“This is a double lock. Little harder but nothing I can’t handle. It will just take me a minute or two.” Brian wasn’t as tall as Dick, but he had a similar build, long and lean, and he had straight black hair and a strong nose. Between his features and the necklace and vest he was wearing, Johnny had the impression he was of Native American descent.
“Thanks, man, I appreciate you doing this.”
“Sounds like a crazy night.” Brian was quiet, calm, pulling a pick out of his pocket and studying the lock on the cuffs with intense concentration. “So who should I spring first?”
“Lizette,” Johnny said without hesitation. She clearly needed something, maybe being free of her titanium restraint would improve her mood. Funny how an hour ago he had been panicking at the thought of Lizette staying with him, now he was panicking at the thought that she might not want to stay with him. Stupid. Completely and totally stupid.
“Merci,” she said coldly and formally, which was not at all reassuring. Then she said something to him in French that he suspected was her explanation of why she was so pissed. Only he of course couldn’t understand a freaking word she was saying.
“I know,” he told her, because really what else was he supposed to say? They had a skinny guy with Cher hair in between them jamming a pick into their cuffs.
Wait a minute. Brian looked like Cher, too, now that he thought about it, though he was dressed like a man and wasn’t wearing mascara. But there was something familiar about him. Johnny swung his gaze back and forth between Dick and Brian and felt a niggling of a memory. “Were you both at the wedding last night?”
Dick grinned. “Maybe. Don’t you remember?”
Brian had been Half-Breed Cher. He was sure of it. “I’m starting to think that all we need is a Turn Back Time Cher and we’ll have Cher through the decades.” God, that was weird. If a flash mob of Cher impersonators broke into “I Got You, Babe” all around him, he was out of there.
“First lock undone,” Brian murmured, hair sliding over Johnny’s arm as he worked in concentration.
Lizette said something in French.
“Absolutely,” Johnny said.
“Dude,” Benny said.
“You’re a little slow on the uptake,” Dick said. “Of course we are.”
What? “You mean you are Cher through the decades?”
“Duh. Every tranny gang needs a theme of sorts.”
Tranny gang? Did such a thing exist? And if so, why? It wasn’t like he and the other guys were a vampire gang. They were just a group of friends who hung out. They were a band, which was a legitimate reason to call themselves a group. “What makes you a gang?”
But Dick clucked his tongue. “Never mind.”
“Got it.” Brian clicked open the ring around Lizette’s wrist and let her free, then closed it again.
Lizette’s eyes lit up and she bent her arm and clutched her now-free hand to her chest. “Oh, thank you. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate this!”
Wow. That sounded like eager relief to be rid of her attachment to him. Johnny felt a little bitter.
“Oh, shit, we’re late!” Dick glanced at his phone. “Benny, we have to blow. Brian, let’s go.”
“I never said I would blow you,” Benny said.
Dick rolled his eyes, his fake eyelashes fluttering. Glittery eye shadow floated down to land on his flawless cheeks. “Trust me, I wouldn’t want you to. It would be like—”
Johnny cut him off because truthfully, he didn’t want to know where that statement was going. “Brian, can’t I at least buy you a drink for your help?”
But Brian shook his head. “Sorry, Richard is right. We need to take off. Since I only got your friend free, don’t worry about it.”
Hold up. “You’re not going to get me out of the cuffs?”
“Sorry, got to run.” Brian started to move away from the bar. Dick was already almost at the door.
“Can’t you at least leave me the pick?” he asked.
“No, this is custom-made. Look, I’ll catch up with you in an hour or so, okay? See ya.”
Then they were gone and Johnny was left staring at the door as it swung shut behind them. So he was no longer attached to Lizette, but he still had a metal bracelet on. He sighed.
Benny hung up his phone and said, “Saxon isn’t picking up.”
Johnny could have told him that. He’d been calling the guy all night and he hadn’t picked up. Lizette said something in French. Johnny was getting a headache. It was like his hangover was reappearing.
Maybe it was time to come clean. “Lizette, I have to tell you the truth. I don’t really speak French. I have no fucking idea what you’re saying. Or have been saying.”
It wasn’t that big of a deal, right? Just a minor fact he had forgotten to share with her.
“Uh!” She gasped in indignation. Then she threw her glass of wine in his face.
The cool liquid hit him before he could react, and Johnny blinked, droplets on his eyelashes blurring his vision. He licked his lips and found her taste in wine was too sweet for his liking.
“How dare you!”
Johnny wished he had a counter to keep track of how many times she had said that to him in the last eight hours. It would make a fun drinking game, if he were in the mood for fun. Which he wasn’t.
“Pretending to understand me all this time! I feel humiliated.”
“Yeah, a whole whopping eight hours. The breadth of my deception is enormous.” And yes, that was sarcasm. “At least you’re out of the handcuffs now.”
He wiped his face with his hand and flung wine onto his jeans. That had not been a drinkin-the-face offense, he had to say.
“Which is excellent news because it means I can walk away from you.” She rose from her stool, head held high, slapping down a pile of ones to pay for her drink.
She was leaving? Where was she going? Johnny stood up, the loose end of the cuffs dangling and hitting him in the thigh. “Is everything okay?” he asked, because it seemed like a safe enough question to ask. If you asked a woman what was wrong, she either said she was fine or she jumped your shit for thinking something was wrong. This way, it sounded more polite.
Which did not explain why Lizette, the most by-the-book woman he had ever met, flipped him off as she strode out of the bar in her stapled T-shirt, expensive handbag firmly on her shoulder, his shorts sagging on her narrow hips.
Flipped him off.
What was that?
Chapter Fourteen
GIVE ME ALL YOUR LOVIN’
D RAKE cast Josie Lynn an almost confused look over his shoulder, but then nodded. “Oh right. Sure.”
He paused at the first door, gently placing a hand on the doorknob. He hesitated for a second, then whipped it open and flipped the wall switch. The room illuminated to reveal a roomful of guitars and other music equipment, but no signs of anyone.
“Everything looks fine here,” he said, and Josie Lynn immediately pressed a finger to her lips. If anyone was there, they probably already knew someone had entered the apartment, but she didn’t want Drake to make it so easy for the intruder to know exactly where they were.
He looked puzzled for a moment, then whispered, “Right. Better to keep it down.”
Exactly, she thought. Why wasn’t he worried?
He went to the next door, this one open but dark. He reached around to the light switch. The light turned on and revealed a white-tiled bathroom. Drake stepped inside, glanced around, then shook his head.
“The shower,” Josie Lynn mouthed, pointing to the closed shower curtain.
He made an oh right sort of expression and took a quiet step toward the curtain, covered with different depictions of Elvis Presley. Elvis through the decades, apropos for Chers through the decades to hide behind, Josie Lynn thought.
Again, she noticed he didn’t hesitate to rip back the curtain, as if he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt there was no one hiding in the tub. And he was right. Aside from several bottle
s of shampoo and conditioner, a bar of soap, and a razor, the shower was empty.
She stepped back from the bathroom door to let him out. She didn’t even look over her shoulder. He seemed so certain the place was empty that she was starting to think she might be overreacting, too.
But as if to appease her, he moved past her to the next door. He turned the doorknob and pushed the door open, but before he could even reach for the light switch, something swooped out of the room.
The only impression Josie Lynn got was the shadowy image of something flying close to her head and the whoosh of wings.
“What the hell?” Drake said, voicing her very own thought.
But she didn’t stop to answer. Instead she grabbed his arm and tugged him into the dark room, slamming the door behind them. She fell back against the door and pulled him back against her, using both of their bodies to block the door.
They stood still, only their breathing audible in the blackness of the room.
“What—what was that?” she finally whispered after a few moments.
Drake didn’t answer right away, then he muttered as if with dawning realization. “Saxon.”
“Saxon?” What on earth was he talking about? That was a bird or some other flying creature. She shivered. God, she hated things that flew.
“I—I mean that was probably Saxon’s pet,” Drake said, although even without being able to see his expression, she didn’t quite believe his explanation.
“Saxon’s pet? What is it? And why would it be at your apartment?”
“He must have left it here because of the wedding.”
Okay, not sure why he’d do that, but whatever.
“What the heck is it?”
“A—a bat.”
*
WHY THE HELL had he told her that? Drake mentally kicked himself. Who had a pet bat?
“Who has a pet bat?” she asked, obviously coming to the very same conclusion.
“The same guy who has a pet alligator,” Drake said, rather proud of that quick connection.
“Oh.”
She seemed to buy it, even though it wasn’t the truth. He suspected whatever had flown past them was actually Saxon. This happened the last time they’d all blacked out due to being drugged.
The last time they’d all blacked out due to being drugged. Wow, who really got to say that twice in a lifetime? Even as long as all of his friends had all lived, it still seemed like a weird thing to say. But last time, Stella had been the one who got stuck in bat form. This time he was willing to bet it was Saxon. That would explain why he’d gone missing on his wedding night.
Josie Lynn shivered, her whole body vibrating against his. The subtle movement was enough to make him groan.
“Are you okay?” he murmured, moving his face closer to hers. He could feel the warmth of her breath and the sweet scent of the wine she’d drank on her lips.
“I’m—I’m fine.” But she shuddered again.
He could now smell her arousal and he couldn’t stop himself. His hands found her hips and pulled her even closer. She gasped, and for just the briefest moment, he thought she was going to surrender and allow her body to stay pressed tightly to his. That she might even kiss him. Or let him kiss her.
But instead, she pushed at his chest with a strength that surprised him, although he wasn’t sure why. She was a tough cookie. He knew that.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, trying to ignore his disappointment, because he knew she wasn’t telling the truth about being okay. He could smell fear on her, too, though that was harder to focus on than her desire.
He moved away from her, even though he really didn’t want to, and flipped on the light. They both blinked as their eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness.
She remained against the door, her back tight against it and her arms crossed around her, like she was cold. Or truly freaked-out.
“What’s wrong?” he repeated.
She still didn’t answer for a moment, though he could also see that she was notably pale. She was really shaken, although in what he’d already learned was Josie Lynn fashion, she was trying to hide it.
“I hate things with wings, okay? Birds, bats, big flying bugs.” She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, but her expression clearly stated she hated admitting that fear.
Any fear, he suspected.
“Well, we all have things that freak us out.”
She shot him a skeptical look. “And what freaks you out?”
He didn’t even have to hesitate. “I hate enclosed spaces. And being constrained in any way.”
She dropped her arms, immediately distracted from her fears by the admission of his. “Really?”
He nodded.
“But you seemed okay with being in that sex swing thing earlier.”
“I was faking. I was absolutely freaking out.”
“Good acting,” she said, sounding truly impressed.
“Thanks.”
Since they were talking candidly, he decided to keep the confessional going.
“Can I ask you a question?”
Some of her reserve returned, and she crossed her arms back over her chest. Always protecting herself. Always acting strong. Even when she was unnerved—like right now.
She nodded, even though he knew she didn’t really want to answer any questions.
“Why did you kiss me at The Dungeon?”
“To irritate Obsidian,” she said in a way that stated that she clearly hoped that was answer enough and this would be the end of Twenty Questions.
Too bad. She wasn’t going to be that lucky.
“You were affected by our kiss. I could feel it. And you already know I’m very, very attracted to you.”
He expected her to deny his claim, but instead she just nodded. “I am attracted to you.”
Shit, that wasn’t even an enthusiastic admission and he was as hard as tempered steel.
“You confuse me,” he admitted. “One minute, I feel like we are actually communicating, and you’re almost comfortable with me. Then the next you shut down and are distant.”
She gave him a helpless look, like she had no idea what he wanted her to say.
“For example, why did you seem fine with my being protective of you when that creepy Donald was talking to us at Madame Renee’s, yet when I stepped in with that drunken jerk on Bourbon, you were angry with me?”
She looked away from him, and for a moment, he just assumed she would tell him she didn’t know. Or that she didn’t need to explain herself, but then her vivid blue eyes found his.
“Because I liked you protecting me too much.”
He hadn’t expected that.
“Why? I wanted to protect you. I like protecting you.” He liked it a lot. Probably he liked it too much, if truth be told, especially given she was a woman he barely knew. And human to boot.
“Because I find it’s just a lot better if I take care of myself.”
Suddenly he realized why she could go from soft and aroused to prickly in seconds flat.
She’d been hurt. Badly hurt from the looks of it. She didn’t trust him—or any man, he was willing to bet.
Why hadn’t he realized that earlier? Wasn’t that why he tended to keep himself distant from women and relationships, too?
“I can understand that,” he said softly. “Believe me, I can. But we all need help sometimes. And we all have to trust someone once in a while, too, even if it’s hard.”
She laughed then, the sound hard and bitter. “That’s kind of rich coming from you. You are telling me to trust you, but you think I’m a thief and a liar.”
Drake could easily understand her incredulity with him. He stepped closer to her, but left a few inches of space between them, not wanting her to feel cornered. That was the last thing a woman who didn’t trust men—or maybe anyone—needed.
“I stopped thinking you were involved in the drugging and robbery basically before we even left Zelda and Saxon’s.”
“Why�
�s that?” she said, her tone no softer, no less filled with sarcastic mistrust.
“Because you could have run at any point tonight. Hell, you could have darted and left me to fight a gator if you wanted, but you didn’t. I know you want answers just as much as I do.”
She stared at him for a moment, and then her arms dropped back to her sides. Her guard was coming down a little, but she clearly didn’t know what to say.
He didn’t want her to say any more. He just wanted to touch her. Reassure her that she could trust him. He wanted to continue to protect her. He wanted to make love to her.
He shifted closer, and her eyes met his. Again, he expected to see caution and doubt in her eyes, but instead he saw something almost like tentative hope in her unblinking gaze.
He risked moving closer still and slowly reached out to touch her cheek.
“I know you still don’t trust me, but I honestly don’t want to hurt you. I’m going to be totally honest with you. I really want to kiss you.”
She managed to surprise him again. “I really want to kiss you, too.”
*
JOSIE LYNN COULDN’T believe she had told him that, or that she was leaning in to meet his lips. A part of her kept repeating this was a terrible, terrible idea and she was bound to get hurt. But another part, which at the moment was being much louder and making much more sense, kept telling her to take a risk, go with it, enjoy this moment.
She liked the second voice’s advice better.
And when Drake’s lips captured her, she liked it even more. Damn, this man could kiss.
His mouth molded to hers like it had been made just for her. She couldn’t remember a kiss quite like his, so perfect, so earth-shattering, so …
Dangerous, the party-pooper voice stated.
Then Drake’s tongue slipped over her lips, tasting her. Then deeper. Then she didn’t care if this was dangerous, she just wanted the moment to continue. Her tongue found his, and he moaned, pinning her against the door. His hands moved to her hips, pulling her tightly against him, his muscular body hard and heavy and delicious against hers. Her arms looped around his neck and she could feel the brush of his hair against her fingers.
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