Rev It Up (Black Knights Inc. #3)(79)

How was she ever going to survive this?

***

When they exited the elevator on the sixth floor of The Stardust Hotel, Rock’s deep, rich chuckle made the butterflies in Vanessa’s stomach once more take flight.

That’s all it took. One look from him. One word. And she felt like she was plummeting down that first steep hill on a roller coaster.

Gee, Van, you’re one sad sack.

Yeah, there was no question of that. Because if any other guy referred to her breasts as funbags, she’d be sorely tempted to land a knee in his family jewels right before she crowned him King Asshole. But Rock said it, and she got all gooey, thinking he was the cutest, funniest thing to ever walk on two legs.

Ugh. The reasons why she obviously needed professional, psychological help just kept piling up.

“You okay to do this?” he asked once they reached Johnny’s hotel room.

In answer, she kicked out of her stripper shoes and reached beneath her skirt for the .38 Special she kept strapped to her thigh.

“Mon dieu,” he whispered, screwing his eyes closed for a brief second, “that might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

She grinned as she quietly inserted the key into the lock. Before she turned it, he grabbed her hand, shaking his head. “I’m goin’ in alone first. You follow behind me when I give you the all-clear.”

“Oh, don’t go getting all testosterone-y on me now,” she hissed, frowning up at him. “I can take care of myself. There’s no need for this He-Man crap.”

“Non. This isn’t a negotiation. I’m—”

Oh, whatever…

Before he could finish, she turned the lock, threw open the door and barged into the room, her pistol quartering the area.

Rock let loose with a string of French curses, but he was barely a split second behind her, both of his guns up and ready and sighting around the room. Once he realized the place was empty and she wasn’t in any immediate danger, he turned and barreled toward the attached restroom. She heard the shower curtain rings squeak against the rod as he yanked the curtain aside. Then he appeared in the bathroom door, his face like a gulf hurricane.

“Damn,” she cursed. “So no Johnny?”

He didn’t waste any time laying into her, breaking out a thesaurus’s worth of words for dumbass, but she waved him off as she padded toward the rumpled bed.

Picking up a creased photo, her blood began pounding in her ears.

“Oh, shit,” she breathed, turning it around for him to see.

***

Jake looked down at the face of his drowsy son, his heart nearly bursting with a love he’d never known.

It was an amazing feeling. An overwhelming feeling. A scary feeling.

He was a father. He had a son. A little boy whom he was responsible for shaping into a good, honest, loyal man.

“You getting tired, little bro?” he asked, brushing a lock of soft hair back from Franklin’s brow.

“Nuh-uh.” Franklin shook his head against the pillow as his big, gray eyes drifted closed, and his plump little thumb found its way between his lips.

Jake smiled and tiptoed from the room, partially closing the door behind him. The pain medication was fast-acting, and he was glad for it. Because every time Franklin’s face scrunched up, his little cheeks draining of blood, Jake felt like someone shoved a hot knife in his gut. And considering that was his reaction after only having been a father for one day, he couldn’t imagine what Shell must be feeling.

Shell…

Damn, we sure made a mess of things, didn’t we?

With a heavy heart, he lumbered to the guest bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt and tiredly dragging it from his shoulders as he pushed through the door.

A sound in the corner had his head whipping around. He had just enough time to register he was wasn’t alone and drop his shirt to the floor while simultaneously reaching for the pistol in his waistband…

But he wasn’t quick enough.

A muzzle flash blazed through the darkened room a split second before agony exploded in his head, and he knew no more.

***

“Come on, come on,” Rock growled. “Pick up, Snake…Merde!” He resisted the urge to throw his phone out the window of Christian’s Porsche as he and Vanessa sped north on the highway toward Lincoln Park.

“Michelle isn’t answering either,” Vanessa said from her position in the passenger seat. “Her phone goes straight to voice mail.”

She grabbed on to the dashboard when he swerved around a slow-moving Peapod delivery truck but didn’t utter so much as a squeak. The woman might look fragile, what with that small Latina frame of hers, but she was turning out to be incredibly tough.

When she’d stormed into Johnny’s hotel room like Captain frickin’ America, zut!, he’d nearly vomited his own heart.

“Try her home phone,” he instructed as he shifted into a lower gear, working the pedals.

“I don’t have that number. You try her at home. I’ll call Boss.”

“Oui,” he said as he cut across three lanes of traffic, the Porsche’s fat tires clinging to the asphalt like they were coated with glue.

Christian might have a terrible eye for sensible clothes, but Rock could totally get behind the Brit’s taste in vehicles.

He quickly thumbed through his contacts on his phone as he flicked on the Porsche’s blinker and took the next exit in a squeal of burning rubber. Keeping one eye on the road and one eye on the old lady in the Caddy who could barely see over the steering wheel in the lane beside him, he found Shell’s information. Pressing the number for her land-line, he held his cell phone up to his ear.