“Careful. I might consider that romantic.”
I pressed a kiss to his chin. “Maybe it was meant to be.”
No answer.
His breathing slowed. I forced myself to break his handhold and brushed my fingers down his jawline.
“Rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“Good.” He shivered violently.
“Are you okay? You want me to call the doctor back—”
“No. Just cold. Come closer and warm me up.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Right now, you couldn’t make me feel any worse, 291
unless you left me.”
Not fair.
After covering him completely with the blanket, I scooted under his arm and carefully laid my head on his chest. The tremors stopped almost immediately. I was content to listen to him breathe—just because he still could. About an hour later Big Mike poked his head in. I untangled from Martinez’s arms, reluctant for anyone to see us curled up like kittens.
I snagged my cigarettes out of my purse and
flopped back on the love seat. After the initial drag, I said, “What happened? Every goddamn detail.”
Big Mike set a bottle of Don Julio and shot glasses on the coffee table next to my ashtray.
“Bossman was conducting some last-minute
business in the bar. Something pissed him off so he headed in the back room to chill out and regroup. He opened the service door to go out to his Escalade for some damn thing … Cal and I were right on his heels when we heard the shots.”
Definitely needed that drink. I poured a slug, knocked it back, welcoming the trail of fire down my throat.
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“I dragged Martinez inside; Cal took off after the shooter. I got him upstairs, got temporary control of the bleeding, and called the doc.” Big Mike poured a generous helping of tequila in a lowball glass.
“One minute. That’s all he was out of our sight. One. Fucking. Minute.”
“Not a random act?”
He shook his head and stayed quiet, studying the silver liquid in the glass.
“This isn’t gonna fly with me, Big Mike. I don’t give a shit if it violates some stupid Hombres’ rules, not when he’s lying in the next goddamn room bleeding …” Cold reality hit. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to focus on facts, not emotions. “I have a right to know it all.”
He said, “Shit,” and slammed another glassful of tequila.
“You know who’s responsible, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Who?”
Big Mike’s hard eyes met mine. “Jackal.”
Jackal was the former Hombres enforcer. “I
thought he was under lock and key while he’s on probation?”
“He was.”
“Was? ”
“Last week he killed the guy working on his
‘rehabilitation’ and Jackal used him to send a warning to Martinez before Jackal disappeared.”
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“How? If the guy was dead?”
“Jackal wrote the message on a piece of paper and attached it to the guard, via a knife to the eyeball.”
“Holy fuck.” That was just plain sick. “Last week?
Why didn’t Martinez tell me instead of making some big goddamn deal about me keeping my cell phone on at all times?”
“Bossman didn’t want you to worry, especially after …”
Especially after the trauma I’d gone through a few months back when I’d killed someone. Martinez stuck around to pick up the pieces and I still didn’t feel whole.
“We immediately put extra security on him.
Which was why he was so pissed off when you went missing during the blizzard. Why he sent Korny to your house when we left for Denver. Why he picked Dietz to keep an eye on you. Why he’s been watching everyone who approaches you, especially if they’re tied to the club in any way. Any man or woman.”
Any man or woman tied to the club. “Oh, shit.”
“What?”
“Remember the night I was in the bar fight at Dusty’s? I was pretty drunk for a while there. Totally forgot I saw Nyla from the Hombres clubhouse. She sauntered up to our table, high as a kite, beat to shit, and babbled something.”
“What?”
“Don’t remember what exactly. Chalk it up to me being wasted.”
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“Did you see her again that night?”
“Nope.”
“Who was she with?”
“Not a clue.”
“Fucking awesome news, Julie.” Big Mike rubbed his temple so vigorously I thought a genie might pop out. “And you didn’t think you shoulda shared that with Martinez?”
“A: I was drunk. B: without being crude, Tony and I didn’t do a whole lotta talking that night.” Despite his bevy of bodyguards, Martinez made sure our sex life was a hundred percent private. “Oh, and C: Tony and I haven’t spent time together at all recently so it hasn’t come up. Why does it matter?”
Big Mike sighed. “Now that I know she was at your local bar, I wonder who else was there. I thought that fight seemed a little … staged.”
“Staged? Umm. Hello? That woman actually punched me in the face.”
“No, staged as in someone putting that woman up to starting the fight, someone watching to see how well you fought, and to see how quickly Martinez showed up. Or if at all.”
“Oh.” Come to think of it, even under the alcohol veil that feeling of being watched had bugged me the entire night. I’d attributed it to Martinez and his bodyguards. “Does Martinez know Jackal was involved tonight?”
He nodded.
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“Who else knows?”
“On our end? Cal, Bucket, Buzz, me, the doc, and you. And the shooter.”
“Jackal wasn’t the shooter?”
“No.”
“Then you know who the shooter was?”
“Yeah.”
“Who?”
He threw back a shot of Mexico’s finest and didn’t answer.
“What’s this about? Jackal’s vengeance for the humiliating incident at the clubhouse?” A few months back Martinez had made a very public mess of Jackal’s face when he’d stripped him of his Hombres position.
“Partially.”
I waited for him to elaborate.
Tequila swilling silence ensued.
“You’re not gonna tell me what’s going on, are you?”
“Not all of it. But we do need your help.”
I studied him through the thin line of smoke rising from my cigarette. “Exactly what kind of help would that be? Since I can’t know the pertinent details and all that shit.”
Big Mike paused, nervous, which made no sense, unless he planned on asking me to find the shooter. Or hunt down Jackal so they could kill him.
I’d do either without hesitation. I’d stepped over the line of ethical behavior so many times in recent 296
months it was faded and damn near invisible in spots. That made some decisions easier than others. “Do you want me to track Jackal?”
“Martinez would have my head on a spike for suggesting it, never mind actually putting you within a thousand feet of that sadistic bastard.”
But Big Mike hadn’t automatically said no. “Then why do you need my help?”
“Right now? We need you to lie low with him for a couple of days until he recovers. We’ll tell everyone the two of you are out of town for the weekend.”
On the practical side, Martinez couldn’t show weakness in front of his Hombres brothers or his business competition. On the personal side, I wouldn’t leave his side even if his bodyguards attempted to throw me out the third floor window.
“Won’t employees get suspicious if they see the doctor going upstairs with medical supplies?”
“Doc brought the stuff I can’t buy. He made me a list of what we need. I’ll get it at Wal-Mart after the bar closes. He won’t be checking on him every day.”
>
“Why not? I don’t know how to clean wounds or replace his IV—”
“I do,” Big Mike said.
“You? How?”
“Army medic during Desert Storm. Trust me. If something happens I can’t handle, I’ll be the first one on the phone to the doc.”
“Good.” That made me feel better. I crushed out 297
my cigarette. “I’ll make a grocery list. How many of you guys will be on guard?”
“Two. Me round the clock in here. Cal and Bucket will take turns outside.” Big Mike slowly pushed to his feet. “Thanks for doing this for us.”
I looked up at him. “It’s for me as much as it is for him. I can’t believe …” My gaze wandered to the bedroom door. Knowing what lay behind it, I closed my eyes against a tidal wave of tears. I drew my knees up to my chest and sank my teeth into my kneecaps to keep from sobbing hysterically.
Be strong. No crybabies allowed. You can do this. You have to do this. For him. For you.
When I lifted my head, Big Mike recognized my hard-won emotional battle and awkwardly patted my shoulder. “He’s gonna be okay, Julie.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, especially now that you’re here.”
“Did he doubt I’d show?”
“Not for a single second.”
That made me want to start crying all over again. 298
We were on Day Three of fussing over Martinez and everyone’s patience was wearing thin.
I made myself scarce while Big Mike and No-neck herded Martinez into the shower. It was pointless to get upset over Tony not wanting my help. I understood his pride even when it stung mine. Being stuck in these windowless rooms was taking a toll on me. I’d watched the third season of Deadwood. I napped. I cooked but couldn’t eat much. I smoked. I obsessively checked on Martinez. Probably good he slept a lot. My fretting would set him on edge.
One thing I hadn’t done was cry.
The bathroom door opened and I heard the
clatter of metal crutches. Low male voices. Tony’s snappish response. I hadn’t asked how they’d explain 299
Martinez’s injury after our supposed return from the long weekend. He wasn’t healed. But if anyone could will himself to heal faster, it’d be him.
After the bedroom door closed, I trudged to the shower. The scent of Tony’s woodsy shampoo and lime shaving cream lingered in the humid air. An odd sense of longing swamped me as I stripped. Although I’d scarcely left his side, it seemed I hadn’t seen him for a week.
Had Tony felt that way during my stay in the hospital after the showdown with Leticia? It’d taken me weeks to find my balance.
Unfortunately, hot water didn’t turn my restlessness into lethargy. I exited the bathroom in Martinez’s oversized silk robe, expecting to hear the TV blaring as Hombres security killed time in the living room. But the suite was unexpectedly empty. The doors were locked with a note from Big Mike asking me to engage the dead bolts.
Huh.
I crept inside the darkened bedroom. A barechested Martinez sprawled in the middle of the mattress, a plain white sheet covering the lower half of his body. He’d shoved the pile of pillows over to my side of the bed. Typical. He hated pillows; he preferred to use me. I watched him sleeping. Part of me didn’t want to disturb him; part of me couldn’t stomach twiddling my thumbs in the living room, especially if we were 300
alone for the first time in days. Truth was, I needed to be near him. I tried not to jiggle the bed as I crawled on and tossed the pillows to the floor.
Martinez automatically tucked my body against his, twining his fingers in my hair so we were touching from head to toe. I finally relaxed.
“So damn tired,” he mumbled.
“I know.”
“Stay.”
“I am.” I kissed a tattoo-free section of bronze skin above his nipple and closed my eyes.
A series of gunshots woke me.
Terror beat from every pore; my heart thumped like a subwoofer. Where was I?
I caught a whiff of antiseptic. Then I remembered. I was in the suite above Bare Assets, not in a dirty alley in Sturgis surrounded by the putrid scents of restaurant grease and vomit.
But where was Martinez? I shifted and my hand smoothed down a muscled torso I knew as well as my own.
The skin was slick with sweat, not blood. No holes in his gut. I squinted at him. His brown eyes weren’t open and vacant with death. His lips weren’t bloodless and parted in a final parody of surprise.
Squeezing my eyes shut didn’t block the nightmare image: Jackal brandishing an oldfashioned pistol, laughing at my anguished shrieks as he emptied 301
the cylinder into Martinez’s chest. Laughing at my hair, my clothes, my skin, my soul, all awash in blood. Tony’s blood.
The unshed tears poured out, grief so raw, so real, I was living that alternate universe. Even when Martinez’s heart beat strong and steady beneath my ear, and his chest rose and fell beneath my palm, I couldn’t make the dream fade.
Get control of yourself, Julie.
My tenuous hold on my emotions snapped like a cheap rubber band. I cried in silent misery, half-crazy with fear, half-dizzy with relief.
I couldn’t fathom going through gut-wrenching pain again. How would I survive another loss in my life? Especially him? I couldn’t. I’d break. I was damn close now.
Martinez’s fingers tightened in my hair a second before he said, “Don’t.”
Instead of laughing off his stern warning, air left my lungs in a frightened stutter and I sobbed harder. His chest was slippery, as wet as my face. My fingernails left crescent-shaped marks on his pectorals as I clutched him.
“Julie.”
“I-I’m—”
“Ssh.”
“I-I c-can’t—”
“Stop.”
Tears blurred my vision. “I can’t—”
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“Try.”
“Oh, God, I’m suffocating.”
“Ssh, baby, just breathe.”
“I can’t stop thinking”—I swallowed hard and my voice came out a hoarse whisper—“that you could’ve died.”
An oppressive pause settled between us.
“But I didn’t.”
His gruff denial didn’t shame my tears into submission. In fact, it had the opposite effect. The harder I fought for control, the more elusive it became. My whole body shook.
“Julie.”
Breathe. In. Out.
“Calm down.”
A hiccupping cry escaped. “I can’t be calm because you can’t promise me you won’t die. You can’t promise this isn’t the last time someone will try to kill you.”
Tony’s soothing circular caresses in the center of my spine stopped.
I gulped air. My salty tears and inability to suck enough oxygen into my lungs reinforced the sensation I was drowning.
“Blondie.”
I burrowed into the spot where his arm and torso connected, searching for his warmth, using his flesh as a sound barrier, finding his scent as a balm to prove he was real.
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“Look at me.”
No.
He tugged my hair, gently at first. When I wouldn’t budge, he pulled harder, trying to force my head back.
“I said: Look. At. Me.”
Slowly, I raised my chin and met his eyes.
Martinez placed his palm on my cheek, using his thumb to wick away the moisture from my face. He curled his hand around the back of my neck to urge me closer. “No more. Hit me. Jesus. It’d hurt less than wearing your tears.”
“I can’t—”
Then his mouth was on mine. Not the gentle
communing of souls kiss I expected. But hunger. The need he showed only to me. He hauled my torso higher, alongside his.
The sensations of his taste, his scent, his warmth flowed over me as I let him lead us where we both wanted to go, understanding the importance of him proving to me he could still take us there.
In the
silence of the room, his rough-skinned hands made a loud scratching sound on the delicate silk as he slid it down my body on the outside of the robe. His lips moved to my ear. “Take it off.”
“Tony, you’re—”
“Fine.” He tugged on the sash until the knot gave way.
“But I’ll hurt you.”
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“Only if you say no.” Hot, sweet, wet, hungry kisses tracked my throat, making me tremble and arch against him. “God. Please don’t say no. I need this.”
Not, I need you.
I went rigid, even when certain parts of my body had already gone pliant and damp with anticipation.
“You need this.”
The damn tears started again. He knew me so well. Martinez kissed me as he peeled the robe away, baring me completely to his expert touch. He flattened his palm on my left hip and leisurely followed the bend in my waist up to my rib cage. His fingertips idly caressed the underswell of my breast. Rubbing his lips over mine in a seductive, wet glide, he murmured,
“I’m not dead, blondie.”
“But—”
“But if you don’t stop crying and put your hands on me right now, I might actually kill you.”
I managed a laugh and he kissed the corners of my mouth. Only he had the ability to change my mood from fear to fire so quickly.
After drugging me with more soul-stealing kisses, he pressed his forehead to mine. “Not so easy being on the other side of the sickbed, is it?”
“No.” I slid my mouth over his freshly shaven cheek, letting my hot breath flow into his ear, eliciting his deep shiver. Then I nipped his lobe with my teeth.
“I prefer to be on top anyway.”
“How well I know that.”
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I teased him with little whips of my tongue on the muscles straining in his throat while I eased the lightweight fabric sheet from his injured thigh. My lips mimicked the path my fingers created, trailing from his neck down his torso, leaving a sweet, breathy kiss on the wound on his rib cage, gradually making my way across the muscles quivering in his belly to his right hip, down to where the gauze covered his wound. I circled a string of kisses around the bandage. He hissed.
“You sure this won’t hurt you?”
“No.”
Not the answer I wanted. My gaze connected to his across his battered body.
“But I’d rather take the chance it’ll hurt than play it safe and feel nothing.”
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