Chapter 294: Please Behave Yourself (Part 2)
“Gabriel isn’t here,” Ryan said.
“Really?” Alison raised an eyebrow, her tone low and edged with disbelief.
Ryan glanced at her — no wonder Pierre was so captivated by her.
She truly possessed a special quality that drew men’s attention.
Gabriel had truly left.
He’d ordered that no one was to disturb him tonight—not under any circumstance.
Alison refused to believe it. Something in her gut told her he hadn’t gone far.
Barefoot, she searched Rebel for him.
Men around her turned to watch her, but none dared to approach.
After all, she was the first woman to walk away unscathed from Pierre.
Pierre’s mark lingered — a warning that kept every man’s lust in check.
Finding no trace of Gabriel in the main hall, Alison began checking the private rooms.
Ryan snapped, “Miss Fairchild, you’re disturbing our business.”
Alison ignored him and continued walking.
“Then get Gabriel out here.”
“Miss Fairchild, please show some respect.
Don’t assume that being Pierre’s woman gives you free rein on Gabriel’s turf.
If you push me too far, don’t blame me for not warning you.”
Alison turned back, her resolve hardening like steel.
“Gabriel left. If you continue to pursue this matter, please compensate Rebel for our losses, Miss Fairchild,” Ryan said.
“Fine. I’ll pay.”
Ryan froze.
“Miss Fairchild, Gabriel really isn’t here.”
“Then how did he leave?” Alison pressed.
She believed Gabriel had left when the door to the last private room opened—the empty silence mocking her.
“On a motorcycle,” Ryan replied.
“Ah!” she gasped.
“Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
“You didn’t ask me earlier,” Ryan explained dryly.
“Where does he live?” she asked.
“The slums of S City. You wouldn’t want to go to a place like that,” he smirked.
“What? What did you say?” she pressed.
Wasn’t Gabriel supposed to be impressive? How could he possibly live in the slums?
“Gabriel likes it there. He says he’s lived in that attic for years and has grown attached to it. He doesn’t want to move.”
He offered the words casually, as if the matter were trivial.
“I’ll go find him,” she murmured.
“Wait, don’t go.” He tried to stop her, but it was useless.
She had already bolted out the door.
Ryan frowned.
Alison hailed a taxi.
When the car arrived at the slums, she was stunned—rows of cracked walls, flickering street lamps, and roofs sagging under rusted tin.
She found it hard to imagine that the cold-looking man from Rebel actually lived there.
The narrow street seemed endless, lined on both sides by dozens of small buildings.
Not knowing which building was Gabriel’s, Alison decided to search each one.
Halfway through, her eyes lit up — a brand new, gleaming black Harley-Davidson motorcycle stood out like a predator crouched among ruins.
Without hesitation, she headed straight for the building.
The stairwell entrance was pitch black.
After a moment, her eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness, and she went upstairs toward the top floor.
The closer she got, the faster her heart pounded.
In the darkness, she accidentally stepped on a shard of glass, a sting of pain slicing through her sole.
She frowned, forcing herself to continue.
Finally, she reached the attic door and pushed it open.
Before her hand could touch the weathered door, a hoarse voice echoed from inside,
“Who’s there?”
The voice startled her.
Covering her mouth, she decided to catch him off guard.
With a quick breath, she mimicked a soft cat’s mewl — “meow” — then eased the door open inch by inch.
Fortunately, it wasn’t locked, and she slipped inside.
The person inside fell silent after hearing the meow.
She stood before the door and took a deep breath.
Yet the moment she stepped inside, a powerful arm yanked her back.
Instantly, a dagger flashed across her throat.
The icy sensation made her shiver.
“Gabriel, let go of me.”
She recognized his scent — a faint soapberry fragrance — clean, warm, and unmistakably male.