Surrender (26 page)

I start for the front door, but Carlos closes and locks it. I’m frozen in place.

A minute later, he slips behind me. I feel his hot breath on my shoulders. Suddenly my hair is swept aside.
“Usted tiene un cuello elegante y hermosos hombros . . .”

I shiver, not from pleasure, but in revulsion. He’s praising my body. He sprinkles kisses on my left shoulder, then my right. I pull away. “We haven’t negotiated terms.” I twist around. I don’t like him standing behind me. “Business first, pleasure second.” I’ll say anything to buy some time. He already threatened to beat me if I made any noise; what’s he willing to do if I refuse his advances? I’ll play it cool for as long as I can, discuss what I want from him. Then I’ll find a way out.

He throws his head back and laughs. “I admire your entrepreneurial spirit. Sit.” He gestures at the couch. “Wine? Champagne? Want to snort a line of coke, baby?”

“Chardonnay, if you have some.”
And a bottle of whiskey so I don’t lose my nerve.
My head is whirling—every lesson I’ve ever learned about surviving attacks rushes into my brain. All the heart-to-heart talks I’ve had with dancers about protecting themselves, not trusting strangers, not accepting tricks. I suddenly find myself in their shoes, a victim of my own stupidity. I feel dirty. I watch Carlos closely, afraid he might drug me. He doesn’t; he opens a mini fridge near the TV and takes out a bottle of wine. He opens it, then reaches for a glass in a cabinet on the wall. He serves me.

As I take a sip, my hands start shaking. My chest tightens.
Not now, no anxiety attack now, please.

“Take it easy,” he comments. “We have plenty of time.” He faces the bar again and starts mixing a drink for himself.

“I can’t believe you.” I grab hold of Craig’s collar and give him a violent shake.

“Goddamnit, dude!” he yells, then twists free. “Let me finish. Darren made the arrangements with Carlos. Robyn didn’t have a choice. Carlos paid a thousand dollars to take her off the dance list for the night. I advised Robyn to go home or tell Darren and Henry everything she knew about Carlos. She claims she was sworn to secrecy by
you.
I didn’t believe her at first. But after she explained everything, I realized she was telling the truth. Why’d you do that to her?”

I cup my face with both hands. I never meant it to go this far. I surely never thought she’d take my words so literally, not to her detriment. Not to the point of having to entertain that sick fuck all night. “What happened after she joined him?”

“I worked VIP from the minute she stepped inside.” Craig looks at the floor, then back at me. “He bought drinks, teased her, and gave her a hard time about things . . . I didn’t overhear everything. But I do know those guys you got into a fight with at Rosario’s were his friends. He’s been keeping tabs on her.”

“That bastard nearly broke her hand.” My head is pounding. Where is she? I punch the wall. “I
have
to find her.”

Craig slants his head. “I spent the night because I was worried about her—nothing more.”

I study his face. I can’t tell if he’s still in love with Robyn or not. I don’t trust him, but we both want the same thing right now. “What did he do?” There’s more—I feel it.

Craig is reluctant to tell me.

“Don’t make me beat it out of you,” I warn.

He glares at me, knowing I’ll do it if I’m forced to. “After she started dancing, he grabbed her panties off the table and covered his face with them. He told her he wanted to taste her pussy.”

Another pain stabs my gut. We stand in silence. What more can I do? I’ve called everyone I can think of, driven everywhere, and racked my brain until it feels like my ears are going to bleed. The house phone rings. I look at Craig. “It’s got to be her . . .” I pick up the receiver. “Robyn?”

“No,” a male voice answers. I want to smash the headset. “This is Franco Delgado. I’m the manager at Bob Hall Pier. I’m looking for Garrick Dempsey.”

“Speaking,” I growl. “Where is she?”

He pauses. “Your girlfriend stopped by today. We discussed Carlos Cruz.”

The only thing I give a shit about is Robyn. “Where is she?” I repeat; I’m desperate.

“I’m afraid I gave her some bad advice . . .”

My heart drops into my stomach. “What did you do?”

“I told her the only way to be free of the bastard was to meet with one of his friends.”

I sweep my hand across the desk. Paperwork flies and a monitor crashes to the floor. “Where is she?” I’m pacing. “Why the fuck would you do something like that? Tell me where that asshole lives . . .”

“I’m sorry, dude.” I detect fear in his voice. “I drove her to 6834 Hugo Drive, off Airline Drive. I was supposed to stay with her, but he threatened me. I had to leave. She’s there alone. Hurry.” He hangs up.

I slam the headset down, then pull the top desk drawer open. I grab the Glock .45 I’m licensed to carry and jam it into my belt holster. I lift my keys off the wall peg and head for the door.

Craig bars my way. “What’s going on?”

“Robyn is with Carlos—I’m going to get her and end this shit. Get out of my way.”

“I’m going with you.”

I’m half-crazed and this guy has the balls to get in my face? Our gazes lock, and I hear his rapid breathing. He’s determined; so am I. Backup isn’t a bad idea. “Let’s go.”

As soon as I empty my wineglass, Carlos refills it. He sits next to me again. He’s perfectly composed on the soft leather, his legs crossed, his long arms draped across the back of the sofa. I’m a wreck—inside and out. And he knows it.

“You’ve given me a fair proposition,
mamasita.
I’ll have to think about it. Remind me how sweet your little ass is—put some music on and dance for me. If I like what I see, I’ll give you what you want. We both win.”

“You promise to leave me alone if I dance for you?”

He focuses his narrowed eyes on me. “You think too much. I’ve agreed to it already: you show me what’s between your legs . . . dance for me
whenever
I ask.” His gaze wanders lazily down my body as he slips two fingers between my breasts. “I’ll forget what you overheard.”

And you’ll leave Garrick and Macey alone—forever.
I want to scream it, but he’ll get mad. He’s already losing patience. I’ve been here over an hour.

He grabs a CD case off the coffee table and unzips it. He flips through some discs. “You love classics?”

I nod.

“Here.” He pulls one out and hands it to me. “Play track three.”

I take it. He’s chosen Santana. He points to the entertainment unit underneath the big screen. I slowly walk over, eyeing the shelves. I turn on the stereo and put the CD in. The music starts. It’s time to keep my end of the bargain. There’s nothing like a buzz to build false confidence. When I turn around, he’s already shoved the coffee table aside. His legs are spread, his hands resting on his knees.

“Come on,
baby.
”

I dance my way over, swaying my hips, trying to silence my inner voice. When I reach him, I grab my wineglass off the table and take a swig. The amber liquid burns my throat. Or is it bile? I put the glass down and kneel at his feet. This is one of the safest positions to be in. I arch backward and squeeze my breasts together. I want to die, right here, right now. I feel his hands on my stomach.
Oh God.
I raise my head—he’s muttering in Spanish.

“Take your dress off,
now.
” Cheer is suddenly replaced by raw lust. His dark eyes are steely, almost evil.

I shiver, but carefully grab the dress by the shoulders and start wiggling out of the fitted bodice. My right breast is exposed. He’s fixated on it—I’m nothing but a nameless piece of flesh now. He licks his lips and scoots forward on the couch. I’m ten seconds away from being at his mercy. I clench my teeth, whispering Garrick’s name, cursing myself for ever showing up here. I wish . . .

“Our original deal is off,
mamasita
. . . I think I want to fuck you instead.” He grabs hold of my hips.

I stop dancing. I smack his face. He’s going to finish what he started at Macey’s house. Rape. I’m shaking all over, but determined to get out of here. He wrestles me down, but I dig my heel into his chest and he yells in pain. He recoils, giving me enough room to roll over. I end up on my knees. We face off—our glances locked. Cat and mouse. I won’t get trapped here.

The front door crashes open. I scream. Carlos shoots up, then turns around. We’re both too stunned to move. Garrick’s massive frame fills the doorway. His gun is pointed at Carlos. I’m breathless, nearly incapable of rational thought. I feel my chest tighten. I pant. Then I see Craig’s head appear behind Garrick’s left shoulder.
Oh. My. God.
I’m still on my knees when Garrick steps farther inside. Craig follows and slams the door.

There’s a moment of deafening silence. Garrick’s gaze moves violently from me to Carlos, then back. “Are you unhurt?” Garrick asks.

I nod, too afraid to talk. He must have been a Viking in a past life.

“Can you stand up?” he asks.

I nod my head.

“Good,” he says, tight lipped. “Do it now.”

I stagger to my feet, dizzy from the wine. Craig meets me halfway to the door and wraps his arm around my shoulders. I adjust my bodice. When I look up, I can’t see Garrick’s face, but I see the gun and Carlos’s fear. This is probably the first time he’s been at the wrong end of the barrel.

“What did this son of a bitch promise you, Robyn?” I’ve never heard Garrick sound so ominous, so controlled. I’m deeply afraid.

“Answer me.”

“He promised to leave me, you, and Macey alone if . . . I . . . if . . .” I can’t say it.

“Tell me.”

“If I danced for him whenever he wanted,” I blurt out.

“Dance, bitch?” Carlos spits. “I told you to give me a blow job.”

Garrick drops his gun and launches himself at Carlos. They crash on top of the coffee table, and I hear glass shatter. I’m too off balance to do anything but stare in horror. Garrick’s massive arm draws back and his fist makes contact with Carlos’s face. Carlos groans. Garrick punches him again. And again. Blood dribbles out of Carlos’s mouth.

I look up at Craig. “Stop Garrick before he kills him, Craig,
now.
”
Please.

“No.” Craig’s nails dig into my arm.

I watch helplessly as Garrick drags Carlos off the floor and throws him against the entertainment unit. As soon as Carlos’s back smashes against the stereo, the CD stops playing. He recovers and staggers forward. Garrick kicks him in the stomach. He hits the floor.

I break free of Craig’s grasp and scramble forward, leaning over the couch. “No!” I scream. This isn’t a fight; it’s a bloody massacre.

It’s too late. Garrick drops, and his elbow pulverizes Carlos’s nose. I hear cartilage snap—I need to vomit. “Stop it, Garrick. Please . . .”

I think he hears me. His heated gaze meets mine. There’s blood on his face, shirt, and hands. Blood is pooled around Carlos’s motionless body. Is he dead? I can’t handle it.
I did this.
Carlos’s blood is on my hands. Garrick’s freedom is at stake. The world starts to spin. I grab the edge of the sectional, hoping to steady myself. I can’t. My legs give out.

As soon as Robyn’s eyes cross, I’m up. I leap over the sofa. She’s out. I gently lift her by the shoulders and slide underneath her so her head can rest in my lap. “Come on, baby.” I tap her cheeks. “Wake up.” She’s unresponsive. I check her pulse. Nice and steady. She’s breathing regularly. When I look up, Craig is standing over me. “Wet a towel with cold water.” He runs for the kitchen. “Come on, baby, please.”

Craig returns. I place the towel on her forehead. She’s not waking up. I sweep her into my arms and lift her onto the couch.
Goddamnit.
I check her head for bumps. There’s nothing. The violence and blood must have been too much for her to handle. I look over my shoulder. Carlos is still out cold on the floor.

“I think you broke his leg,” Craig reports. “And his nose.” He’s hovering over the bastard. “And his wrist—it’s bent wrong.”

“I don’t give a shit about that asshole.” I face Robyn again, caressing her cheek with the back of my hand. “You stupid, brave little girl.”

“What do you want me to do with Carlos?” Craig asks.

“Sweep the house,” I say. “If you find drugs or paraphernalia, bring it out here.”

Fifteen minutes later, Craig produces nearly a pound of primo marijuana and several ounces of coke. “On the coffee table?”

“On the floor,” I say, glaring down at Carlos. “There won’t be any mistakes this time; this asshole is going to get what he deserves.” Robyn is still unconscious on the couch. I pick up the cordless phone from the coffee table and dial Detective Nichols’s cellphone.

“Hello?” he says groggily.

“There’s a package you should pick up now at 6834 Hugo Drive. “I hang up and rip the phone cord out of the wall. I confiscate Carlos’s cellphone. Anonymity is priceless. “Let’s go.” I carry Robyn outside and get in the passenger seat of my truck. I cradle her on my lap.

Craig slides in and revs the engine. He turns. “Here—I thought you might need this again someday.” He hands me my pistol.

“I appreciate your help,” I say.

Craig nods. There’s an unspoken truce between us now. As long as he respects the boundaries with Robyn that I’ve already made abundantly clear to him, I’ll tolerate his presence in our lives.

Chapter Twenty-six

I wake up in Garrick’s bedroom. He’s asleep beside me. It’s dark outside and I check the clock: five thirty. Was it all a stupid dream?
No.
The last thing I remember is begging Garrick to stop beating Carlos. The blood . . . the madness in Garrick’s eyes . . . I couldn’t breathe. I shiver. What are we doing here? Why is Garrick asleep? I throw the covers off and start to slide out of bed. Garrick’s arm locks around my waist.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Home . . . I need to make sure . . .”

He sits up. “Robyn, are you crazy?”

Maybe I am.
I face him. There’s enough light seeping under the closed door from the hallway to see the outline of his face. “I can’t stay here after what happened. I’m sorry—so very sorry.” Tears start falling. “I know you’ll never believe me, but nothing really happened. I thought I was doing the right thing. Sparing you another episode in my stripper life. I wanted to protect you and Macey—and help Franco. I can’t believe how stupid I am. The moment I got there, I knew I couldn’t follow through with it. When he touched me—I nearly curled up in a ball and died.” I’m breathless. It feels like someone punched me in the chest. “Did you kill him? Are we in trouble?” I sob.