Chapter 881: Gabriela’s Hug
Lorena and I stepped out of the steamy bathroom, wrapped in plush white bathrobes courtesy of the hotel—hers cinched tight around her curves, mine hanging loose over my shoulders.
The air still carried the faint jasmine scent of the body wash we’d used, mixed with the lingering musk of our earlier indulgence. She looked softer now, cheeks pink from the heat, hair damp and tousled, but her eyes still held that post-orgasm glow.
I picked up the room phone and dialed the front desk.
"Good evening, this is Jack in suite 1408. We need fresh clothes delivered as soon as possible. For : black slim-fit shirt, size large; dark jeans, 34 waist, 32 inseam; black boxer briefs, large; and black leather loafers, size 10. For the lady: fitted white blouse, size dium; high-waisted black pencil skirt, size 6; black lace lingerie set, dium; and black heels, size 7. Rush it—thank you."
The concierge promised delivery within 20 minutes. True to their word, a discreet knock ca soon after. A bellhop handed over two neatly folded garnt bags without a word, eyes averted politely.
We dressed quickly— in the sharp black ensemble that made
look every bit the powerful fixer I was playing, Lorena, slipping into the blouse and skirt that hugged her hips and accentuated her ass perfectly. She caught
staring as she adjusted the hem.
"Like what you see?" she teased, doing a slow spin.
"Always," I said, pulling her in for a quick, deep kiss. "Now, focus. Julie brought the full lawyer team—get everything ready. Brief them on the defamation angles, the evidence we have against the accusers, and the press conference fallout. Make sure the filings are airtight. Yuko’s here too—she’s handling translation and any cross-border communication with the xican authorities. Keep her busy; she’s sharp, but she’s watching
like a hawk."
Lorena nodded, all business now. "I’ve got it. I’ll set up in the conference room downstairs. We’ll run through depositions, tilines, and countersuits. By morning, we’ll have injunctions drafted and ready to file."
She grabbed her tablet and legal folder, then paused at the door. "You’re going to see Gabriela?"
"Yeah. She’s been worried sick. Sarah’s with her now."
Lorena’s expression softened, the sharp lawyer edge lting into sothing warr, almost tender. "Tell her... we’re handling it. And that you’re safe. She needs to hear it from you."
I gave her a reassuring squeeze on the hip—fingers lingering just long enough to feel the warmth of her skin through the pencil skirt—then nodded. "I will. Text
updates."
She flashed a small, knowing smile—half professional, half possessive—before slipping out. The door clicked shut behind her with quiet finality, leaving the suite suddenly too silent.
I didn’t go alone.
I called Jayden up from the lobby. She arrived in under five minutes—still in the sa dark tactical gear she’d worn when her squad had tried (and failed) to "control"
days earlier. The irony wasn’t lost on either of us.
Those soldiers—once sent to contain —now answered to . Jayden had flipped them with a single conversation and the promise of better pay, better orders, and the simple truth that I wasn’t the monster their handlers had painted. Loyalty, it turned out, was cheaper than fear.
"Jack," Jayden said with a curt nod as she stepped inside. Behind her, four of her best n waited in the hallway—black tactical vests, earpieces, eyes scanning every corner. Discreet, professional, ard but not flashy. Perfect for a hospital visit in xico City.
"Jayden. You’re with . The rest stay on the periter—two at the main entrance, two at the elevators. No one gets near Gabriela’s floor without
knowing."
She didn’t question it. "Copy that."
The drive to Hospital ??ngeles was tense but uneventful. Jayden rode shotgun in the blacked-out SUV, silent except for the occasional check-in with the security detail over comms.
I stared out at the passing city lights—neon bleeding into the night, street vendors still grilling even at this hour—while my mind ran through contingencies. Diaz was still breathing. Sergio and Javier were ghosts. Yuko was sniffing around like a bloodhound. And Gabriela... Gabriela was the one variable I couldn’t afford to lose.
We pulled up to the private wing entrance. Jayden scanned the area once, gave the all-clear, then stayed posted outside the main doors with two of her n while I went in alone.
The hospital slled of antiseptic, fresh linens, and faint coffee from the nurses’ station. Room 712 was at the end of the quiet corridor—private, guarded by a single officer who nodded respectfully when he saw .
I pushed the door open slowly, the soft pneumatic hiss of the hospital corridor giving way to the muted quiet of room 712.
Diaz lay motionless on the hospital bed—eyes closed, chest rising and falling in shallow, even rhythm, monitors beeping in a low, steady cadence. Asleep, or drugged into sothing close to it. Either way, he wasn’t waking up anyti soon.
Gabriela and Sarah were sitting together on the narrow side bed—Gabriela’s legs dangling off the edge, Sarah’s posture straight but relaxed, one hand resting lightly on Gabriela’s knee in silent support. The room slled of antiseptic, faint vanilla from Gabriela’s lingering perfu, and the tallic tang of dical equipnt.
The mont the door swung wider, Gabriela’s head snapped up.
Her eyes locked on mine—and everything else ceased to exist.
She didn’t hesitate.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, bare feet slapping against the cold tile floor with a soft smack. Three quick, unsteady steps—hospital gown fluttering around her thighs—and she ran straight into my arms.
Her body collided with mine hard enough to drive the air from my lungs for a heartbeat. Her massive tits crushed against my chest—soft, impossibly full, impossible to flatten no matter how tightly she squeezed.
The thin cotton of the gown might as well have been nothing; I could feel every curve, every warm swell molding to , nipples stiffening instantly through the fabric from the sudden friction and adrenaline. They pillowed against my ribs, heavy and decadent, rising and falling with her ragged breaths.
She buried her face in the crook of my neck, arms locking around my shoulders with desperate strength, fingers digging into the back of my jacket like she was anchoring herself to reality. Her dark hair spilled over my shoulder, tickling my skin, carrying that faint vanilla scent that had sohow survived the hospital, the worry, the fear.
I wrapped her up imdiately—one arm banding around her waist, pulling her flush against , the other sliding up to cradle the back of her head. My fingers threaded through her thick hair, stroking gently, grounding her.
"Jack..." Her voice cracked against my skin—raw, trembling. "Are you okay...?"
I felt every shudder that ran through her—relief crashing into fear, fear giving way to adrenaline, adrenaline lting into sothing softer, needier. Her heartbeat hamred against my sternum, fast and frantic, syncing unevenly with mine.
"Yeah," I murmured, lips brushing her temple in a slow, deliberate kiss. "I’m okay. Didn’t you hear the news? It was all a misunderstanding. Everything’s cleared up now. Press conference worked."
She pulled back just enough to search my face—eyes glassy with unshed tears, pupils wide as they scanned every inch of . Looking for blood, bruises, lies, anything that would shatter the fragile relief she was clinging to. Her hands slid down to my chest, palms flattening over my heart as if feeling the steady thump would prove I was real, solid, unhard.
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