“Whoa. It looks like you didn’t go out under your own power, pretty boy. No time to put your pants on.
That’s not a good sign. Shit. Iwoulda liked to have your c*ck around for company a while longer.So much for hanging out with Family members.”
Shaking off the momentary sadness about what she imagined had happened to the handsome stranger, she launched into an all-out search for her own clothing. All the bedding was gone from the bed, so she quickly looked underneath and throughout the rest of the room.
“Damn! Where are my f**king clothes?”
Then her memory pressed rewind. She’d stripped forMalveaux in the living room.
She frowned, clutched the blanket closer around her, and shuffled back into the main room. It was so cold she could see her breath; her body involuntarily trembled.
Since she was barefoot, it seemed like a bad idea to step on any of the hundreds of tiny shards of glass, so she stood back, surveying the area for a glimpse of anything that belonged to her. She spied her pink tank top first. Saturated with snow and blood, it was useless, but that didn’t really matter. It had been a cheap toss-off anyway. Her blue jeans were in the same condition, covered with fine particles of glass that sparkled in the light. Yeah. She’d be putting those back on any minute now.
“Yes!” She smiled wide. There were her boots. She’d thrown them against the wall, and they’d escaped the bloody, wet remnants of whatever had happened. Edging around the fringes of the room, Tempest gathered up her knee-high boots and hurried back into the unused bedroom. Sitting on the bed, she slid them on, the inexpensive leather cold and rigid against her skin.
She stood, stomping her feet against the carpet to stretch out the tight leather. “Okay. We’ve got foot coverings. Let’s go back in and look for Dad’s jacket.”
Grabbing a handful of the corner of the blanket, she hefted it up off the floor, holding it like a little girl wearing her mother’s much-too-long evening gown. She crunched over the tiny fragments of glass, almost losing her balance a couple of times as she slid on the bloody snow.
Baffled by how it could’ve gotten there, she found her treasured Jim Morrison jacket hanging from a small light fixture in the dining area at the far end of the suite. Wow, she thought. That must have been some blast.
She took the jacket down from its perch and inspected the well-worn garment. Aside from a little blood and something else she didn’t want to investigate too closely, the jacket had survived unscathed.
Crossing over to the bathroom, she used one of the pristine towels to wipe off the questionable substances from her heirloom and dropped the blanket. Sliding the jacket on, she laughed out loud at the sight of herself in the mirror.
Her long, dark hair was tangled and sticking up in mad chunks, her pale face even whiter than usual. The
“water-proof, smudge-proof” mascara she’d applied before leaving for the gig was now smeared all over her face. But that was nothing compared to the picture she made wearing the open jacket, one breast peeking out, and the boots. She looked like Amazon Ho. If the doorman had treated her like a sidewalk hooker before, now he’d really get his rocks off.
She pulled at the bottom of the jacket, trying to stretch it to cover as much of her legs as possible.
Luckily, the coat was too big for her, and when she zipped it up, it was long enough so nothing that would get her arrested would show. Maybe she could find another way out of the hotel, so that she wouldn’t have to be the entertainment for the graveyard shift.
She took a couple of steps toward the door and froze. “Fuck! Goddamn it to hell!” She turned to a big, overstuffed chair sitting next to the telephone table, tipped it over, and then kicked at it a few times, causing it to scoot across the carpet. “What f**king else can happen?”
Her guitar and the briefcase she’d inherited from her musician uncle. She’d left them inMalveaux’s car.
Even if she managed to find the damn car in the parking lot, how the hell was she supposed to convince the attendant to let her get her stuff out? Especially looking like Wonder Ho. What if the mobsters had takenMalveaux’s car? She thought about how long it had taken her to save up for that Fender Stratocaster guitar and what her chances were of buying a replacement anytime soon. Then there were all the original tunes she’d made demos of in the briefcase. Demos she’d paid a mint to record for the music producer who’d expressed interest.Plus the lyric master sheets.
She just had to get everything back. That was all there was to it.
Kicking the chair one more time, just for the hell of it, she opened the suite door, checked both directions of the empty hallway, and stepped out. The moment the door closed and locked behind her, she felt a draft on her legs and pivoted, grabbing the door handle. Damn! Why the f**k hadn’t she snagged one of those huge bath towels to wrap around her lower body? Was her brain totally out to lunch? It would have looked weird, but who cared? At least she’d have some protection from the cold.
Too late now. Since she didn’t have a key card for the room, there was no going back, even if she was willing to spend one more second in Mob Manor.
Not wanting to take the main elevator, she wandered the corridor, looking for the stairs, and found them. The idea of trucking down twenty stories didn’t make her heart sing, but she’d do whatever it took to get herself out of the hotel without gathering an audience.
The click-clack of her boots echoed in the stairwell and kept her company as she rushed toward the lower level. She’d just started to wonder if she’d ever find the damn garage when she reached the bottom of the stairs and eyeballed the red neon arrow pointing toward a heavy door. She opened it and stepped into the sea of cars. Damn, it was cold. The bare skin in the gap between her boots and the jacket tingled in the frigid air. Not to mention the crispy flow going up the inside of her loose jacket. She could feel her ni**les harden and stand at attention. Thinking about her ni**les reminded her ofMalveaux
.
“Damn. I would’ve kept him around for a while. Maybe,” she mumbled under her breath. “I could’ve gotten used to that gorgeous face and the way he licked my clit…” She closed her eyes to relish the imaginary sensation. The memory of the feel of his tongue made moisture pool between her legs. She couldn’t recall ever being so turned on by somebody. It was just herfreakin ’ luck that what was left of him was probably being added to the foundation of a new inner city construction project right about then.
“Stop thinking with your pu**y, Tempest, and get the helloutta here.”
She ducked down behind a minivan and started looking forMalveaux’s silver Jaguar. At least he had a distinctive car. She wouldn’t have to waste time picking out the right vehicle.
It turned out there weren’t as many cars in the underground parking lot as she’d expected. Maybe the storm had kept everyone off the streets and out of the downtown area. Her frustration grew as she realized that the silver Jag wasn’t there.
Circling around the attendant’s booth, she looked for the person on duty; the booth seemed to be deserted. She finally crept close enough to see a guy sleeping, his face and flabby upper body sprawled on the counter near the key hooks.
She leaned back against a BMW parked by the booth, and sighed. Her night had gone from crap to amazing back to crap again. Her options were limited. She couldn’t call a cab to get home because all of her money was in her briefcase. So was her cell phone. She didn’t even have fifty cents for a goddamn phone call. And she was dressed like she was hired to jump out of a biker’s birthday cake.Fucking mafia idiots. She’d learned her lesson. No more screwing criminals. No matter how gorgeous they happened to be.
She crossed her arms and thought that it probably wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if she woke the attendant, flashed her tits and asked him for help. She prided herself on being pragmatic. Even if she had to give him a quick hand job, it would be better than freezing her ass off in a parking garage. She pursed her lips, hoping his greasy hair wasn’t a tip-off about his general state of hygiene.
She opened the door of the heated booth, stepped inside, reveled in the warmth and cleared her throat.
“Hey! Mr. Attendant! Wake up!” He smacked his lips together, snorted and sank back into sleep. She bent down close to his face and yelled, “Wake up!” No response. The guy had to be the deepest sleeper she’d ever seen, or maybe he was stoned. She shook his shoulder vigorously.Still no reaction. “Shit! I know you’re not dead because I heard you snort! Wake up! I need help!” He shifted in his chair and farted.
She fanned the air in front of her nose. “Perfect. Thank you for living down to my expectations.”
No silver Jag, no money, no cell phone, a comatose parking attendant and a blizzard. “Once again, my cuprunneth over. Cup of shit, that is.”
Just as she was glancing about, searching for something to kick, she saw the cell phone sticking out of the attendant’s backpocket .
A wicked smile curved Tempest’s mouth, and she grabbed the phone, pressing a button to see if it was functional. She knew that if the battery was dead or there was no service, she’d heave the phone through the glass. After all, broken windows seemed to be the theme for the evening. The planets had decided to line up in her favor, because the phone worked. Maybe the bad karma she’d stepped in had fallen off her shoe.
She danced a little celebration boogie and dialed a familiar number. The phone rang a long time before a muffled voice answered.
“What? It’s the crack of f**king dawn. Who is this?”
“Stan?”
“Huh?
“Stan? Wake up, Stan!”
“Tempest?”
“Yeah, it’s me. I need help.”
“Whaddyamean you need help? Are you hurt? Did that a**hole hurt you? I knew he was a mob guy. I told you. You never listen to me. Where are you? What happened?”
“I’m okay. I’m just stranded. It’s a long story. Can you come downtown and get me?”
“Shit, Tempest.Downtown? Do you know there’s a blizzard outside?My car’s crap. I barely made it home from the bar. And I’ve had a few.”
“Stan. Concentrate. I need you to come and get me. Remember all the times I pulled your ass out of one bar or another? You owe me.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay. Cool your jets. I’ll use my neighbor’s truck. At least it doesn’t have bald tires.
Where are you?”
She told him where the hotel was and where she’d be waiting. Then she sat down on the edge of the counter, listening to the snoring attendant. She stared out the booth window toward the street entrance and watched the dawn break over another glorious day in paradise.
Chapter Seven
“So, what the f**k happened? Where are your clothes?” Stan demanded.
He’d arrived to fetch Tempest in his neighbor’s monster truck, the kind that wobbled on gigantic tires and required a boost up to get into the cab. His long blond hair gave new meaning to the words “bed head,” and his face sported acriss -cross pattern from where he’d buried his face in his pillow. He smelled like a brewery.
Tempest smacked her face with her palms, trying to wake up. “I’mgonna give you the short version,
‘cause my brain’srunnin ’ on empty. It turns out you were right. The guy is a Family member, or, should I say, was a Family member. Some of his relatives showed up to pay their respects. I remember hearing noises out in the hallway, then I must’ve blacked out, or something. Maybe the a**hole drugged me. I don’t know. The next thing I knew, I woke up in a dark closet, the room was trashed, and I was alone.”
He gave her a quick look, and then shifted his eyes back to the windshield, squinting to see the road through the whiteout. “I told you not to hang with mob dudes. Sometime you’regonna pick the wrong guy and I’ll be getting a call from the hospital or the morgue. And that’ll really piss me off. Where would we find another guitar player with tits like yours?”
Tempest smiled and patted his arm. Stan always gave her hell when he was worried about her. He was such a pu**y. But it was kinda nice to have somebody care enough to give obnoxious lectures.
“Do you want to come home with me? Or should I take you to your place?” he asked.
She heard the hopeful tone in his voice and thought about it for a moment before answering. Crawling into a warm bed with Stan’s muscular body and his ever-ready c*ck would usually be a no-brainer.
He’d snore and steal all the covers, but she knew he’d be there when she woke up. But, as much as she didn’t want to admit it even to herself, she felt weird aboutMalveaux . She’d really liked him and was sad about his death. He had to be dead. There wasn’t any other reason he would’ve left without his clothes.
Being with someone else right away -- even Stan -- seemed disrespectful, somehow. Not to mention creepy.
“It’s closer to just drop me at my place. I need a shower and eight hours of uninterrupted sleep, which I wouldn’t get with Energizer Bunny Cock there.” She laughed and shoved her hand into Stan’s crotch.
The truck swerved as Stan jerked the steering wheel. “Hey! Cut that the hell out. Youwanna get us into an accident? There’s a f**king blizzard out there.” He frowned and tightened his grip on the wheel.
“Geez, since when don’t you like having your nuts massaged? I’m just trying to show my gratitude for the crack-of-dawn rescue. See what happens the next time you whine to me about your alleged blue balls.”
He laughed. “Blue balls are a scientific fact. Just ’cause chicks don’t get blue cl*t doesn’t mean it isn’t a real thing. If you keep teasing Little Stan, he’ll get so frustrated that he’ll have purple balls instead of blue!”