Rock Chick 05 Revenge (19 page)

I pulled at my wrists. “Let me go!” I shouted.

His fingers tightened and it kinda hurt. “You and me will be good together. Explosive,” he told me.

“You’ve got a screw loose! You’re my best friend’s husband!”

“Not for long.”

“Fuck off!” I yelled.

Then he yanked me forward by my wrists and kissed me. Dom had a lot of practice at kissing. He was, I noted with some detachment, a good kisser.
 

I noted this right before I bit his tongue.

He reared back. “Stop doing that!”

“Stop kissing me!” I yelled and began struggling in earnest.

This didn’t go well for me. Yes, I had lost seventy-five pounds, but I was not a lightweight. I worked out, was fit and did strength training. But Dom was six foot tall and all lean, compacted muscle. He had me on my back and was on top of me in no time.

This was not good.

It was then I began to panic. “Get off me!”

“Ava, you want it, I want it and I’m gonna fuckin’ take it.”

“No!” I shouted and bucked.

Then the door was thrown open and, to my utter disbelief, Mr. Kumar leaned in, pounding on Dom’s back with both his hands clenched together to do it.

I stared, momentarily stunned.

Mr. Kumar was a Middle Eastern guy who owned a corner store about a block and a half away from my house. Pre-weight loss, I went in there regularly to get provisions. I also went there to have a good old gossip with Mr. and Mrs. Kumar. They were good people, they struggled against the odds to keep their little corner store open and they looked after the neighborhood. Post-weight loss, since the corner store was stocked mostly with junk food, pop and smokes, I went in there just for the gossip and to buy diet soda and gum.

How Mr. Kumar was in Dom’s car was beyond me but I wanted to jump for joy.

“Unhand her!” Mr. Kumar shouted.

“What the fuck?” Dom muttered, letting me go and turning to Mr. Kumar.

I got over feeling stunned and we all started wrestling in the backseat and, because there wasn’t a lot of room, fell out the open door and started wrestling on the concrete. Mr. Kumar was a little guy and I guessed on the wrong side of his fifties and, I must repeat, Dom was strong. Dom took both of us on and seemed to be winning.
 

Dom shoved off Mr. Kumar, who went rolling, then tackled me. I was trying to get up and get some leverage on the situation when he did it. I felt my blouse tear at the neckline as I went down hard on my palms and Dom landed on top of me. I twisted underneath him and lifted my hands up and finally, after all these years, got the opportunity to scratch his face.

His head shot back as, with satisfaction (it might not be nice, but it was honest) I saw blood form on his cheek and he shouted, “Fuckin’ bitch!”

Mr. Kumar jumped on top of him. We wrestled more and I got out from under Dom. As he was trying to subdue Mr. Kumar, I gained my feet. I saw my opportunity, aimed a kick, missed where I was aiming and kicked him savagely in the gut.
 

Dom grunted and curled into himself.

I immediately grabbed Mr. Kumar’s hand and pulled him up. “Let’s go!”

We ran willy-nilly because I had no idea where I was going and Mr. Kumar was freaked way the hell out.

“My car’s over here,” Mr. Kumar finally said and we ran toward his old, faded-yellow Cadillac Seville.

We stopped at his car and Mr. Kumar fumbled for his keys. “You drive,” he said, his hands shaking, his hair and clothing looking exactly like he’d been wrestling with a strong Italian-American at least twenty years his junior. Mr. Kumar handed me the keys and automatically I took them.

“I can’t drive, I’ve been stun-gunned. You drive,” I handed him back the keys.

“I can’t drive, I’m shaky. We’ll get in an accident. You drive,” he handed me back the keys.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dom running toward us.

“Get in the car!” I shouted, going to the driver’s side.

We got in, locked our doors and belted up. Dom at my door trying to open it, I started the car (it took two goes but I did it) and we shot forward on a screech of tires.

We were in a parking garage, a weirdly vacant parking garage and I had no idea how to get out.

“Where’s the exit? I yelled, turning in a way that seemed to be taking us deeper into the garage.

“I don’t know. Let me think. I can’t think,” Mr. Kumar was still freaked out then he shouted, “There! It says exit! Go left.”

I went left.

“No, I mean right,” he said.

Shit!

I did a uey through some parking spots and went right. We went back up through the parking garage and passed Dom’s BMW that was going the other way. We went up two levels and I shot out into the street not even looking. A car swerved to avoid me, honking his horn and giving me the finger. I just put the pedal down and the big car roared.

“Where are we?” I asked, looking around, trying to get my bearings.

“I don’t know. I saw him carrying you to his car and I told Mrs. Kumar to call Tex and I followed. I didn’t pay attention to where we were going. I just paid attention to following you.”

“Tex?” I asked.

“Tex, he lives down the block opposite the store from you. He takes care of the neighbors.”

I found it bizarre that I would hear the name “Tex” twice in one day when I had never known a Tex in my whole life.

I finally figured out where we were and this made some of my panic and adrenalin subside. I did some deep breathing and pointed us home. I turned onto my block and my stomach clenched.

My street was filled with cars, big, shiny ones (except for Luke’s Porsche and a Crossfire, they weren’t big, just shiny). What looked like Eddie’s red Ram was there, a black GMC truck, several black Ford Explorers and a black Toyota 4Runner.

I double parked the Caddy (because there were no spaces on the street) right outside my front door and saw over the roof of Luke’s Porsche the Bad Boy Brigade standing in my front yard all wearing scary faces and all those faces turned to the Caddy as it stopped. Luke, Lee, Vance, Hank, Eddie, Matt, Mace and, what I realized was not coincidental, Tex, the wild-eyed coffee guy from Fortnum’s.
 

“Uh-oh,” I said.

Chapter Nine

Feeling Fine, Feeling Loose

Mr. Kumar and I got out of the car as Luke detached from the Bad Boy Bunch and I met him on the sidewalk.

I tilted my head back to look at him and said softly, “Seems I got kidnapped again.”

His mouth got tight and his eyes did a body scan. I looked down at myself.
 

Blouse torn, scrapes on my belatedly stinging palms and what appeared to be smears of blood on the skin of my chest (this, I hoped, was Dom’s).

“You all right?” Luke asked and my eyes moved back to his.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Please tell me that isn’t your blood.”

It was then I did something ultra stupid.

The something ultra stupid I did was say, “It’s Dom’s.”

It seemed Luke sucked in every molecule of oxygen in the Denver Metro area when he did a swift intake of breath. With one look at his face it would not have surprised me if he had walked to his Porsche in Incredible Hulk style, picked it up and hurled it down the street.

Mr. Kumar stood beside us. “I saw him carry her out of the house,” he said and Luke and my eyes turned to Mr. Kumar as the Bad Boys gathered around us. “She was unconscious and I knew something was wrong. I followed in my car and when they stopped I wanted to wait for Tex and was about to call on my cell, but I didn’t know where we were.” Everyone watched him talk and he looked around, nervous at being the center of attention. “I was going to call the police but then he started kissing her and Ava didn’t like it and I knew…”

Oh shit.

Luke’s eyes sliced to me.
 

Oh
shit!

“I had to do something,” Mr. Kumar finished.

Luke was still looking at me. Or more to the point, scowling at me in a very scary way.

“Um…” I said to him, lifting my hand to do the finger and thumb half-an-inch-apart gesture again. “There might be a
wee bit
of my troubles I haven’t shared.”

I watched, somewhat fascinated, as Luke pulled in his very nice lower lip and bit it with his equally nice, straight, white teeth. The Bad Boy Brigade all looked at each other with knowing equally (almost) pissed off in male camaraderie faces and they took a step back.

Then Luke grabbed my upraised wrist and yanked me up my walk and into my house.

“Luke!” I yelled.

He ignored me, walked up the stairs and took me to the bathroom where we stopped.

“Where’s your first aid?” he asked.

I stared at him, surprised at his question, thinking he was going to lay into me. “What?” I said.

“First aid. Your palms.”

Oh. My palms.

“Closet,” I told him, motioning with my hand to the closet door.

He walked to the bathroom closet and pulled out the first aid kit. He opened it, sorted through it, found what he wanted and dragged me to the sink.

“Wash your hands,” he ordered.

I did what I was told, finding his behavior somewhat intriguing. I could tell (hell, anyone could tell) he was angry but he was controlling it and taking care of me.
 

Hmm.

He’s very nice. And you can tell he’s mad but he’s still being lovely. I like that,
Good Ava informed me.

He’s hot when he’s all pissed-off-but-controlling-it. Jump him!
Bad Ava suggested.
 

I blinked away my advice angels, finished with my hands and buried Luke’s most recent behavior right alongside all the rest of it.
 

He’d gone back to the closet and nabbed a clean hand towel. He tossed it to me and I dried my hands carefully while he took a washcloth, wet it and went to work on the blood on my chest.

“Luke.”

“Quiet.”

I shut my mouth. I knew what Luke’s “quiet” meant when said in that tone and I didn’t want a repeat of Hard Angry Kiss.

He finished wiping off the blood, took the towel from my hands, threw them both in the sink and wiped at my scrapes with an alcohol swab. I sucked in breath at the sting but he kept going albeit gently.

He tossed the swab in the trash and then looked at me. “Now. Share.”

I didn’t have to ask what he meant. I took in a deep breath.

“Well…” I said and stopped, not certain how to proceed.

Luke got close, his patience visibly waning. “Ava.”

“All right,” I said and leaned back. Then I told him the story of Dom flirting, Dom touching, Dom cornering me in the kitchen and that being the reason Sissy left him. I told him about Dom’s threat to “get what I want”. I finished on a description of the last forty-five minutes.

Luke was silent after I stopped talking. His face was hard but I saw his eyes were working. I also saw his jaw was working too, clenching and unclenching and I did not take this as a good sign. I held my breath while this happened.
 

Finally he said, “Pack a bag.”

“Excuse me?” I asked on a gush of air.

“Pack a bag.”

“What? Why?”
 

“You’re movin’ in with me.”

My eyes bugged out. “What? Why?” I repeated.

“Just do it.”

Ho-ly
shit
.

Lee had made Indy stay with him to keep her safe when she was being shot at and kidnapped. He moved into her duplex after it was over and now they were getting married. Eddie had also made Jet move in with him to keep her safe. He never let her move out and she had just bought a new blender. Roxie had stayed with Hank during her troubles because, at the time, she lived in Chicago. After she was safe, she had decided to move to Denver to be with Hank, thinking to move into an apartment for six months to “see how it went” but he had talked her into moving in with him. Now she was entering his dog into a Frisbee competition.
 

I felt panic seize my chest. “I’m not moving in with you.”

“You’re movin’ in with me.”

“I’m not.”

He reached behind his back then his arm came forward and I saw the cuffs.

Oh no.

I started to take off but didn’t even get by him. He whirled me back around, hand wrapped around my upper arm. I yanked at my arm but he grabbed my wrist and slapped the bracelet on me and then he slapped the other bracelet on him.

“I can’t believe you cuffed me to you again!” I shouted.

“Now,
we’re
packing.”

“I’m not moving in with you,” I pulled back, putting all my weight into it as he started walking. He dragged me, and all my weight, into the bedroom.