McQUEEN: Las Vegas Bad Boys (17 page)

"Well, it's your lucky day. You can see it now."

"No," I say, screaming again, thrashing against the wall in an attempt to free myself, to break away. "You're supposed to be the good guy, Kit. The one who's looking out for me. Not this man."

How could I have been so wrong about him?

He pushes his body against mine. Forcing me into submission as he holds my arms over my head. I can’t move.

I know I'm tough, I know I'm strong, but right now, I need someone to rescue me from myself.

* * *

Five minutes later I'm in my car. I'm gonna find my woman before she gets herself in trouble.

She never wanted to call the cops about her crazy-assed stalker, and for all I know he's kidnapped her and is crossing state lines.

I can't call her brothers even if I wanted to, because they sure as fuck aren't listed in the yellow pages.

Calling them isn't an option anyway. If JoJo and I are gonna have a chance at happiness, we've gotta get as far from her family’s clutches as possible.

Connecting to Bluetooth, I dial her number again as I drive, but it goes straight to voicemail. Exhaling, I turn into the gym parking lot. This is the only place I can imagine JoJo going. If she's not here, I’ll have to figure out where her sister lives, where Lucy lives ... and then my last resort will be showing up at her father's house again.

But damn it, I hope to God she isn't there.

I pull to a stop in the lot, relief flooding me when I see her car.

Okay. Maybe I overreacted a little bit. I look at my bandaged hand holding the steering wheel. It hurts like hell, but shit, thinking she was gone, that she had left me, with no one protecting her, freaked me out. She has no fucking clue how serious this stalker shit is.

I told her about my baby sister, and I don't think she understands the lengths freaks go to when they get obsessed. There’s no more reason, no logic. They can only see their prize.

And JoJo wasn't willing to tell the cops, but fuck, I should have just called them myself. Which I'm gonna do. I'm gonna walk into the gym, and I'm gonna get my girl, and then we're marching to the police station and telling them everything.

I'm not letting her out of my sight again unless I’m guaranteed that she's safe.

Thank God she's here with Kit; his gym has gotta be the safest place in Vegas.

I park my car next to hers and run to the entrance, letting myself feel a small prick of happiness that she didn't run back home to her father.

I pull on the doors, but they're locked. I look at my watch; it's eight-forty. I frown. The gym doesn't technically open for another twenty minutes, but JoJo and Kit are both here.

I knock, wait. No one comes. I call Kit's number again, then JoJo's. Nothing. Makes sense—I mean, if they're working out they might have their phones put away.

But I'm feeling anxious. I just need to see JoJo, and then I'll be able to breathe regularly again.

I pull on the door, and see the lights are on. I pound louder. Nothing.

Frustrated, I wind around to the back of the building. It's an old warehouse that's been converted to a gym, but I know there are side entrances to the locker rooms that no one ever uses. Everyone just uses the main door.

I press on the door leading to the men's side and it doesn't budge. I walk around to the women's side. At first I think it's locked, but then I lean all my weight into the door and it pushes open.

I've never been back here, but it's a tiny little supply closet, with a ladder leading to a loft area.

I climb it, curious as to where it leads—and once I'm on the top rung, my heart stops.

This is where the voyeur watched JoJo and me. I don't even want to think about how many times. There’s a hole in the wall that gives a bird’s-eye view of the entire women's locker room. Feeling sick, I climb down, swallowing the bile rising in my mouth. What sick fucker is doing this?

I push through the locker room, not understanding why Ace's guys didn't close up the hole in the wall to make sure the view of JoJo was cut off.

The gym is empty, and I don't see JoJo's stuff anywhere. It's eerie, so quiet and still. Especially since I know JoJo and Kit are here.

Then I hear a cry. A whimper. Something crashing to the ground.

I run to where the sound is coming from, Kit’s office. The door's locked.

"JoJo, you okay? Baby, who is with you?"

She doesn't answer with words, just more cries, and I know someone has gotten to her. I push all my weight against the door, and when it doesn't give I kick it open.

Kit's holding her against a wall, and she's swinging wildly trying to get away. His pants are at his ankles, and she's screaming, kicking at him, trying to fight.

I don't ask questions, I push Kit off my woman, and then I punch him in the jaw. One solid jab, then another, drawing blood with my already raw hand. But I don't care if my bones are broken, all I care about is making sure no one breaks my girl.

He falls to the floor, and scrambles to get his pants on, standing up. A few punches aren't gonna take him down. He knows how to fight better than any man in Vegas.

But I'm not from Vegas. I'm from fucking middle America and I was raised to protect the ones I love. And I don't care if Kit knows how to fight in a ring, right now I’m fighting for my girl.

I serve another blow to his face, then another. The crack of bones sends flashes of fear through his eyes.

JoJo sobs behind me, and every tear she sheds fuels me. Kit gets in a few hits, but nothing is gonna take me down.

He punches me again, this time square across my jaw, and I step back, feeling a tooth knocked from my mouth.

Blood fills my mouth as I dodge his next hit. I pull up to my full height and don't hold back, putting all my heart and soul into the hit. It sends him back, falling onto the desk. The floor is littered with naked photographs of JoJo, and it makes me reach over the desk, choking him until he’s red in the face, gasping for breath, his arms waving, begging me to let go.

My hold is tight, and Jo screams behind me, pulling at my arms, begging me not to kill him.

I don't know where her mercy comes from, but I need her reality check. In a flash, I can see it clearly: finally getting my girl only to be sent to prison for murder.

I let go of Kit, knowing I'm not going to end his life. Pretty fucking ironic to say I don't want to be a mobster only to choke a man out the next day.

"Don't you dare move, you motherfucker," I tell him as he pants for breath, his face still red, coated in blood.

I take the hand of a shell-shocked JoJo, and lead her out of the office, running out of the building to my car.

"We have to go to the police," I tell her.

She doesn't speak. Her perfect brown eyes fill with tears. Her lips quiver; her hands shake.

"You're okay," I tell her, smoothing her hair. "I got you."

She doesn't answer, just gives me the slightest nod of her head.

In a million fucking years I never imagined her stalker to be the man we trusted. The man JoJo spent so much time with.

As I tear out of the parking lot, a black SUV crosses my path, reminding me that there is so much shady stuff in this town.

Its time I take my girl and never let her go.

W
alking
into the police station with McQueen causes eyes to turn our direction. His face is bloodied and bruised, and my face is full of terror. But I hold his non-bandaged hand so damn hard. No way am I letting go of him now. Or ever.

I just want to tell the police everything, so they can get Kit and lock him up. So that I never have to fear him walking down the street again, watching me.

We begin to give an officer our full report, starting with the first incident, and a crew is dispatched to the gym as we sit finishing our story. I blink back tears, hoping he’s been detained. That he hasn't gotten away.

I don't know what I'll do if he’s freely roaming the streets, around any corner. Waiting for me.

I start crying again, everything within me shattered.

My father broke my heart this morning, then Kit broke it all over again an hour later.

"Shh, it's okay, baby," McQueen says, wrapping his good arm around me. "Officer, what should we expect from here on out?"

The phone rings, and the Officer holds up a finger, letting us know he's taking the call.

"I'll be right there," he says into the phone. "Yes, call in backup." He hangs up the phone.

"Everything okay?" McQueen asks.

The Officer shakes his head grimly, and it's obvious the call stirred something. "Kit was at the gym."

"Oh, thank God," I say, letting out the breath I didn't know I was holding.

"He was found dead."

I cover my mouth, but a gasp still escapes. McQueen pulls me closer.

"It was a homicide," the officer says tightly. "And you are both being held for questioning."

* * *

M
cQueen calls Ace's lawyer
, Mark Denzel, so at least our asses are covered. We sit at the station until Denzel comes in and tells us we’re free to go.

Our Miranda rights were never read and there is no warrant.

"Really? We don't have to stay and prove anything?" I ask.

Denzel shakes his head. "No, they’d keep you here if they had their way, but it's not necessary. You both look like crap, and I suggest you go home, clean up, and wait for news. Obviously, don't skip town—but, as your attorney, I'll let you know next steps. "

"We should never have come here," McQueen says.

"No," Denzel disagrees. "It was the right call. Sounds like you’ve both spent a lot of time at the gym and your hands are all over the place."

"My body, too," I say. "Photos of me naked are all over that office. It makes me sick to think the police and detectives are going to see me that way."

McQueen pulls his arms around me as another wave of tears comes on.

Denzel adds more words of wisdom. "The important thing is, McQueen showed up when he did and got you out of there before something irreversible happened."

"You think he would have...." I ask.

"Stalkers are obsessed with their target," Denzel says. "They prey on victims they perceive to be powerless."

I feel McQueen's body tighten next to me, knowing this is all getting much too close for him. Gratitude for Ryan washes over me, but also sadness at the fact this situation with Kit has brought so many painful memories of his lost sister to the surface.

"Thanks for coming down, Denzel," McQueen says. "You have my cell?"

"Sure do, kids." Denzel nods good-bye, then heads into the station.

McQueen holds my hand and guides me to safety.

* * *

A
fter the car
is parked in the garage and we've walked into McQueen's bachelor pad, I take a hard look at him.

He looks awful.

"Let me make a few calls," he says. "I need to let people know I won't be in tonight."

"Okay." I nod, stepping closer to him, realizing there’s no way in hell he'll be getting up on any stage soon. Running my hand gently over his brow, I consider his wounds. "I think you might need stitches."

"Naw, those are for pussies."

“It’s not about being tough; you’re a professional dancer. I can’t have my man looking like shit when he heads to work.”

“You’re something else, Jo,” he says. “I think I’ll be fine.”

"You want scarring? Cool." I roll my eyes. "Sometimes I think you forget where I come from. I grew with boys coming through the front door better off dead. My mother spent two decades cleaning up men who thought they were fine. I learned a thing or two."

"Is it really that bad?"

"I think it's worse."

"Shit." He winces, patting his jaw. "Well, let me make these calls. Is there anyone you need to get ahold of?"

"Lucy and my sister, I guess."

"Your dad?"

"Oh," I snort. "Well, he knows where I am."

"What do you mean? Did you talk to him since yesterday?"

"Yeah," I blow the air from my cheeks. "I went over there this morning. Before the gym."

"Why?" McQueen's eyes narrow and, even through the caked blood on his face, I see the creases in his forehead deepen.

"Because he's my father?" I try not to let his tone ruffle me, but I don't understand the need for his low timber.

"Are you still considering going home? Back to Grotto?"

"No," I say, pulling back from him. "Why would you say that? I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yeah, you were also at your father's house. Be straight with me, JoJo. Are we in this together or not?"

"We are. I told my dad my choice, that I’m walking away. So don't get mad at me for going over there today; I went there so I could close that door. And I want to walk into your arms, but I still need to feel free to be where I want, when I want. So don't get all possessive on me, when I gave everything up for you."

"That's bullshit. Today of all days I think I can be a little protective of you, Josephine," he says, anger flashing in his eyes. "I went to Kit's this morning because I was scared something had happened to you. I wake up, and you’re gone. What am I supposed to think? Leaving is your mode of operation." He shakes his head, furious. "And I'm glad my instincts kicked in. You
were
in trouble. So, yeah, I'll be possessive for a while. I don't want you out of my fucking sight. But not because I want to control you." He wraps me in his arms, holding me so damn tight that I know it must be killing his battered body. "JoJo, I can't fucking lose you."

And then he kisses me. The metallic taste of blood in his mouth and the pulsing fear running through his veins collides with my longing for him to never let go.

My mouth presses against his until we remember to breathe. The horrendous memories of the morning fade away. Together, in this moment, we can forget.

* * *

She leads me upstairs to my bedroom, turns on the shower. She lifts my shirt over my head, tugs on the waistband of my shorts and my boxers, leaving me naked before her.

"I don't want to talk any more about what happened today," she tells me.

I nod, because I don't want to go there either, not now. Not when she’s undressing me, making me forget about the bruises on my face.

She presses her hand against my bare ass and pushes me into the steaming shower. With the curtain pulled back, I watch as she undresses for me.

Last time we were in a shower together, we were both fully dressed, stripping down in the water, slick with desire. Hungry for what our bodies craved.

Now I know how JoJo tastes, but that doesn't satiate me in the least. Now I want more. Now I want it all.

With her shorts off I see her perfect pussy. The soft hair of her mound gets me hard, because I know what’s hidden beneath. A pussy that is tight, that has only ever had me. A pussy that responds to my touch, that is satisfied by my tongue. Her pussy is perfection and it's ready to be fucked by me.

When she lifts the hem of her tank top, she has to wiggle her arms to get it over her head, and that little movement causes her tits to bounce. My cock hardens even more, and I reach for it as the hot water of the shower falls over my back.

"Looks like you're ready to play," she says, eyeing me as I hold my shaft.

"Don't tease me anymore."

She stands there, naked except for her sports bra.

"Take that damn thing off," I tell her.

"Why?" she asks, turning away toward the sink. When she moves, her round ass comes into view and I stroke myself, loving the nice curve of her cheeks. I want to bury my mouth against her, press my fingers in her slit, lick her up and down.

Fuck. She better get in here soon, or I’m going to come in the shower alone.

She takes a drink of water, and I see her face in the mirror. She sets down the cup, and her eyes reach mine.

A playful smile crosses her mouth, and I watch as she takes off her bra. I have the best view. Her narrow waist and round ass in front of me, and her tits and pouty mouth watching through the mirror.

"You're gonna make me come," I tell her. "Get in here."

She shakes her head, and lifts a foot on the closed toilet seat.

"I like watching you touch yourself," she tells me. Her hands run over her bare breasts, pausing at her nipples; she rolls her fingers over them, her eyes on me the entire time.

One hand continues to massage her tit, but the other trails to her entrance, where her legs are spread apart, and she begins to touch her soft little folds.

"Oh, fuck, girl."

"You don't like watching me touch myself?" she asks coyly. "Because, damn, I like watching you."

I continue to pump my cock. It's fucking hard as rock, and all it wants is to plunge inside her wet pussy, but I can wait.

"You like this? Right?” she asks again.

"Oh, I can play along," I tell her. "Even though what I really want is to get on my knees and fucking eat your gorgeous pussy out."

"What would you do to my pussy?" Her hand moves faster, deeper into herself. She's panting as she watches me and I love how she's getting off.

"I'd lick your pussy until it was dripping all over my face," I say. "I'd lick you until there was nothing left. And then I’d put my cock in you, and fill you up all over again."

"Oh, God," she moans, juice dripping down her thigh, and she grips the countertop as an orgasm crashes through her. I can't fucking wait anymore. Screw the shower, we were never gonna get that far anyway. Right now, I need to taste her as she comes.

After getting out of the shower, I pick her up and set her down on the counter. I kneel in from of her, resting my knees on the thick mat on the floor. Spreading her luscious folds, I bury my mouth in her. Her fingers still circling her clit, and I run my tongue over them, which causes her to move her hand faster.

My mouth covers her pussy with kisses; her breath is ragged as I press my mouth to her—nice and tight, not leaving room for her hand.

She runs her hands through my hair, as she explodes again, her back arching, her ass lifting off the counter slightly as she tries to get hold of herself. But she can't. She's lost control as I flick my tongue over her clit, moving so fast, around and around, until she is screaming from release.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh, McQueen." She screams my name, and my cock wants her so bad. Needs her so bad.