Kane and I avoided each other’s gaze as the sound of his peeing transmitted with unfortunate clarity through the thin wall. Kane flicked the TV on and turned up the volume.
When Hellhound emerged and headed for the door with a nonchalant salute, I hurried into the bathroom and took advantage of the relative privacy of the inane television soundtrack to do what needed to be done, too.
Kane muted the TV when I came out with my teeth freshly brushed and awkwardness burning my cheeks. I probably didn’t need nightwear. They’d both seen me naked often enough. But still…
“Um…” I didn’t quite meet his eyes. “May I borrow a T-shirt for tonight? I didn’t realize we’d be bunking together…” I trailed off.
“Of course.” Kane’s tone was artificially hearty. “No problem. Here you go.” He extracted a clean T-shirt from his duffel bag and handed it over.
“Thanks.” I shuffled my feet. “Um…” I realized I was still staring at his chest. And his broad shoulders, curving down into the smooth bulges of his biceps. Corrugated abs with that tantalizing strip of hair tracking down from his navel to his-
I jerked my gaze up to his face again. “I’m going to go get some ice,” I muttered. Avoiding his gaze, I tossed his T-shirt on the bed, seized the ice bucket, and scurried out the door.
Chapter 7
Dodging three large hairy bikers who occupied most of the sidewalk, I speed-walked to the motel office, only to discover that the ice machine was back the way I’d come. When I retraced my steps, the bikers snickered and nudged each other in a way that made me glad I had a Glock strapped to my ankle.
I ducked into the alcove that sheltered the vending machines and filled my ice bucket, then drew a deep breath.
Okay. No need to get awkward with Kane. Nothing had changed between us. We were only going to sleep together…
That thought sent my mind rocketing to a variety of X-rated memories and I shook my head vigorously to dislodge them.
Jeez, no, we weren’t sleeping together. We were just sleeping. Together. In the same room, nothing more…
“Hey, babe.” The largest and hairiest of the bikers was leaning in the door opening, eyeing me up and down with interest. “Wanna make a little extra pocket money?”
“Nope.” I slipped past him, only to pull up short when the other two blocked my way.
Shit.
One biker behind me, two in front. They were staggering-drunk, but they were each nearly as big as Kane and Hellhound. Not good odds unless I could get to my Glock. It seemed very far away in my ankle holster.
I sidestepped, my heart pattering into a rapid rhythm.
The two in front blocked my path to the sidewalk, but at least I’d gotten my back to the wall. Dammit, the alcove concealed us from both the office and the parking lot. Party noise from the bar would mask any screams or sounds of struggle.
“Come on, babe,” the biggest one wheedled. “We’re fun guys. You can keep the cash all for yourself. We won’t tell your pimp if you don’t.”
Holding onto my composure and temper with equal determination, I kept my voice level. “I’m not a hooker and I don’t have a pimp. You guys need to go look somewhere else for kicks. Excuse me, I have to go.”
I attempted another escape, but the three closed ranks and I had to back up or run into a barricade of beer-and-cigarette-reeking leather. I pressed my back to the wall and tried again. “Back off, you guys. I’m warning you.”
The ringleader guffawed. “You’re warning us? That’s rich. Come on, honey, we can do this easy and have a little fun, or we can buy you from your pimp and make you wish you’d been nicer to us when you had the chance.”
Fear short-circuited into anger and I jerked forward. “Listen, dipshit, I told you I’m not a hooker! Now get the hell out of my face!”
They drew back, uncertainty flickering in their eyes until the ringleader grinned. “Nice try, babe. I like ‘em with a little spunk. But we were sitting right over there when your pimp delivered you to that room.” He jerked his bearded chin in the direction of the motorcycles parked across from our room. “So I’m gonna give you one more chance to be nice before I start getting pissed off.”
Shit, of course. They’d seen Hellhound fondling me before he ‘delivered’ me to a room containing a half-dressed Kane, and then minutes later he’d left as though the transaction was complete.
Shit, shit, shit!
The bikers closed in again and I evaluated my chances in an eyeblink, my pulse hammering in my ears.
If they pinned my arms, my gun might as well be on another planet for all the good it would do. They were easily big enough to immobilize me even in their inebriated state. And they were already so close that I didn’t have room to bend over and reach my ankle holster.
Time to end this.
I blew out a sigh. “Okay. Fine. How about a nice blowjob for each of you? I’ll do you right here.”
I dropped to my knees, reaching back to place the ice bucket strategically close to my ankle while I watched their eyes light up.
Right… about…
Now.
Snatching my Glock from its holster, I clamped one hand on the ringleaders’ crotch and twisted hard while I jammed my pistol into the nuts of the guy next to him.
“Who wants to get off first?” I snarled.
The ringleader let out a strangled squeak, sweat springing out on his brow. His compatriot froze staring down at the gun buried in his crotch, his legs trembling hard enough to vibrate the Glock. The third man yelped, “Fuck!” and ran, only to crash to the ground when Kane pivoted around the corner and smashed an elbow into his face.
Kane swooped down on the fallen man like some pagan god of vengeance and I shouted, “Don’t kill him!”
Kane hesitated, his hands wrapped around the man’s head in a grip I knew could snap his neck like a twig.
“Don’t kill him,” I repeated forcefully. “You quit, remember?”
“Qu-quit…?” the ringleader quavered in a high-pitched voice. Sweat trickled down the sides of his face. “Quit killing guys, like… like quitting smoking or something?”
Kane slammed the unconscious man back to the pavement and straightened, grinding the man’s hand under his hiking boot as he stepped over the body with contemptuous disregard.
“Yes,” he grated, his glare fixed on the sweating man above me. “It’s a habit I’ve been trying to break. But I’d be pleased to make an exception in your case.”
“H-Hey, we don’t want any trouble…” the ringleader tried to back away but froze with another squeak when I twisted a little harder. “Jesus, lady, let go of my fuckin’ nuts!”
I exerted a few more pounds of pressure.
His pallor turned greenish and he swayed, whimpering, “Fuck, lady, please! Look, we didn’t mean any harm, it was just a m-misunderstanding…”
The other man had neither moved nor spoken. In fact, I was pretty sure he wasn’t even breathing. My surmise was confirmed when he suddenly toppled backward, going down full-length like a tree in a hurricane. His skull struck the pavement with an unpleasantly hollow crack.
Kane smiled. Very slowly, his lips curled into a snarling grin under eyes alight with bloodlust.
I hadn’t thought the ringleader could get any paler, but he did.
He also pissed his pants.
“Ew! You pig!” I snatched my hand away from the warm wetness and wiped it vigorously on his jeans before scrambling to my feet, gun trained on him.
Kane’s feral smile widened. “Maybe I can’t kill him, but you can,” he said softly. “We can bring him back to our room and take our time. I know a lot of ways to make excruciating pain last and last.”
I wasn’t sure whether Kane was serious or not, but he looked convincing enough to send a chill down my spine. The former ringleader fell to his knees, sobbing out a garbled plea for mercy.
Glowering down at the weeping mess of piss and sweat and tears and snot, I swung my pistol slowly up to
point at his head.
“Please, lady, please, no…”
I snapped, “Shut up!” and he fell silent, trembling in the widening pool of urine.
Hiding my quaver of adrenaline in the harshest voice I could summon, I growled, “It’s your lucky day. You’re so fucking disgusting I don’t even want to waste a bullet on you. Take your dumbfuck friends and get on your bikes and get the fuck out of here and don’t ever come back. And if I ever see your fucking ugly face again, I’ll shoot it off. Got it?”
I didn’t wait for a reply, just turned on my heel and strode away before my own trembling knees could give out.
Behind me, Kane added a deadly-quiet warning. “And if you ever mention what happened here, I’ll hunt you down and make you wish she’d shot your face off.”
As soon as I rounded the corner I ran for the motel room, only to fetch up against it with a thump when the knob didn’t turn.
Kane had locked the door.
Of course.
Holding my contaminated hand well away from my body and my Glock out of sight beside my leg, I slumped panting and shaking against the door. The party was in full swing in the bar across the street, but nobody was looking my way yet. Kane still hadn’t appeared.
What the hell was he doing?
Oh, God, what if they’d attacked him as soon as I turned my back?
Letting out a whimper, I turned to sprint back the way I’d come, only to cannon into Kane.
“What?” he barked, snapping a wild-eyed gaze around the parking lot.
“Nothing,” I quavered. “I just need the room key.”
“Oh.” He produced it from his pocket and opened the door, pushing me ahead of him into the room.
When the door closed behind us I hurried for the bathroom, where I stuffed my Glock into my waistband and scrubbed my hands with copious amounts of soap and the hottest water I could stand.
At last I shut off the tap and turned to face Kane, who stood leaning against the bathroom door jamb watching me without expression.
“What happened?” he asked.
“They thought I was a hooker.”
Kane frowned. “That doesn’t give them the right to assault you.”
I shrugged. “They thought it did.”
“I should have killed them.”
The ice-grey of his eyes made me shiver. “No, you shouldn’t have,” I said firmly. “Remember, you’re a civilian now.” He didn’t reply, and I laid a hand on his clenched fist and added, “John, you’re tired and stressed and you’re overreacting. Come on, let’s watch some TV and relax a bit, and then you should try to get some sleep.”
I nudged him gently out of the doorway, but as we turned the corner into the room, he stopped and gazed down at me, his eyes blazing.
“If they had hurt you, I would have killed them,” he said flatly. “Nobody hurts the people I love and lives to tell about it.”
I gulped. “Okay, thanks, but you are really overreacting right now. Come on.” I guided him to the bed and pushed the television remote into his hand. “Lie down. Do the guy thing and channel-surf.”
He obeyed, stuffing the pillow behind his head and thumbing the remote without comment. Turning off the lamp, I sank onto the other bed and eased back on the pillows.
Relax. Breathe.
My tense muscles gradually softened while I took slow rhythmic yoga breaths, willing the adrenaline out of my system. The frenetic flicker of the TV did nothing to aid my relaxation, but at least Kane was lying quietly and not killing anybody. A surreptitious glance revealed a profile that could have been carved from stone. He might be lying down, but he sure as hell wasn’t relaxing.
Maybe I should call Hellhound. He’d know how to handle this. And maybe I should tell him to bring a bottle of scotch. Or two…
A tiny sound from the doorknob slammed adrenaline into my veins all over again. I snapped a glance over at Kane, who was already rolling soundlessly off the bed.
Smooth and silent, he glided forward to take up a combat-ready stance, and I trained my Glock on the door.
The doorknob turned by almost-imperceptible degrees.
I forgot to breathe.
Fighting off the encroaching blackness at the edges of my vision, I let out a trembling breath, then drew another.
Let it out halfway to steady my shaking gun…
The door eased open, the streetlights silhouetting a bulky figure and gleaming on the leather of his jacket.
Some sixth sense must have warned him.
He froze.
“Don’t shoot, darlin’,” Hellhound said. “It’s just me.”
“Shit!” I collapsed backward on the bed, dropping my gun to clutch at my hammering heart. “Jesus Christ, you scared the living shit out of me!”
Hellhound slipped into the room and closed the door behind him as Kane straightened out of his crouch.
“Christ, we need a secret knock or somethin’,” Hellhound said. “I couldn’t see a light so I figured you’d gone to bed. I was tryin’ not to wake ya.”
Massaging my chest with a shaking hand, I managed a completely unconvincing laugh. “Are you kidding? I’m never going to sleep again.”
“What are you doing back so early?” Kane inquired, sounding perfectly calm and composed. “I thought you’d be partying it up until dawn.”
“Just came back to get my guitar,” Hellhound said. “Good crowd over there. Always gotta be a few fuckin’ morons, though. Ya shoulda seen the three losers out in the parkin’ lot. Fuckin’ sad when the wannabes try an’ be real bikers.”
Kane and I exchanged a glance. “What were they doing?” Kane asked.
Hellhound snorted. “Gettin’ into an ambulance. One guy’d done a faceplant an’ smashed the shit outta his nose. Bleedin’ like a stuck pig. The other guy’d gone over backwards an’ knocked himself out. An’ their buddy was so fuckin’ wasted he pissed himself.”
“What was their story?” Kane asked noncommittally.
“No story.” Hellhound shrugged. “They were just shit-faced. Ol’ Piss-pants was cryin’ and tryin’ to get in the ambulance an’ the EMTs were tryin’ to get him offa them so they could look at the guys that actually needed ‘em. Fuckin’ gong show.”
His sixth sense must have kicked in again, because his gaze slid from Kane to me, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Ya wouldn’t happen to know anythin’ about that, would ya?”
“Who, us?” I made big innocent eyes.
Hellhound dropped onto the edge of the bed, grinning. “Okay, spill it.”
Kane sank onto the other bed. “Aydan went to get ice. When she seemed to be taking too long, I went after her. When I came around the corner she was on her knees, surrounded by those three men.”
Hellhound’s brows snapped together. “What the fuck? Aydan, are ya okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said at the same time that Kane let out a grim laugh.
“She had everything under control,” he assured Hellhound. “She had her gun jammed in one man’s crotch and she had Piss-pants by the testicles.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “The third man fled, but he just happened to run face-first into my elbow when I came around the corner.”
“Is that so?” Hellhound was grinning again. “An’ then what happened?”
“Kane’s guy was down for the count,” I said. “And the guy I had my gun on passed out and hit his head. That’s when Piss-pants pissed his pants.”
I wiped my hand on the bedspread compulsively. “Right in my hand. Gross.”
“Fuck, I can’t leave the two a’ ya alone for a second, can I?” Hellhound said. “Maybe I better stay here an’ keep ya outta trouble ‘stead a’ goin’ back to the bar.” When I gave him a tiny nod and flicked my gaze in Kane’s direction, he continued smoothly, “Actually, ya know what? Think I’ll call it a night. I’m fuckin’ bagged. Early start tomorrow, an’ ya know what a bear I am in the mornin’.”
“That’s a good idea,” I agreed gratefully.
Chapter 8
Even the warmth of Hellhound’s softly-snoring bulk beside me wasn’t enough to lull me into a deep sleep. I dozed fitfully, waking at every thump from the adjoining rooms and every voice from the parking lot outside. The air conditioner cycled on and off with roars and asthmatic wheezes punctuated by machine-gun-like rattling.
Kane was visible only as a dark silhouette in the other bed, but from the artificially steady rhythm of his breathing I guessed he wasn’t sleeping much, either.
When my phone chirped its alarm at five-thirty AM, I silenced it with a groan. Light already glowed under the bathroom door, so Kane had either woken before the alarm or had never slept. Beside me, Hellhound snored on. I cuddled a little closer, unwilling to leave the comfort of his body heat for the morning chill of the room. He sighed in his sleep and tucked his arm over me, and I was fading into slumber when the bathroom door opened, spilling light into the room.
“Good morning,” I said softly, and slid out of bed to head for the bathroom.
“’Morning,” Kane agreed in a hoarse rasp that indicated how little sleep he’d had. “I’m going to McDonald’s. What can I bring you?”
“Egg-and-sausage McMuffin, milk, orange juice, and a yogurt parfait,” I said promptly. “And you’d better bring lots of coffee for Arnie. I don’t dare wake him at this hour unless coffee is the first thing he smells.”
The tired lines of Kane’s face eased into a smile as he regarded his best friend’s peaceful slumber. “Right. Back soon.” A ghost of humour flickered in his eyes. “Don’t shoot me when I come through the door.”
“Only if you forget my breakfast,” I promised.
By the time I emerged freshly showered, Kane had already returned and Hellhound was propped more or less upright in bed, alternating grumbled profanity with gulps of life-giving caffeine.
As I tore into the deliciously savory grease of the breakfast sandwich, Kane propped his elbows on the other side of the small table. “Mayweather called,” he said tightly. “They’re organizing the search teams at first light, but I’m not going to join them right away. I want to look at the accident scene first.”
The Spies That Bind Page 6