Guns and Roses (28 page)

“I want to see Martinez.”

“Not a good idea.”

I took two steps closer and Cal blocked me. “Move.”

“I can’t. You know that.”

I ducked under his arm and pounded on the outer wall. “Martinez, you bastard, I know you’re in here. Let me in right fucking now or I swear to god I will beat on this wall until it caves in.” When that didn’t work I started throwing punches, yelling obscenities, generally making a nuisance of myself that couldn’t be ignored.

Feet shuffled rapidly on the concrete behind me and I spun around.

The angry weebil bouncer shambled toward me, with Corny, another of Martinez’ two billion bodyguards, hot on his heels. When the bouncer lunged, Cal stepped in front of me.

“I suggest you take a step back, Paco.”

“I want Mr. Martinez to know it wasn’t my fault that she got in here unescorted. That bitch cold-cocked me!”

I returned to slamming my hands into the wall. “I mean it, Tony. Open the mother-fucking door.”

Before I launched another attack on concrete, Corny inserted himself between me and the wall and gently pushed me back. “Julie, come on. This isn’t helping. You know he’ll be pissed off you’re hurting yourself.”

“Then I’m gonna put the hurt on him.” Breathing hard, I stared at Corny’s goofy smile, like my enraged state amused him.

“Who the fuck is she?” Paco demanded.

“Martinez’ live-in girlfriend,” Corny replied.

Paco’s gaze raked over me. “If she’s the girlfriend, then who is the brunette in there with him?”

“Exactly what I want to know.” I sidestepped Corny and got in Cal’s face. “Unlock the door and let me in.”

His eyes held something akin to sympathy. Like he was trying to protect me from what I’d see behind that door.

Fuck that.

“Now. Or I’ll pull out my gun and start firing at whatever the fuck strikes my fancy.”

“Jesus, she’s armed?” Paco shouted.

“Always,” Corny replied with entirely too much cheer.

“Big Mike ain’t gonna be happy,” Cal said. He sighed and opened the door.

The fucking thing wasn’t even locked. So it wasn’t like Martinez was trying to hide the new chickie feathering his nest.

My fury escalated.

Big Mike rose from his spot inside the door.

Whoa. Had this place changed in the last month. A new concrete wall lined the entryway. I skirted Big Mike and made a beeline for the inner door.

But Big Mike caught me in one of those bodyguard bear hugs that are impossible to break free from. He managed to separate me from my purse and toss it to someone.

“Let me go!”

“What are you going to do if I do?”

“Since you took my gun and I can’t shoot his dick off, I’m gonna kick his sorry lying ass.”

Big Mike muttered, “’Bout damn time,” and released me with a growled, “go get ’em, tiger.”

I burst into the room.

Immediately, Martinez was on his feet, intercepting me. “Julie?”

But I didn’t look at him. My eyes were firmly on the man-stealing bimbo perched on the edge of Tony’s couch. I didn’t stop moving until I loomed over her. “Is this the one whose perfume I smelled on you? The one you had coffee with? The one you gave the flowers to?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

I whirled on Martinez. “Don’t play stupid. Lulu told me you bought white roses two days ago. Did you give those to her?”

“Blondie. Take a deep breath.”

“Like hell.” I invaded the woman’s space until I saw every pore on her face. “You want him? You’ll have to go through me first to get him. So stand up.”

She’d gone pale as a zombie.

“Get up right fucking now or I’ll pull you up by your hair.”

“Jesus, Julie, stop it,” Martinez snapped.

His anger just fueled mine. “You willing to fight for him? Because I sure as fuck am.” I closed my hands into fists, planning exactly where I’d place the first punch. “Get to your feet and show me what you’ve got.”

“Please don’t hurt me.” She scooted away until her spine hit the back couch cushion. “Oh. My. God. Is that your blood? Or blood from the last person you beat up?”

I briefly glanced down at my knuckles, skinned up and bloodied from punching the wall.

“Why the hell is Julie bleeding?” Martinez demanded of Cal.

“I won’t be the only one bleeding if someone doesn’t tell me what the hell is going on.”

The cornered woman began to babble. “Mr. Martinez hired my design firm to reconfigure the office spaces here and at Bare Assets.”

“You can’t lie worth shit. You’re meeting with Tony in his private office, at a biker bar, to discuss a work project... on Valentine’s Day? Not buying it.”

“But it’s true! There can’t be any record of the redesign plans because of his security issues, so he hired me off the books to do this and some, ah, other stuff. The only time we can meet is after hours.”

“Then why did you have coffee with him in public at Dunn Brothers this morning?”

No response. Tony didn’t jump in to explain either.

I fumed. The fact this interloper wore skintight jeans, a fringed leather halter and stiletto boots pegged my bullshit meter. “Don’t you Martha Stewart types usually go for a classier style than slutty biker bitch?”

I heard Big Mike laugh and cover it with a cough before Martinez snarled at him.

She started to get off the couch. “I really need to go now.”

“Stay. Put. You move and I’ll tackle your bony butt to the ground before I kick it.”

“That’s enough,” Martinez barked. “Julie. Back off. Now.”

“Kiss my ass, Martinez. This is between me and her. Get a bucket because I’m gonna wipe the floor with her.”

“For Christ’s sake... Mike. Grab her.”

Before I could land a single punch, steel bands crushed my arms to my sides. I thrashed while Little Miss Interior Design scurried out like the rat she was.

Once she was out of my sight, Big Mike carried me to the bedroom, tossed me on the bed and locked me in.

What the hell was that about?

I leapt off the bed in such a state of fury I tripped and fell on my hands and knees. First thing I noticed was the stanky-ass army green shag had been replaced with plush dark brown carpet. I looked around the room, scarcely recognizing the space. It resembled a pricey hotel suite, with a king-sized bed, a small sitting area, built in bookcases surrounding a big screen TV. I pushed to my feet and opened the door to what used to be a closet. Holy crap. Talk about a fancy bathroom. Done up in black and white with chrome fixtures, with a glass-walled shower, two pedestal sinks and one entire wall covered in mirrored tiles.

The space smelled like Tony so I knew this was where he’d been staying. Had he fixed this up because he needed a place to get away... from me?

That hurt worse than the idea he was cheating on me.

A wave of nausea scalded my insides, followed by a white-hot slice of pain. If there’d been a window, I would’ve crawled out of it.

Stumbling back to the bedroom, I perched on the edge of the bed, waiting to be released from my private hell, caught in this gilded cage that hadn’t been built for me.

When the locks clicked, I fought my natural urge to come up swinging.

“Julie?” Big Mike said gently. “Tony is waiting for you.”

“I don’t give a...” I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. I would not give him the satisfaction of my anger. I sure as hell wouldn’t cry. Fuck him. I wouldn’t even obey his edict.

Holding my head up, I left the posh bedroom and kept walking right on by the living area where Tony waited.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Martinez asked.

“As far away from you as I can get.” In the entryway, I looked on the floor for my purse.

No sign of it.

Cal blocked the only exit. If Tony told him to keep me in, I was trapped. Even if I did manage to make it out, I had no keys. No cell phone. No money.

Bastards. Every fucking one of them.

I pressed my back against the wall, slid to the floor and rested my forehead on my knees, curling into a tight ball. Martinez had no right to make me feel this way. Like I’d stepped over the line. This was his fault. Not mine. I had to force myself to breathe slowly and steadily or I’d turn into a raging lunatic. Or maybe I already was.

Voices bounced to me. Big Mike’s. Tony’s. Corny’s. Not hers. Had Tony sent her away from his psycho soon to be ex-girlfriend?

A knee popped and leather creaked as someone knelt in front of me. My heart raced.

“Blondie.”

“Leave me alone, Martinez.”

“No.”

His callused fingertips touched my face and I flinched.

But that didn’t deter him. He kept stroking my cheek. “Look at me.”

Petulant girl wanted to deny his command. I managed to meet his gaze, but jerked my head from his touch.

Tony had gone beyond pissed off to the lethally quiet anger that made everyone around him tread lightly.

Of course, I didn’t pay any heed. “Give me back my damn purse.”

“I shouldn’t ever give it back since you showed up here armed.”

I raised my chin and stared at him coolly. “Keep the stupid gun. You gave it to me anyway. Just let me go.”

“Fine. Corny will get your truck and drive you home. He’s on duty at ten tonight.” He rose, said something, and Corny took off.

Without asking permission, I walked to the back door and bailed outside. When my pickup pulled up, I motioned Corny to the passenger side so I could drive. My purse was in the seat. I fired up a Marlboro so fast I nearly singed my fingertips.

For once I was glad my Hombres babysitter was silent. I smoked one cigarette after another, obsessing that Martinez had neither confirmed nor denied sexual involvement with the slutty Martha Stewart wannabe.

Did he really think I’d sweep this under the rug?

No. He knew me better than that.
I
knew me better than that. I’d set the fucking rug on fire. Then I’d beat it down with the broom until nothing remained but cinders in my search for the truth.

After parking in the garage, I entered my side of the house, slamming the door in Corny’s face. In my foul mood, I saw two choices. Blurring the edges of my anger with Don Julio tequila, or taking my frustrations out on Martinez’ punching bag.

Why not do both?

I snatched the tequila, changed into baggy boxing shorts and a black sports bra before I headed upstairs. Tony was a fiend about working out and had installed a full gym in the extra bedroom. I took a long pull off the bottle before I slipped on a pair of weight lifting gloves. I cranked the Drowning Pool tracks on the iPod stereo and started warming up with the heavy bag.

Not hard at first. Just a steady connection of my fists to canvas. My muscles loosened. My resolve strengthened.

First, I saw Natalie Brunson’s face. One slip-up and destined to be branded a cheater forever.

Right. Left. Right. Right. Right.

Then I saw Glen Bueller’s face. Too much of a wuss to verbally confront his wife about their marriage issues.

Right. Left. Right. Left.

Then I saw my cheating ex-husband’s face when I’d caught him, yet again, with lipstick on his collar and his zipper undone.

Fucker. I swigged from the bottle and went back to beating on the bag as “Bodies” blasted from the speakers.

Jab. Jab. Jab. Right uppercut. Left uppercut. Jab. Jab. Jab. Left uppercut. Right uppercut.

Martinez’ face swam into view and I blinked the sweat from my eyes. Sweat, goddammit. Not tears. I hit the bag harder. And harder. Pissed off at him. Pissed off at myself. Scared I was so in love with him I’d forgive him anything. Even infidelity.

I pummeled the bag until I couldn’t stay upright. Until I had to sag against the canvas to catch my breath. But I could still reach the tequila and I sucked down two long swallows.

“You’re hesitating during that sequence,” Martinez said behind me. “Your body language gives away your intent.”

“Everyone’s a critic.” I peeled off the gloves and used a towel to mop my face. I sensed his hard stare as I booked it from the room.

I’d reached the kitchen when a strong hand on my bicep spun me around.

“Jesus, Julie, you’re bleeding.” Before I uttered a word, Tony herded me to the sink and shoved my hands under cold water. Then he stomped to the adjoining door and threw it open. “Mike, get in here and bring your first aid kit.”

Rather than stir the pot further, I kept my mouth firmly closed. I didn’t fight when Martinez gently dried my hands and settled me in a kitchen chair. Big Mike applied antibacterial ointment and bandages to my ravaged knuckles. When Tony paced in front of me, I sure as hell didn’t ask why he’d changed into workout attire similar to mine, long black boxing shorts and a skin-tight wife beater. How cute. We even wore matching sneers.