One Touch More (16 page)

They'd missed his femoral artery, so at least he didn't have to worry about bleeding out in the next two minutes. So he guessed he could rack that up in the plus column. “I'll live.” That didn't mean he wouldn't bleed to death slowly if he didn't get the wound closed up soon. “Just get me back to my car.”

Going to the hospital was pretty much out of the question. When someone came in with a gunshot wound, the police were automatically notified. But if he could shake Joey long enough to get ahold of Gates, they could get him to the hospital and have his leg taken care of discreetly. Damien let his head loll back on the headrest. The adrenaline rush was starting to wear off, and his thigh pulsed in an agonizing rhythm in time with the beat of his heart.

Joey Cavello had almost gotten his ass killed tonight and the only thought that had run through Damien's head was the fact that he might not ever see Tabitha again.

Chapter Seventeen

Tabitha checked her reflection in the rearview mirror one last time before getting out of her car. Sort of pointless in the low light of the parking lot's floodlights, but whatever. Her stomach was tied into so many knots, she doubted they would ever fully untangle, and her heart fluttered in her chest with the speed of a hummingbird's wings. She hadn't called to see if it was okay to come over. Maybe she should have.
Crap
.

It was only fifteen minutes later than when she'd come to the hotel last night. Surely, she'd given Damien enough time to have everything wrapped up for the night. As she pulled the master key card from her back pocket, Tabitha took stock of her outfit. Why did it matter at this point that she dressed to impress? Last night she'd shown up in her pj's. Ugh. She was
so
head over heels smitten with him it was pathetic.

She smoothed her palms over the denim of her skinny jeans, tucked into the Doc Martens combat boots—the most expensive pair of shoes she owned and her prized possession—with the black satin laces. The baggy black tank beneath her leather jacket with “hope” scrawled across the front in large white letters might not have been the best choice. Did the word broadcast some subliminal message? Make her look too desperate? God, what had she been
thinking
? Of course it made her look desperate! She might as well show up at his door, with
I'm begging you to fuck me
scrawled across her forehead in Sharpie.

Feet frozen in midstep, Tabitha turned on her heel and hoofed it back toward her car. She stopped again. Turned. Turned again. And once more back toward the hotel.
Oh, for fuck's sake!
She was making herself dizzy. He'd bent her over the bed and ordered her to bare her ass to him and they'd barely known each other. Called her last night and demanded that she present herself, front and center, within ten minutes' time. What did it matter what was printed on her shirt? If tonight went like any of their previous encounters, she doubted he'd take the time to even notice.

This time, the falter in her step had nothing to do with trepidation. Tabitha picked up her pace, jogging across the parking lot in her haste to get to Damien. The thought of his massive hands on her, cupping her breasts, his fingers kneading the globes of her ass . . . A delicious heat licked up her spine as she inserted her key card into the hotel's back entrance. Sneaky, sure. But she didn't want the night auditor—or anyone else—to see her there tonight. Dave knew about Damien and that was enough. None of her other coworkers needed to know what was going on between them.

Especially Sandy. If word got back that Tabitha was violating company policy by “fraternizing” with a guest, well, she doubted she'd get a high-five from her manager.

Her stomach floated in her abdomen as though suspended in space as the elevator took her to the fifth floor. Anticipation curved her lips in a secretive smile as she imagined what Damien's reaction to seeing her might be. Would he order her inside, like he had last night? Direct her in that commanding tone that made her shiver? She'd come prepared to play, the package of condoms tucked into her pocket. Presumptuous? You betcha. But she didn't care. Her want of Damien superseded good sense and caution.

Her knuckles made contact with the door, a tentative knock.

Breath stalled in her chest, she waited. When the door swung open she flashed an expectant smile, only to have it melt in an instant.

“Shit. Tonight must be my lucky night.”

Tabitha's heart pounded for an entirely different reason as she took in the leer that stretched across Tony's face. What was he doing here? Where was Damien? Shit. Shit, shit,
shit
! She took a quick step backward, desperate to put as much distance between them as possible, when Tony pulled a handgun from the waistband of his jeans, letting his arm hang loosely at his side.

“Don't run off yet, girl,” he said with a noticeable slur. “I think you oughta come in.”

Nothing about Tony's words or demeanor suggested that Tabitha should turn him down. His pupils were pinpricks in his dull gray eyes, and not even close to tracking. She wondered what Joey would think if he knew that one of his guys was sampling the product he was supposed to be selling. One thing Tabitha had learned hanging out with dirtbags like Tony: when someone was this high, it was best to proceed with a shitload of caution. The canister of pepper spray Damien had given her was tucked into her glove box—a lot of good it was doing her there!—and she didn't feel like testing Tony's mettle by turning him down.

He tapped the barrel of the 9mm on his thigh impatiently, agitation showing in his features.

“Okay, Tony.” Tabitha felt as though the hallway was closing in on her, forcing her toward the open doorway. “I'll come in. But maybe you should put that away first,” she said, indicating the gun.

Tony snorted and brought the gun up as though inspecting it. “Don't tell me what to do. You're not such a smart-mouthed bitch when I have this, are you?”

There wasn't enough oxygen in the world to fill Tabitha's lungs as she stepped into the suite. The door closed behind her with a finality that might as well have been the lid on her own coffin slamming down.

From the looks of the room, Tony had partied like a rock star tonight. The small dinette table in the far corner of the sitting area was strewn with pot, pills, and powder. Several discarded beer bottles lay strewn on the floor, and a half-empty fifth of tequila sat on the dresser in the bedroom area. It was a wonder he was still standing after what he'd put into his body. It certainly wouldn't do anything to make him less volatile. Tabitha made sure to stay close to the door, ready to bolt the first chance she got. Tony kept an eagle eye on her though, even as he staggered to the dresser where he snagged the bottle of tequila.

“Sit down and have a drink.”

“I think I'll stand.”

Tony brought the gun up and aimed it at Tabitha's face. “I said to sit your ass down.”

Her pulse quickened, the adrenaline coursing so quickly through her veins that she became light-headed and her vision blurred. “Sure.” Her voice quavered on the word as she swallowed down her nerves. “We're fine, right, Tony? No need to get upset.”

He all but collapsed into a chair at the dinette, kicking out the one across from him in invitation. Tabitha balled her hands into fists, steeled herself against the tremor that rattled from her hair follicles to the tips of her toes. She never should have come here.

With a pop, Tony pulled the cork from the bottle of Patrón and slid it across the table. “Drink.”

“No cup?” Nervous laughter fluttered from her throat as she lowered herself into the chair beside Tony. He slung one arm over the back of the chair, one leg jutting out in front of him. So gangster.
Please
.

“What, you don't wanna share a bottle that my mouth's been on?” Tony brandished the 9mm for emphasis, his finger too close to the trigger for Tabitha's comfort. “Too dirty for you, princess?”

“No.” Yes.
God, yes
. She'd rather lick a Dumpster than put her mouth near anything Tony had touched. She indicated the wide, flat rim of the bottle. “It's just a little awkward to drink from, don't you think?”

“How 'bout I pour it down my body and you suck it off my cock. That any less awkward for you?”

Tabitha snatched up the bottle and brought it to her lips. On her list of preferred libations, tequila ranked just below toilet water. She gagged as the liquor hit the back of her throat, the pungent odor only adding to her disgust. Tony reached across the table and tipped the bottle, sending rivulets pouring down either side of Tabitha's mouth and dribbling from her chin. Her eyes watered as she began to choke and splutter, only adding to the mess that Tony was making. Hands wrapped firmly around the neck of the bottle, she jerked it down, slamming it onto the table with a splash.

“If I didn't know any better, I'd assume you think you're too good to sit and have a drink with me.” Tony pushed himself out of his chair, leaned over the table with a rolled-up bill, and snorted a line of the white powder from the table. He sniffed, his eyes watering before he leaned over and inhaled a second line, his legs barely able to support his weight. Another loud sniff rent the silence and he wiped at his nose as he leaned in close. “But since you seemed to be okay fucking Joey, I know that's not the case. Right?”

“Tony—”

“You're giving it up to that new guy, too, aren't you? Damien.” Tony's rueful tone sent a ripple of fear over Tabitha's skin. “Are you fucking him, Tabs?”

Armed or not, she wasn't going to stay here and play the victim. He was trying to rattle her. Intimidate her. She shot up from the chair and spun on a heel, put as much forward momentum as she could into running, when Tony reached out and snagged her wrist. With enough force to jar her neck, he whipped her around and pulled her tight against his chest. Before she could push away, he brought the barrel of the gun to her temple, the metal digging painfully into her skin.

“You're not going anywhere,” he snarled in her ear. “It's time for Damien to share.”

Damien paused next to the open door of his Shelby and pushed against it with enough force to take the damned thing right off the hinges. His leg was screaming at him, pain radiating from his thigh clear up into his hip. After Joey had dropped him off in the hotel parking lot like a sack of grain on the side of the road, his first instinct had been to call Gates or John Rader over at Boise PD and head for the hospital. But those plans fell by the wayside the second he noticed Tabitha's 4Runner parked a few spaces down.
Fuck
. Tony was here tonight and she'd already had one close call with the bastard. The bullet wound in his leg could wait until he knew that she was okay.

Seeing her car in the hotel parking lot was enough to throw him into a full-blown panic. But when she didn't answer her phone, his anxiety skyrocketed. She didn't work Saturday nights, which meant she must be there to see him. How fucking long had she been there? And more importantly, who was Damien going to have to kill if anything had happened to her?

His thigh muscle twitched, his entire leg growing stiffer by the second. “Mother
fucker
.” Damien ground his teeth to the point he was pretty sure there wasn't any enamel left, swallowing down the shout of pain that lodged in his throat. With a sound that echoed throughout the parking lot, he slammed the Shelby's door and headed for the side entrance of the hotel. Blood pooled in his shoe, making a sickening squishing sound with every step, and his jeans adhered to his leg and were stained crimson. Thank God it was past midnight and his chances of running into anyone would be slim. He jerked open the side entrance door and beelined it for the elevator. With each violent punch of his fist on the call button, Damien uttered a curse under his breath, his stomach knotting up tighter with each contact. The fucking stairs would have been faster, though at this point he was having a hard enough time just putting one foot in front of the other. Stairs would have hurt like a bitch.

By the time the elevator deposited him on the fifth floor, Damien was worked into a lather. The pain in his leg ebbed from the renewed burst of endorphins and he picked up his pace to a limping jog as he pulled the forty caliber Joey had given him from his waistband and chambered a round. If that slimy bastard laid even a finger on her, he was going to—

The sound of a scuffle sounded from behind the closed door, and Tabitha's muffled scream caused Damien's heart to jump up into his throat. He stabbed his extra key card into the lock and threw open the door, rushing into the room with a red haze of fury clouding his vision. Past the sitting area, Damien found Tabitha sprawled out on the bed, Tony on top of her as she struggled against him. The bastard had one hand over her mouth, the other between them, fumbling with the button on her pants.

A fierce growl erupted from Damien's throat as he grabbed Tony by the collar of his shirt at the scruff of his neck and hauled him off of Tabitha for the second time in two weeks. “I told you that if you so much as looked at her again, I would end you.” He gave the other man a rough shake and Tony let out a pained yelp. The forty fell from Damien's grip and his fingers curled into a tight fist that shook from the anger built up in his system. With a shove, he put Tony at arm's length before pulling back his fist and letting it fly. It connected with the other man's face in a resounding
pop
that echoed off the walls and caused blood to pour from Tony's nose.

“I fucking warned you,” Damien snarled as he hit Tony again, this time splitting his lip. His fist connected with Tony's face over and over, the force behind his blows increasing with each word. “You don't touch her.”
Slam
. “You don't look at her.”
Slam
. “You don't even think about her.”
Slam
.