Late Night with Andres (4 page)

The frenzied man turned to her. “You’re making talky noises at me? Shut up!”

Milla pushed herself to her feet. “What column cut like knives? You’re all excited about it, so you must remember it. Did you write in with a question?” She glanced at Gage who shook his head while biting his lip. Milla ignored him. Obviously he believed women should be quiet too.

“Milla Kierce! You know her? You know her! Of course I remember the question. My girlfriend loved her column. So she wrote in a question. And Milla answered. Then everything changed.”

Fart seemed to be cramming his shoulders into his face, his anger contorting him.

Milla narrowed her eyes. “I know who you are. Your girlfriend wanted out of your abusive relationship. I told her she deserved so much more than living in fear. And I suggested she get your balls pickled because only an asshole hits his girlfriend.”

She remembered that question, and she would never forget her answer. She just wanted to hug the woman. Milla had spent nights wondering how things had played out. Usually the questions were playful, but that one had been so serious. The stupid Internet had kept the question asker anonymous, and Milla had hoped the whole thing had been a prank. But there had been a real person on the end of the debacle.

“What did you just say?” Fart’s eyes grew larger and his nostrils flared.

Gage Daxson threw his hands in the air, his facial expression clearly saying,
What the fuck?

Maybe it was a crazy time to take a stand on women’s lib. Possibly there was a better forum to speak her mind. But damn it all to hell, gun or no gun, this guy wasn’t going to boss her around.

“I said only an asshole hits his girlfriend.” Then Milla gave the gunman a strong, proud middle finger.

He responded with a sneer and leveled the gun at her head. “Did you say you were Milla Kierce?”

Milla’s mouth went dry. “And if I was?” She tried to avoid seeing Gage pulling at his own hair.

Fart smiled. “If you’re Milla Kierce you’re going to wish I’d killed you hours ago.” He waved Gage over closer to Milla. “Get her naked. I want a show.”

Chapter 7

White Hot Heat

T
HERE
M
UST
B
E
W
ORSE
T
HINGS
than being naked in front of two strange men. Milla was sure of that. Well, pretty sure. But at the moment, nothing
seemed
worse. The rock star bit his tongue and moved slowly to where she stood. Fart went for his pants again.

“You couldn’t stop talking? Now look what we’ve got to do.” Gage pulled her against his chest.

She stared at his throat, contemplating fighting him. She watched his Adam’s apple as she explained herself. “I hate bullies.”

Her hair moved as he replied. “I get that. But if we work together, we might live. Do you like living?”

She nodded.

Gage tilted her face toward his with his knuckle. “Then pretend to like this. A lot.”

And then he was all over her. His hands, his lips. He pushed her against the wall and became her boyfriend and semi-gynecologist with a few masterful moves. Making love to a woman was a sport for this guy, obviously. Milla did her best to keep up, to match his enthusiasm, but she couldn’t stop taking peeks at Fart. The man was working hard at his belt with his one available hand. She tried to feel Gage’s chest, to touch something on him, but her joints had rusted over. Every forced move was jagged. She almost punched him twice: once by misjudging where his cheek was and the other when he touched a part of her body that was hard wired to her ovaries.

Once he was dry-humping her, she realized he was being as pornotastic as he could without actually causing her to be naked. And she hated him a little less. He kissed her neck and licked his way to her ear.

“I’m trying to hold out for the police. Kiss me back.”

She took her eyes from Fart and looked at the man who might very well be the person she would die with. At least he had a plan. She stilled his feverish antics and cradled his face. She smiled at him. It sort of made sense—if the boat was sinking, might as well slam a few cocktails and turn the music up loud. She explored his familiar face with her fingertips. His full lips, sharp cheekbones, she just cherished him for being a guy who wasn’t trying to kill her. She went to her tiptoes and pulled him down so she could kiss his forehead. Then she kissed the tip of his nose.

“I’m sorry you have no privacy. You should have that. I’m sure I’m not the only one who wishes you well.”

Gage blinked in surprise. It was as if he refocused on her, finally seeing her. His voice was gruff. “Thanks.”

And then Milla Kierce kissed the handsome man like it was the end of the world.

Gage had kissed maybe a million girls. But this girl, this kiss in a crazy room with a gun held to his head was changing his soul. It was the look in her eyes, the intense kindness that made her lips melt his numbness. He actually pulled away to look at her again, needing more of that gaze. Her brown eyes held a knowing. She had an almost superhuman calm. Too calm.

“You’re giving up.” He shook his head.

She shrugged. “If we’re going out in a blaze of glory, I want to have a smile on my face.”

She was all fucking serene—like the daughter of Mother Teresa and Gandhi. They were interrupted by the sound of Fart’s belt hitting the ground. Gage cringed and reluctantly took a look. The Devil’s Fart stood with his tighty whiteys pulled up high. His balls were creeping out the sides of the fabric.

“Wow.” Milla shut her eyes and turned her head.

“No shit.” Gage had to gather himself. This gunman was an assault on every sense he had. And this proved even more that the dude was totally out of his fucking mind.

“Screw her right now!” Fart did a deep knee-bend and shook his balls.

Gage twirled Milla into his arms and dipped her. “No giving up. That thing is not killing me. Or you.”

Milla rolled her eyes at the rock star. She watched his mouth as he whispered more directions. “We’re going to give him a show. Stay with me.”

In a blink her dress was unzipped again. And her very false smile slipped off as soon as her black dress did. Milla quickly gathered her mounds of desire before she could be exposed.
Shit. Not mounds of desire
.

Gage pulled her in and pressed her hard against his chest. “Let go. Hug me.”

She shook her head. Now she was here for all she was worth in just her underwear. So not cool.

“Do it. I won’t let him see you.” He nodded encouragingly. She slid her hands out from between them and hugged his neck.

“More kissing!”

Gage began his effective lip gymnastics again. “Okay, grab my crotch.”

“No.” Milla pressed against him harder, not wanting a gap of space between them. Gage traced his hands up and down her bare back. She had goose bumps and chills and sweats at the same time. Fart had pulled down his underwear too, so Milla stopped checking on him. She shivered with revulsion.

“Now,” Gage said.

“Fine.” She carefully snaked her hand down to the front of his pants and grasped him. He was not aroused at all. She gave him a surprised look. “Nothing?”

He gave a pointed look in Fart’s direction. “Now’s not a great time. How about I owe you one?” Milla gasped as Gage changed his grip and twirled her toward Fart. He grabbed her boobs so his hands were a bikini top made from flesh. “Like it,” he whispered in her ear, pressing his chest into her back.

Milla’s heart pounded as she started to moan. To her own ears it sounded as false as it was. She tried to ignore her nipples perking up from the friction and the chill in the room. It was all awkward. Fart was having at himself like he was his own paid hooker. Judging from his frantic movements, this disgusting man was about to have a disgusting orgasm.

Andres did a beautiful job of keeping his composure. There were complaints pouring in about the nudity currently being aired on national TV. He shook his head when Peter asked him if they should implement a privacy bar to cover the exposed parts on the hostage taker. No, this was the most rewarding news story of his life, on his home court. There were beautiful young people acting out sexual situations, and next there would be gore. Everything that made the news worth watching was happening at once—a buffet of the most sensational news stories ever. His network would air it all raw and defend it later. The other networks could water down their news, but Andres wanted his delivered straight to the vein of his viewers. He smiled as he thought of returning to his anchor position. They would beg him to now. And think of all the copycat crimes. This was a gold mine.

Victoria walked in with a group of police officers. “Sir, we have visitors. ”

Reluctantly, Andres allowed Peter to sit in front of the desk where he’d been calling the shots. Andres introduced himself, and a Detective Rocco Brun spoke for the police.

“We need you to stop this live feed immediately. Our officers are ready to infiltrate, and I want access to all your surveillance cameras.”

“Well, gentlemen. It’s good to want things. But we have a tricky situation here,” Andres replied slowly. “I think we need an injunction from a judge before I accept that as a situation that works for me.”

Detective Brun cracked his knuckles. “No problem. Joey get me our favorite judge on the phone. And, Andres? If this little game hurts either of those people in that room, this’ll be the last thing you said with your real teeth.”

As the detective turned his back, Andres glanced at one of the monitors. He hid his surprise. Andres was pretty sure one of the vents in the hallway outside the dressing room was hanging open. That could mean a few things. Possibly there was a second attacker in the ductwork, or a scared person might have mistakenly evacuated into the air conditioning vent, or maybe, just maybe, there was a knight in shining armor trying to get involved. Andres casually turned off the monitor with the evidence while Detective Brun took a phone call.
I’ll decide the fate of that room and not one other person. This story is mine.