Chain of Lust by Lizzie Lynn Lee Page A

him—was leaning by the wainscoted wall, talking in hushed tones on his cell phone. Gabe never went anywhere in public without one of his brothers. Alex and Ren, both younger than Gabe, were very protective—like capos to the don. One didn’t just flounce up to Gabe without Alex’s or Ren’s approval. If Alex or Ren didn’t like what they saw, one couldn’t get within ten feet of Gabriel Larousse without risking one’s neck.
    Luckily, she wasn’t here to talk to the big guy today. She was just stalking him. Observing what he was like in the flesh. The media had painted him as an enigmatic young god. Rumour had it he was a dangerous man to have as an enemy, and yet some vouched for him as a child-loving philanthropist. No one had ever figured out what kind of man Gabe really was.
    Aside from the fact that he was fucking hot.
    The club attendant came over with her order. She murmured her thanks and batted her eyelashes, flirting a bit.
    The man looked happy with the attention. “If I may ask, what would be the name of the gentleman you’re waiting for?” He drew himself straight, as if to make himself taller than he really was. “So I can direct the gentleman straight to your table, madam.”
    “Jackson,” Cat lied smoothly. “Marvin Jackson.”
    He inclined his head in a perfect gesture. He withdrew in silence. His eyes weren’t straying to her boobs any more.
    Good riddance.
    She sipped from her glass while furtively spying on Gabe. He wasn’t dressed in his usual tailored Brioni suit. He was wearing a white shirt with sleeves folded to his elbows and a pair of crisply pressed, black Armani slacks. No tie. No suit jacket. The black, casual Bruno Magli loafers on his feet must be the real thing, unlike the knock-offs she had bought for her ex-boyfriend as a birthday present a long time ago.
    Since Gabe had sent all the balls into the pockets, he set up a new rack. He stalked around the table like a predator hunting its prey before he leant forward and took a shot. Loud taps filled the billiards room as he sent the different coloured balls scattering across the green baize.
    Cat took another sip of the gin and tonic and fished out a small journal from her purse. She leafed through it, looking for her notes on Gabriel. Particularly her interview with her client, Judith Rossi.
    On October fourth, fourteen years ago, Judith and her brother Cameron had gone to South Africa for a safari vacation. They’d met Gabriel Larousse and his friend, Oliver Duval, both students from the University of Cape Town, at a local cafe. The four quickly became friends and planned a trip to the Kruger National Park. Since Judith and her brother were trust-fund kids, they’d been allergic to hardship and had wanted their travel arrangements to be as comfortable as possible. Judith had booked expensive accommodation in Kingston Camp, a colonial game lodge in Timbavati Private Nature Reserve. The camp had offered dangerous game hunting as one of its main attractions.
    On the fateful afternoon of October fifteenth, the four of them had coursed along with the park ranger, Nisi, on a dry creek in an open vehicle. They’d spotted a warthog. The party didn’t have a hunting licence, but Cameron had been hell-bent on killing something that day. He’d pulled out an antique Colt he’d purchased from a fellow lodger and shot the warthog. Instead of killing the overgrown male boar, though, Cameron had only pissed the warthog off. It had charged in their direction and managed to topple the vehicle. The five of them had scampered for cover and become separated.
    As the evening had approached, Judith had reunited with Oliver and Nisi, but they had lost contact with Gabriel and her brother. Oliver had broken his arm and wrist in the accident. Nisi had only scraped his knee. They’d spent the night in the wilderness before the other rangers had rescued them in the morning.
    Back in the camp, Judith had immediately faced bad news. Cameron had died