to ensure she gets what makes her happy.” He tilted his head to the side, where Raphael was hugging Marguerite. “So now that they appear to have worked something out, I suppose you and I can cease this nonsense.” Alex wiped at his bloody nose.

“You started this nonsense.” Gabriel wasn’t sure he could in good conscience just let Marguerite walk away, not after what she had done, even with Raphael willing to sacrifice himself to act as watchdog.

But then he heard the sound, the click of a lock once, twice, and he and Alex both turned to Raphael and Marguerite. Raphael had bound her hand and foot to him with the power of punishment, chains that usually only demons and angels could see, but a bond that couldn’t be broken until the last days of the earth. It was more than Gabriel would have expected Raphael to do, condemning himself to an eternity as security guard.

Alex made a sound of rage in the back of his throat.

When he would have attacked Raphael, Gabriel stepped in front and stopped him, putting his hand on Alex’s chest. “Don’t. She looks pleased, and this will keep her from harming anyone. It’s for the best.”

Marguerite did look satisfied. She had gotten what she wanted—Raphael.

Now Gabriel was going to go and determine if it was at all possible for him to have what he wanted.

Chapter Twenty

Gabriel found Sara in the bedroom on her cell phone talking to the police.

“I’m not sure what the address is, but I’m in the Harper’s Landing apartment complex.” She was biting her fingernail and staring at her friend, who Marguerite had clearly put into a sleep state.

Gabriel reached out and took the phone from Sara and pushed the End button to hang it up.

“What are you doing?” she asked, startled, glancing at the door in fear.

“We don’t need the police. It’s all under control.”

Her eyes went wide. “What do you mean? She . . . I saw …”

Sara looked panicked, and her fear wasn’t just for what she had seen in the living room. She was afraid of who and what he was. He could sense it, see the goose bumps on her arms.

“Raphael took care of Marguerite, and Alex left.” With a warning from Gabriel to stay a hundred yards or more away from Sara or he would vanquish him. The demon version of a restraining order. “Everything’s okay, I promise.”

He reached for her, but she took a step back. “What do you mean, took care of Marguerite? Explain to me what is going on. They were floating in the air. That’s not possible. And you and Alex . . . those punches should have knocked you both unconscious.”

This wasn’t how he wanted to have this particular conversation, but he didn’t really have a choice. “Sara, I know this is going to seem crazy, impossible, but just listen to me and trust me. The truth is that Alex, Rafe, Marguerite, and I are all immortal and have known each other for hundreds of years. We don’t age. Alex is Marguerite’s father. Rafe is Dr. Raphael from the old court records.”

She shook her head. “What? That’s insane.”

“No. It’s true. And I am Jonathon Thiroux—the painter, the pianist, the addict.”

Those three words summed up the entire length and breadth of his existence.

Her face drained of all color. “Oh God, the hair. The DNA . . . Jocelyn said the two hairs came from the same man, but I thought it was a mistake. That I had mixed up the samples somehow. Because it can’t be possible.”