Spin (Boosted Hearts Book 2) (6 page)

Chasing Ramirez’s niece might not be the best idea he’d ever had. In fact, it was risky and stupid as hell. But he couldn’t let what she said go, not until his curiosity was satisfied. That’s what he was telling himself anyway.

He parked and strode into the bar where he always met Al’s number one. Don was a prick of mass proportions. Having to deal with him once a month was frustrating as hell and a major test of self-control. He’d yet to leave one of their meetings without a thumping headache from suppressing the murderous rage the guy induced just from opening his fool mouth.

The dick was already there, sitting at the bar, when Joe walked in.

Joe took the stool beside him. “Let get this over with.”

Don turned to him. “Well, if it isn’t rubber Joey.”

“Johnny, dipshit. It’s rubber Johnny. If you’re going to try to insult me, at least get it fucking right.”

The guy’s smirk vanished. “Remember who you’re talking to, boy.”

Joe clenched his fists. “How many times did your mom drop you on your head? Seriously?”

Don dragged in a lungful of air, puffing up his chest, his face going red.

Okay, Joe needed to calm shit down before he made things worse for himself. Hugh used to come to these meetings with him and kept him from losing it, from jumping across the table and killing the fucker. Anger management and self-control weren’t two of Joe’s strengths, and he’d never felt that weakness more strongly than when he was in the presence of this asshole. “Cool down before you hyperventilate. Let’s just get this done so we can both be on our way.”

Don reached into his pocket, pulled out this month’s list, then grinned. “We got a fun one on here for you, dickwad.”

Dickwad? Christ. Really?

“Looking forward to it, ass face.” If he wanted to conduct their meetings like they were still in junior high, he could totally roll with that. Joe snatched it out of Don’s hand. “Awesome.”

He took another look and cursed. A fucking Ferrari?
Motherfucker
.

Don chuckled. “Thought you might like that.”

“This is bullshit. You must have people for this big-ticket stuff.” An idea popped into his head and he decided to go for it. One way of finding out if Darcey was telling him the truth. “What about Al’s niece? She’s a pro at fucking people over.” Joe added a grumble for affect and the numbnuts beside him totally fell for it.

Don laughed again. “Al just uses her when he needs something special done.” He grinned at Joe. “She fucked you and your brother up good, huh?”

“I’m surprised she goes for that. Doesn’t she want a bigger slice of Uncle Al’s pie?”

“She doesn’t get a slice of jack-shit. She does what she’s told because she has no choice or she faces the consequences.”

Joe felt something tighten in his gut, and his self-control was slipping. “And what consequences are those?”

~ * ~

Joe was still fuming after his meeting with Don. The asshole hadn’t shared what Al had over Darcey, and as much as he’d wanted to beat it out of him, he’d had no choice but to lock it down.

He’d left and started searching for her. So far, no luck. She hadn’t been at the bar from the other night. The clubs were next. They were a lot harder, dark, and packed.

Shit, if she was even at a club.

The line to get into the third club on his list was shorter, but the place was still full when he got inside. The lights pulsed, highlighting the moving bodies on the dance floor with every beat. After checking out the bar, he made his way to the main floor, shoving his way through bodies. Fuck, this was impossible. There was a second level edging the main room. He found the stairs and headed up so he could get a better view of the floor.

Once there, he scanned the room, glancing down to where he’d been.

Lights slashed across writhing bodies, dark figures moving like a living, breathing wave. Then the song changed and, with it, the lights. A bright strobe hit the center of the dance floor, and that’s when he saw her.

His fingers curled around the railing, spine straightening, gut clenching. Darcey was dead center. Alone. Her head was tilted back, eyes closed, dark hair sleek and loose, swaying as she moved to the music. He couldn’t see all of her, but she was wearing a black tank top, and her skin fucking glowed under the lights. She looked so damn pale, but her lips were dark red like cherries.

He wanted to suck them, taste them.

People moved around her and for a few seconds, she was in a small space on her own. Shit, she was wearing a tiny skirt and black fishnets that were torn strategically, giving anyone who looked glimpses of the smooth skin beneath. His dick, the fucking tractor, got hard. There was something about her, something that drew him. He didn’t know what it was, or why it was her—of all people—that he couldn’t stop thinking about, but he couldn't take his eyes off her as she lifted her arms, her hips swinging. In her own world like no one else existed.

She hadn’t lied.

Don had pretty much confirmed what she’d said. She’d fucked them over because she
had to
, because she’d had no choice. He knew exactly what that felt like. And he also knew there was so much more to her story.

The crowd closed in again, bodies—guys—pressing into her, moving with her. It didn’t make sense—what seeing that did to him, how much he hated it—he just knew he couldn’t stand back and let anyone else put their hands on her. Fuck that.

He took the stairs, shoving his way toward her until he was right there. He couldn’t stop himself from moving in until he was standing right behind her.

Jesus, the woman was stunning, and fuck, the way she moved. Before he knew what he was doing, his hands were on her hips, tugging her back against him. She didn’t whirl on him or push him away, she leaned back, head resting on his chest, ass pressed against his now achingly hard cock, and continued to dance. What the fuck?

He turned her around, so he could see her face. She didn’t resist. She gazed up at him, black-rimmed eyes fucking glazed and heavy.

She was out of it. Completely fucked up.

Anger welled inside him, his protective instincts slamming into high gear. He leaned in, getting close. “Darcey?”

She blinked. Some of the fog cleared, and she grinned. “Joe.” She poked him clumsily in the chest. “It’s you.”

Thank fuck. At least she recognized him. “You take anything, sweetheart?”

She dropped her forehead to his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist, mumbling something against him.

Shit.

He cupped her face gently and angled her chin up so he could see her. “Answer me, honey.”

She frowned. “What’s…hang on… Why’re you here?”

Screw this.
Sliding his hands under her ass, he lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the club. No one stopped him. No one paid them any attention at all. He kept moving until he was out the door. Cool air washed over them as they hit the street, and as soon as he was away from the crowded entrance, he lowered her to her feet.

She rubbed her eyes, smearing the black shit around them more. “Why’d the music stop?”

Joe gritted his teeth. Anything could have happened to her. What the fuck was she thinking, getting this fucked up on her own? He took hold of her biceps and got in her face. “Did you take anything, Darcey?”

“Hmm?”

“Drugs, baby. You take any?”

She shook her head. “Does weed count?”

Jesus.
“Anything else?”

“Just Tequila.” She frowned, head tilting to the side. “What’re you doing here?” She looked around, and he guessed, finally realized she wasn’t in the club anymore. Her eyes went big, hands lifting in surrender. “Hey man, I wasn’t…didn’t follow you…or anything. I’m gonna… I need to go home now.” Then she started off down the street, swerving the fuck all over the place.

He caught her hand before she fell and hurt herself. “Where do you live?” He’d gone to her old apartment before he started searching the bars and clubs tonight, the one he’d tailed her to when all the shit had gone down with Al, but she’d cleaned out.

She tried to shove him away, even as she rattled off her address. It wasn’t far, only a couple blocks. Half carrying her, he took her home while she mumbled incoherently the whole damn way.

The place was a dump, the security nonexistent. He hated everything about it. They made it to her door, and he found the key in her pocket. Opening up, he carried her inside and flicked on the light. It was one room and as shitty as the rest of the building. She wouldn’t be living like this if she was in good with her uncle—if she was actually making money from doing Al’s dirty work. The state of this place and the fact she was obviously struggling, confirmed what Don said…what
she’d
said about her reasons for doing what she had to him and Hugh.

No. He couldn’t blame her for what she’d done, not anymore. Not when he knew exactly what it was like to be backed into a corner.

To feel like there was no other way out.

Her bed was in the corner. She’d made a sort of screen with bright colored fabric draped over an old tube steel clothing rack. He lay her down and took off her boots. Shit, in that sexy, little leather mini skirt and those torn fishnets, she was temptation, perfection. But so damn vulnerable she made his gut ache.

What if he hadn’t come looking for her tonight?

He couldn’t think about what could have happened. What the hell was going on in her head?

He grabbed the glass off her bedside table and filled it with water for her, then dragged the quilt up at the end of her bed, covering her.

“Joe?”

He looked up at her, surprised she wasn’t already out cold. “Yeah?”

She blinked several times, staring up at him. “What’s going on?”

“I brought you home.” And he didn’t think he could bring himself to leave her, not like this, not in this place.

“Thanks.” She closed her eyes again. “Kissed you behind the bar,” she mumbled.

He stilled, swallowing hard. “Yeah, Darcey, you kissed me.” His voice sounded deeper, rougher. It was low, and the wrong time to ask, but no way would she give him the truth when she was sober. “Al put you up to that, sweetheart?”

 
She shook her head back and forth, dark hair spilling over the pillow. “Did it ‘cause I wanted to.” She stretched, flinging in an arm over her head. “‘Cause watching you, that’s all I could think about.” Her eyes opened again, and she stared right at him, lids heavy. “You kissed those other girls.” Her face screwed up. “Bitches.”

Then she wrapped her arms around his head and tugged him down, shoving his face against her tits in some kind of Vulcan death grip. He reached back to untangle her arms, but she squeezed tighter. “Mmm, don’t go.”

“Darce…”

“Stay with me, Joe. Don’t wanna be by myself anymore.” Then she closed her eyes again and was out cold within seconds.

Something twisted, curled tight inside him when she’d said those words—something he couldn’t name but couldn’t ignore, either. No way.

Don’t worry, baby. I’m not going anywhere.

Chapter Five

A
rgh. Ouch.
Tiny people were using Darcey’s eyeballs as bongo drums.

Shit, someone needed to extinguish the sun, because it was searing into the backs of her eyelids like it was trying to melt them with its death ray and penetrate her brain. She obviously hadn’t drawn the curtains before she went out last night. She couldn’t go back to sleep with them like that and still hope to wake in a few hours feeling better than death warmed over. But to close them, she’d have to move, and that wasn’t happening, either. She was in a stalemate—with herself.

With a groan, she tried to roll to her back, but something stopped her, something heavy pinning her arm to the mattress… She couldn’t move her fingers. Her hand was completely numb. She tried to yank it out, and when that failed, she used her other hand to investigate. It was prickly, and…warm…

A loud snort broke through her hangover-dimmed brain.

Her eyes popped open, and she hissed like a demented vampire against the harsh light.

Squinting, she looked down.

Oh God
.

She’d brought a guy home with her.

His face was pressed against her boobs, so she couldn’t get a good look at him, and she couldn’t move with his heavy arm draped over her waist.

Shit!

She tried to shove him back, but his arm tightened, and then he pressed his face deeper into her cleavage and shook his head, giving her a kind of groggy motorboat.

The guy could be a serial killer. For all she knew, she might not have brought him home at all. Maybe he broke in, maybe…

She shoved again, but he didn’t budge. The panic building in her hit maximum levels, and she reacted. Grabbing for the only thing she could reach with her dead arm still pinned—her latest romance novel—she smacked him over the head, repeatedly. It was only a paperback, but it’d have to do.

The guy grunted, cursed, and reared back. Darcey took advantage, and dropping the book, shoved his head away, giving her enough wiggle room to lift her knees. Then planting both feet against his massive body, she shoved him off the bed. He hit the wooden floor with a thud and another curse.