As he froze, the one and only thing that shot through his head was that scene from the movie Trading Places - when Eddie Murphy walks into his room at the fancy digs and a half-naked chick sits up in his bed and goes, "Hey, Billy Ray."
The difference in this situation was that his stalker, the one with the bouncer boyfriend and the trust issues, was blond, and not wearing early eighties Spandex pants. Matter of fact, she was fully, motherfucking, buck-ass naked.
The gun that appeared over his shoulder was steady and accessorized with a suppressor.
So iAm could have killed her, no problem.
"I thought you'd be glad to see me," the chippie said, looking back and forth between him and his brother's muzzle.
Like she wanted to make herself more appealing, she lifted one arm to fuss with her hair - but if she were hoping her br**sts would sway enticingly, she was out of luck: Those rock-hard falsies of hers were as unmovable as something bolted to a wall.
"How did you get in here," Trez demanded.
"Aren't you glad to see me?" When no one answered her, and that gun stayed up, she pouted. "I got friendly with the security guard, okay. What. Oh, come on...fine, I blew him, okay."
Classy.
And that dumb-ass bastard rent-a-cop was going to be out of a job.
Trez walked over to the pile of clothes by the end of the bed. "Put these back on and get out."
God, he was tired.
"Oh, come on," she whined as her things fluttered all around her. "I just wanted to surprise you when you got home from work. I thought this would make you happy."
"Well, it doesn't. You need to get the f**k out - " As she opened her mouth like she was going to go psycho on him, he shook his head and cut her off. "Don't even think about it. I'm not in the mood, and my brother over here really doesn't care whether you walk out of here or get carried out in a bag. Get dressed. Get out."
The chippie looked back and forth again. "You were so nice to me the other night."
Trez winced as the pain stepped up to the plate and started swinging on the right side of his head. "Honey, I'm going to be real honest here. I don't even know your name. We banged twice - "
"Three times - "
"I don't care how many it was. What I do know is that you're going to let this go tonight. If you come around me or my place again, I'm going to..." The Shadow in him wanted to go in a more blood-thirsty direction, but he forced himself to stay on human terms she'd understand. "...call the police. And you don't want that, because you're a drug addict who deals on the side, and if they search your shit, your car, your place, they're going to find more than just paraphernalia. They're going to bust you and that idiot meathead you're sleeping with for possession with intent to distribute, and you're going to f**king jail."
The chippie just blinked.
"Don't push me, sweetie," Trez said in an exhausted voice. "You won't like what happens."
Say what you would about the kid; she was quick when she was properly motivated. A matter of moments later, after some yoga poses to get that plastic rack squeezed into a "blouse" that was two sizes too small, she was on her way, cheapie purse slung over her shoulder, her skyscraper stillies dangling from the ankle straps.
Trez didn't say another word. Just followed in her wake to the door, opened the way out...and shut the thing in her face as she turned around to say something.
He threw the lock manually.
iAm put his weapon away. "We need to move. This location is compromised."
His brother was right. It wasn't like they'd kept where they lived a big-ass secret, but staying at the Commodore was predicated on the idea that a security guard wouldn't be stupid enough to let a woman into someone's place without the permission of the owners.
If that could happen once, it could happen again -
Abruptly, the pain intensified, like the volume on his cranial concert from hell had suddenly been cranked.
"I'm going to go throw up for a while," Trez mumbled as he wheeled away. "We'll start packing as soon as this migraine is over...."
He had no idea what iAm replied, or even if the guy did.
Fuck.
Chapter Sixty-four
Standing outside the training center's examination room, Qhuinn had his hands in the pockets of his leathers, his teeth locked tight, and his brows drawn all the way together.
Waiting. Waiting...
Medical shit was a lot like fighting, he decided: long periods of nothing doing, interjected with bursts of life-or-death.
It was enough to stamp you certifiable.
He glanced over at the door. "How much longer do you think it will be?"
Across the way, Blay crossed and uncrossed his long legs. The guy had stretched out on the floor about a half hour ago, but that had been his only concession to the wormhole of time they'd been sucked into.
"It's got to be winding down now," he replied.
"Yeah. Only so many parts to a body, right."
After a moment, Qhuinn focused on the other male properly. There were dark circles under Blay's eyes, and his cheeks had hollowed out. He was also paler than usual, his face far too light.
Qhuinn went over, leaned against the wall, and let his shitkickers slide out until his ass hit the floor next to Blay's.
Blay glanced up and smiled a little, then resumed staring at the tips of his boots.
Qhuinn watched as his own hand reached out and brushed his friend's jaw. As Blay started and looked over, Qhuinn was surprised to find he wanted to do so much more - and not sexually. He wanted to draw the male across his lap and have Blay put his head down. He wanted to stroke those strong shoulders and pass his fingers through that short red hair. He wanted to get some passerby to find a blanket and bring it over, so he could wrap some warmth around the powerful body that seemed to have been weakened.
Qhuinn forced his eyes away and dropped his hand.
God, he felt so f**king...trapped. Even though there were no chains on him.
Glancing down, he double-checked his wrists. Ankles. Yup, totally free over here. Nothing holding him back.
Closing his lids, he tilted his head back against the wall. In his mind, he was touching Blay - and again, not sexually. Just feeling the vitality beneath the skin, the shift of the muscle, the solidity of the bone.
"I think you should go see Selena," he said to the guy.
Blay exhaled as if he had someone sitting on his chest. "Yeah. I know."
"We could go together," Qhuinn heard himself volunteer.
He opened his eyes in time to see Blay's head whip around.
"Or you could, you know, do it on your own." Qhuinn cracked his knuckles. "Whatever you feel comfortable with."