Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [82]
“Careful. I might consider that romantic.”
I pressed a kiss to his chin. “Maybe it was meant to be.”
No answer.
His breathing slowed. I forced myself to break his handhold and brushed my fingers down his jawline.
“Rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“Good.” He shivered violently.
“Are you okay? You want me to call the doctor back—”
“No. Just cold. Come closer and warm me up.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Right now, you couldn’t make me feel any worse, 291
unless you left me.”
Not fair.
After covering him completely with the blanket, I scooted under his arm and carefully laid my head on his chest. The tremors stopped almost immediately. I was content to listen to him breathe—just because he still could. About an hour later Big Mike poked his head in. I untangled from Martinez’s arms, reluctant for anyone to see us curled up like kittens.
I snagged my cigarettes out of my purse and
flopped back on the love seat. After the initial drag, I said, “What happened? Every goddamn detail.”
Big Mike set a bottle of Don Julio and shot glasses on the coffee table next to my ashtray.
“Bossman was conducting some last-minute
business in the bar. Something pissed him off so he headed in the back room to chill out and regroup. He opened the service door to go out to his Escalade for some damn thing . . . Cal and I were right on his heels when we heard the shots.”
Definitely needed that drink. I poured a slug, knocked it back, welcoming the trail of fire down my throat.
292
“I dragged Martinez inside; Cal took off after the shooter. I got him upstairs, got temporary control of the bleeding, and called the doc.” Big Mike poured a generous helping of tequila in a lowball glass.
“One minute. That’s all he was out of our sight. One. Fucking. Minute.”
“Not a random act?”
He shook his head and stayed quiet, studying the silver liquid in the glass.
“This isn’t gonna fly with me, Big Mike. I don’t give a shit if it violates some stupid Hombres’ rules, not when he’s lying in the next goddamn room bleeding . . .” Cold reality hit. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to focus on facts, not emotions. “I have a right to know it all.”
He said, “Shit,” and slammed another glassful of tequila.
“You know who’s responsible, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Who?”
Big Mike’s hard eyes met mine. “Jackal.”
Jackal was the former Hombres enforcer. “I
thought he was under lock and key while he’s on probation?”
“He was.”
“Was? ”
“Last week he killed the guy working on his
‘rehabilitation’ and Jackal used him to send a warning to Martinez before Jackal disappeared.”
293
“How? If the guy was dead?”
“Jackal wrote the message on a piece of paper and attached it to the guard, via a knife to the eyeball.”
“Holy fuck.” That was just plain sick. “Last week?
Why didn’t Martinez tell me instead of making some big goddamn deal about me keeping my cell phone on at all times?”
“Bossman didn’t want you to worry, especially after . . .”
Especially after the trauma I’d gone through a few months back when I’d killed someone. Martinez stuck around to pick up the pieces and I still didn’t feel whole.
“We immediately put extra security on him.
Which was why he was so pissed off when you went missing during the blizzard. Why he sent Korny to your house when we left for Denver. Why he picked Dietz to keep an eye on you. Why he’s been watching everyone who approaches you, especially if they’re tied to the club in any way. Any man or woman.”
Any man or woman tied to the club. “Oh, shit.”
“What?”
“Remember the night I was in the bar fight at Dusty’s? I was pretty drunk for a while there. Totally forgot I saw Nyla from the Hombres clubhouse. She sauntered up to our table, high as a kite, beat to shit, and babbled something.”
“What?”
“Don’t remember what exactly. Chalk it up to me being wasted.”
294
“Did you see her again that night?”
“Nope.”
“Who was she with?”
“Not a clue.”
“Fucking awesome news, Julie.” Big Mike rubbed his temple so vigorously I thought