Dead Flowers

by Lori Armstrong

  She’d gone pale as a zombie.

  “Get up right fucking now or I’ll pull you up by your hair.”

  “Jesus, Julie, stop it,” Martinez snapped.

  His anger just fueled mine. “You willing to fight for him? Because I sure as fuck am.” I closed my hands into fists, planning exactly where I’d place the first punch. “Get to your feet and show me what you’ve got.”

  “Please don’t hurt me.” She scooted away until her spine hit the back couch cushion. “Oh. My. God. Is that your blood? Or blood from the last person you beat up?”

  I briefly glanced down at my knuckles, skinned up and bloodied from punching the wall.

  “Why the hell is Julie bleeding?” Martinez demanded of Cal.

  “I won’t be the only one bleeding if someone doesn’t tell me what the hell is going on.”

  The cornered woman began to babble. “Mr. Martinez hired my design firm to reconfigure the office spaces here and at Bare Assets.”

  “You can’t lie worth shit. You’re meeting with Tony in his private office, at a biker bar, to discuss a work project... on Valentine’s Day? Not buying it.”

  “But it’s true! There can’t be any record of the redesign plans because of his security issues, so he hired me off the books to do this and some, ah, other stuff. The only time we can meet is after hours.”

  “Then why did you have coffee with him in public at Dunn Brothers this morning?”

  No response. Tony didn’t jump in to explain either.

  I fumed. The fact this interloper wore skintight jeans, a fringed leather halter and stiletto boots pegged my bullshit meter. “Don’t you Martha Stewart types usually go for a classier style than slutty biker bitch?”

  I heard Big Mike laugh and cover it with a cough before Martinez snarled at him.

  She started to get off the couch. “I really need to go now.”

  “Stay. Put. You move and I’ll tackle your bony butt to the ground before I kick it.”

  “That’s enough,” Martinez barked. “Julie. Back off. Now.”

  “Kiss my ass, Martinez. This is between me and her. Get a bucket because I’m gonna wipe the floor with her.”

  “For Christ’s sake... Mike. Grab her.”

  Before I could land a single punch, steel bands crushed my arms to my sides. I thrashed while Little Miss Interior Design scurried out like the rat she was.

  Once she was out of my sight, Big Mike carried me to the bedroom, tossed me on the bed and locked me in.

  What the hell was that about?

  I leapt off the bed in such a state of fury I tripped and fell on my hands and knees. First thing I noticed was the stanky-ass army green shag had been replaced with plush dark brown carpet. I looked around the room, scarcely recognizing the space. It resembled a pricey hotel suite, with a king-sized bed, a small sitting area, built in bookcases surrounding a big screen TV. I pushed to my feet and opened the door to what used to be a closet. Holy crap. Talk about a fancy bathroom. Done up in black and white with chrome fixtures, with a glass-walled shower, two pedestal sinks and one entire wall covered in mirrored tiles.

  The space smelled like Tony so I knew this was where he’d been staying. Had he fixed this up because he needed a place to get away... from me?

  That hurt worse than the idea he was cheating on me.

  A wave of nausea scalded my insides, followed by a white-hot slice of pain. If there’d been a window, I would’ve crawled out of it.

  Stumbling back to the bedroom, I perched on the edge of the bed, waiting to be released from my private hell, caught in this gilded cage that hadn’t been built for me.

  When the locks clicked, I fought my natural urge to come up swinging.

  “Julie?” Big Mike said gently. “Tony is waiting for you.”

  “I don’t give a...” I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. I would not give him the satisfaction of my anger. I sure as hell wouldn’t cry. Fuck him. I wouldn’t even obey his edict.

  Holding my head up, I left the posh bedroom and kept walking right on by the living area where Tony waited.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Martinez asked.

  “As far away from you as I can get.” In the entryway, I looked on the floor for my purse.

  No sign of it.

  Cal blocked the only exit. If Tony told him to keep me in, I was trapped. Even if I did manage to make it out, I had no keys. No cell phone. No money.

  Bastards. Every fucking one of them.

  I pressed my back against the wall, slid to the floor and rested my forehead on my knees, curling into a tight ball. Martinez had no right to make me feel this way. Like I’d stepped over the line. This was his fault. Not mine. I had to force myself to breathe slowly and steadily or I’d turn into a raging lunatic. Or maybe I already was.

  Voices bounced to me. Big Mike’s. Tony’s. Corny’s. Not hers. Had Tony sent her away from his psycho soon to be ex-girlfriend?

  A knee popped and leather creaked as someone knelt in front of me. My heart raced.

  “Blondie.”

  “Leave me alone, Martinez.”

  “No.”

  His callused fingertips touched my face and I flinched.

  But that didn’t deter him. He kept stroking my cheek. “Look at me.”

  Petulant girl wanted to deny his command. I managed to meet his gaze, but jerked my head from his touch.

  Tony had gone beyond pissed off to the lethally quiet anger that made everyone around him tread lightly.

  Of course, I didn’t pay any heed. “Give me back my damn purse.”

  “I shouldn’t ever give it back since you showed up here armed.”

  I raised my chin and stared at him coolly. “Keep the stupid gun. You gave it to me anyway. Just let me go.”

  “Fine. Corny will get your truck and drive you home. He’s on duty at ten tonight.” He rose, said something, and Corny took off.

  Without asking permission, I walked to the back door and bailed outside. When my pickup pulled up, I motioned Corny to the passenger side so I could drive. My purse was in the seat. I fired up a Marlboro so fast I nearly singed my fingertips.

  For once I was glad my Hombres babysitter was silent. I smoked one cigarette after another, obsessing that Martinez had neither confirmed nor denied sexual involvement with the slutty Martha Stewart wannabe.

  Did he really think I’d sweep this under the rug?

  No. He knew me better than that. I knew me better than that. I’d set the fucking rug on fire. Then I’d beat it down with the broom until nothing remained but cinders in my search for the truth.

  After parking in the garage, I entered my side of the house, slamming the door in Corny’s face. In my foul mood, I saw two choices. Blurring the edges of my anger with Don Julio tequila, or taking my frustrations out on Martinez’ punching bag.

  Why not do both?

  I snatched the tequila, changed into baggy boxing shorts and a black sports bra before I headed upstairs. Tony was a fiend about working out and had installed a full gym in the extra bedroom. I took a long pull off the bottle before I slipped on a pair of weight lifting gloves. I cranked the Drowning Pool tracks on the iPod stereo and started warming up with the heavy bag.

  Not hard at first. Just a steady connection of my fists to canvas. My muscles loosened. My resolve strengthened.

  First, I saw Natalie Brunson’s face. One slip-up and destined to be branded a cheater forever.

  Right. Left. Right. Right. Right.

  Then I saw Glen Bueller’s face. Too much of a wuss to verbally confront his wife about their marriage issues.

  Right. Left. Right. Left.

  Then I saw my cheating ex-husband’s face when I’d caught him, yet again, with lipstick on his collar and his zipper undone.

  Fucker. I swigged from the bottle and went back to beating on the bag as “Bodies” blasted from the speakers.

  Jab. Jab. Jab. Right uppercut. Left uppercut. Jab. Jab. Jab. Left upper
cut. Right uppercut.

  Martinez’ face swam into view and I blinked the sweat from my eyes. Sweat, goddammit. Not tears. I hit the bag harder. And harder. Pissed off at him. Pissed off at myself. Scared I was so in love with him I’d forgive him anything. Even infidelity.

  I pummeled the bag until I couldn’t stay upright. Until I had to sag against the canvas to catch my breath. But I could still reach the tequila and I sucked down two long swallows.

  “You’re hesitating during that sequence,” Martinez said behind me. “Your body language gives away your intent.”

  “Everyone’s a critic.” I peeled off the gloves and used a towel to mop my face. I sensed his hard stare as I booked it from the room.

  I’d reached the kitchen when a strong hand on my bicep spun me around.

  “Jesus, Julie, you’re bleeding.” Before I uttered a word, Tony herded me to the sink and shoved my hands under cold water. Then he stomped to the adjoining door and threw it open. “Mike, get in here and bring your first aid kit.”

  Rather than stir the pot further, I kept my mouth firmly closed. I didn’t fight when Martinez gently dried my hands and settled me in a kitchen chair. Big Mike applied antibacterial ointment and bandages to my ravaged knuckles. When Tony paced in front of me, I sure as hell didn’t ask why he’d changed into workout attire similar to mine, long black boxing shorts and a skin-tight wife beater. How cute. We even wore matching sneers.

  As soon as Big Mike finished, he disappeared through the adjoining door. A door that Martinez locked.

  A door that was never locked from our side.

  Oh, this was not a good sign.

  I had the overwhelming urge to run.

  Then I heard the sliding glass door open and close behind me. I didn’t turn around.

  “You calmed down?” he asked.

  “Don’t try to placate me, Martinez. I have a right to be pissed.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes.” I looked at my bandaged knuckles.

  Martinez moved in front of me and tossed something at my feet. “Lulu was right. I bought flowers. For you. Wanna see them? Go ahead,” he said. “They’re pretty, aren’t they? Pretty fucking dead.”

  I saw a blackish-green stems sticking out from the end of dull green wax paper. If I used my imagination I could see that the brown, crinkled heads had been white blooms at one time. I’d never been so happy to see dead flowers in my life. I finally glanced at him.

  Tony was in his usual defiant posture. Arms crossed. Jaw rigid. His face, his beautiful, masculine face, held a look I’d never seen.

  “What happened?”

  “Evidently, I wasn’t supposed to leave them on the seat of my car for eighteen hours when it’s below zero.” He threw up his hands. “How was I supposed to know that? I’ve never bought goddamn flowers for a woman in my life. And when I do? I kill them and then you think I’ve been...”

  Cheating. Showering another woman with flowers that should’ve been mine.

  Some of the doubts plaguing me lessened. Some, not all. I picked up the bouquet. Frozen solid.

  “I didn’t notice they looked like that until it was too late. I was too... fucking embarrassed to show you that night. Christ. I couldn’t even laugh about it. So I hid them on the deck.”

  You sweet, stupid, prideful man.

  Of course, I couldn’t say that. But I probably shouldn’t have said, “Tony, are you cheating on me?” either.

  A heartbeat or two passed.

  “That’s the second time you’ve asked me that.”

  “And that’s the second time you haven’t answered a direct question from me.”

  He sighed.

  I’d had it. I got up and walked out.

  Halfway up the stairs I heard him say, “Where are you going?”

  “To get my snow boots because it’s getting deep in here.”

  I figured he’d follow me. I returned to the workout room for my tequila. I’d taken a couple of healthy sips and looky there. Mr. Bad Boy himself lounged in the doorway, every muscled, tattooed inch a feast for my senses.

  “You shouldn’t be drinking while you’re working out,” he said.

  “You shouldn’t be in here giving me shitty advice when I’m pissed off at you and drinking,” I retorted.

  Martinez smiled. “I’ll take my chances.” Then he stalked me.

  I didn’t offer him any Don Julio before I set it on the floor. We faced each other on the sparring mat. Circling, crouching, about to change the parameters of this fight.

  “You wanna go a couple rounds with me?” Martinez asked. “Shadow boxing? No contact?”

  I snorted. “Dude. Weren’t you like Colorado’s Golden Gloves Boxing champion or something?”

  “National Champion in my weight class. Three years running.” He did some fancy footwork, a fast-jabbing set of moves that showcased his skill, his power and his highlighted his lean, muscular physique. “It’s what paid my way through college.”

  This is what I missed. Us together, talking, hanging out, discovering new little things about each other, like any other normal couple. But Martinez was a master at distracting me. And I’d started to fall for it again without getting the answers I deserved.

  I planned to tackle him, using my new self-defense skills—third time was a charm—but before I made my move the sneaky fucker was all up in my face.

  “So that’s a no to shadow boxing? Fine. Then we’ll grapple.”

  I’d barely opened my mouth to protest, when I found myself spun around, flipped flat on my back on the mat and Tony hanging on all fours above me.

  I laid there like a log.

  “Come on, blondie. Fight back.”

  “I’m tired of fighting with you, Martinez.”

  His eyes searched my face. “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He lowered his mouth to mine. His kiss wasn’t passionate. Wasn’t sweet. It was thorough. Very, very thorough in the way that heated my blood, fuzzed my brain and damn near liquefied my bones.

  He pulled back from the kiss with great reluctance. His gaze bored into mine. “Julie.”

  “Tony.”

  We stared at each other, breathing hard, eyes guarded.

  “Last chance,” I said softly. “Tell me the truth. Either way. I have to know.”

  “You really gonna make me say it to you?”

  I nodded, hating how fast my heart beat in those four seconds before his mouth moved.

  “I am not cheating on you. I’d never cheat on you.”

  I waited, watching his facial expression change from wariness to fierceness.

  “I love you. I love you like a fuckin’ mad man. How can you not know that? How could you believe, even for a split second, that I’d ever look at another woman, touch another woman, when I have you in my life and in my bed?” He twined a section of my long hair around his finger and pulled hard enough to get my attention. “Jesus, blondie. What will it take to convince you that I’m not fucking around when we’ve got this between us? You’re it for me. You always will be.”

  In that moment, I felt the truth of his words lodge deep within me, in a place where doubt couldn’t get a foothold. This life-hardened man, who never showed anyone weakness, reminded me that I was his safe haven. I gave him something he couldn’t get from anyone else. He did the same for me. I reached up and curled my hand around his face. “I miss you.”

  “Same.” Tony kissed the crook of my elbow. “I gotta admit as shitty as these last two months have been, I seriously got off on you storming into my office today and showing that tough-girl side I haven’t seen in a while.”

  “You did?”

  Martinez flashed the devilish grin that usually made me start stripping. “Yeah. Would you really have fought for me?”

  “In a heartbeat. First, I would’ve kicked her ass. Then yours.” I pulled him down for another kiss. A hotter kiss. The kind of deep soul kiss that brought forth his primitive growl. I trailed my lips up th
e strong line of his jaw, to his ear. “I love you. The thought of you leaving me for someone else…”

  “Blondie,” he murmured in my hair, “that ain’t ever gonna happen.”

  He eased back when I sat up.

  “You say that… but I’m just supposed to ignore the signs of you pulling away? You prefer sleeping at Fat Bob’s or Bare Assets to sleeping with me. We moved in together to be together. And then I find out you’ve been turning your private office spaces into personal living spaces? Like you needed a place to get away from me.”

  “That’s what you think?”

  “I don’t know what to think.”

  “I think your nosiness, Miz PI”—he lightly touched the tip of my nose—“has ruined my big surprise for you.”

  “Yeah, right. So explain the bimbo in your office. And why you had coffee with her today.”

  He sighed at my skeptical look and grabbed the tequila, taking a swig. “You don’t give an inch, do you?”

  I shrugged and snatched the bottle from him.

  “I hired Gina, the interior design specialist that you so charmingly threatened tonight, to upgrade office interiors while we shored up external security issues. As we were talking, I mentioned hating the place that you and I moved into, and I hated being bound to those same security precautions outside of the clubs.”

  “Still confused about why you couldn’t tell me any of this.”

  Martinez rested on his haunches. “Guilt. You’ve given up a lot to be with me. And right before Thanksgiving, I realized I haven’t met you halfway on anything.”

  “You sort of are the ‘my way or the highway’ guy, El Presidente.”

  “True. It’s not fair to you. Not fair to tell you that your friends aren’t allowed at our place. Anyway, Gina’s been a go-getter since the Hombres, ah, handled her brother’s problem last fall. She made the spaces at both Bare Assets and Fat Bob’s less of an embarrassment for someone in my position. I thought maybe you’d be willing to crash there with me on nights I can’t get home.”

  “I’d live in a milk crate with you,” I murmured. “It’s never been about atmosphere for us.”

  “I know, but you deserve a nice place. Anyway, Gina found two houses, side by side, in town, not way the fuck out in the middle of cow county like this place. Houses I purchased that are being retro-fitted to my security specs.”