Rev It Up (Black Knights Inc. #3)(45)
Her shiver had a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
Uh-huh. He’d definitely tapped into her lizard brain. There was no mistaking that telltale flush on her cheeks or the way her breath hitched.
He knew he was pushing the bounds of his promise. And he planned to push it just a little further…
“And, Shell?” He pressed up against her, butt to nuts in military speak. Only it was a shame to refer to a thing of beauty such as Shell’s ass so irreverently.
“H-huh?”
“I do love you whether you believe me or not. And not only that,” he put a hand on her hip and tucked her more tightly against the erection that inexplicably sprung up anytime he got within three feet of her. “I lust for you, as well. And those are the two things I think it takes to make a relationship work. You remember that while you’re out with this stable, reliable, consistent doctor tonight.”
Chapter Nine
The couple who was checked in next door wasn’t screwing like the previous pair; they were fighting.
Johnny preferred the screwing.
At least then he wouldn’t have to listen to the woman harp on the guy.
He was two seconds from banging on the wall above his headboard and screaming, Yes, he screwed Dolores! And he probably did it to get away from your shrew-y, more-annoying-than-Fran Drescher voice!
And just as he pushed up to his knees and raised a fist, a knock at his door had his head whipping around.
What the hell?
No one knew he was here, save Mary. And she wouldn’t step one dainty, pampered foot in this shit-hole hotel, much less deign to ride the creaky elevator up six floors.
“Who is it?” he barked, quietly reaching for the gun he kept on the nightstand.
“You got a delivery,” a nasally, disembodied voice drifted through the flimsy metal door.
“You must have the wrong room, man. I ain’t expecting no deliveries.”
“Are you Mr. Vitiglioni?”
Sonofabitch!
He’d checked in under an alias so…yeah, he slid the safety off on his Ruger.
“Who’s it from?” he demanded, carefully climbing off the bed, wincing when the lumpy mattress squeaked out a protest.
“Hey, man,” the guy complained through the door, “I ain’t your secretary. I just do deliveries.”
“Leave it,” he commanded, inching his way across the room, his pistol held out in front of him.
“Are you Mr. Vitiglioni?”
He wrenched open the door and pointed the scary end of his Ruger at a bulbous nose situated prominently on a round, acne-scarred face. The delivery man was short, pudgy, and more than a bit careless about personal hygiene if his greasy skin and greasier hair were anything to go by.
“Whoa!” the guy’s chubby hands flew in the air, and the overnight package dropped to the hallway floor with a muted thud. “Jesus, man! Chill!”
“Who told you I was here?” he snarled, shoving the Ruger’s barrel closer to the man’s ugly face.
“No one!” the dude swore as his wide, bloodshot eyes slowly filled with tears. “It’s right there on the shipping label.”
Johnny glanced down and…sure enough. There was his name in big, bold letters along with the address of the Stardust Hotel and his room number.
What the hell, what the hell?
He glanced down the hall in each direction before leaning in close to the delivery man, ignoring the smell of mustard and onions on the guy’s breath. “You tell anybody about this,” he looked at the nametag sewn into the brown uniform, “Rudy, and I’ll find you and slit your throat. Then I’ll pull your bloated, purple tongue down through the cut I made and watch you bleed out. You got that? Nod once if you got that?”
Rudy nodded once, a lone tear spilling down his shiny, pock-marked cheek.
“Good,” Johnny shoved him away and watched him stumble before scrambling toward the elevator. The doors opened with a sickly sounding ping-pong, and Rudy jumped inside, cowering in the back corner.
Johnny winked and pointed his gun straight at Rudy’s greasy head as the silver doors slid shut. A terrified groan slipped down the hall, and Johnny couldn’t help but smile.
He loved that sound. The sound of fear. It was a thing of joy to hear, and he supposed it affected him much the same way a church choir affected others.
He peered down at the package, and once more scanned the hall in each direction before bending to retrieve it. Quickly backing into his room, he locked the door and strode toward the bed. After depositing the package on the faded comforter, he stared at it for long moments.
From Mary?
That’s the only thing that made any sense, but would she be stupid enough to send him a package with his real name on it considering she knew what he was in Chicago to do?
If so, he was tempted to kill her instead of the Black Knights’ families. The stupid bitch…
For a moment he considered not opening it. What could she have possibly sent that he’d want to see anyway?
Nothing, that’s what. Absolutely nothing.
Then again…
“Oh, what the hell,” he grumbled, reaching down to rip it open. He frowned when a thick, brown, accordion-style file folder appeared. With a hesitant hand, he untied the string holding it secure and carefully peeked inside.