Vampires! A Bundle of Bloodsuckers (22 page)

It turned out there weren’t as many cars in the underground parking lot as she’d expected. Maybe the storm had kept everyone off the streets and out of the downtown area. Her frustration grew as she realized that the silver Jag wasn’t there.

Silent, she circled around the attendant’s booth, and looked for the person on duty. The booth seemed to be deserted. She finally crept close enough to see a guy sleeping, his face and flabby upper body sprawled on the counter near the key hooks.

She leaned back against a BMW parked by the booth, and sighed. Her night had gone from crap to amazing back to crap again. Her options were limited. She couldn’t call a cab to get home because all of her money was in her briefcase. So was her cell phone. She didn’t even have fifty cents for a goddamn phone call. And she was dressed like she’d been hired to jump out of a biker’s birthday cake. Fucking mafia idiots. She’d learned her lesson. No more screwing criminals. No matter how gorgeous they happened to be.

She crossed her arms and thought that it probably wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if she woke the attendant, flashed her tits and asked him for help. She prided herself on being pragmatic. Even if she had to give him a quick hand job, it would be better than freezing her ass off in a parking garage. She pursed her lips, hoping his greasy hair wasn’t a tip-off about his general state of hygiene.

She opened the door of the heated booth, stepped inside, reveled in the warmth and cleared her throat. “Hey! Mr. Attendant! Wake up!” He smacked his lips together, snorted and sank back into sleep. She bent down close to his face and yelled, “Wake up!” No response. The guy had to be the deepest sleeper she’d ever seen, or maybe he was stoned. She shook his shoulder vigorously. Still no reaction. “Shit! I know you’re not dead because I heard you snort! Wake up! I need help!” He shifted in his chair and farted.

She fanned the air in front of her nose. “Perfect. Thank you for living down to my expectations.”

No silver Jag, no money, no cell phone, a comatose parking attendant and a blizzard. “Once again, my cup runneth over. Cup of shit, that is.”

Just as she was glancing about, searching for something to kick, she saw the cell phone sticking out of the attendant’s back pocket.

A wicked smile curved Tempest’s mouth. She grabbed the phone, and pressed a button to see if it was functional. She knew that if the battery was dead or there was no service, she’d heave the phone through the glass. After all, broken windows seemed to be the theme for the evening. The planets had decided to line up in her favor, because the phone worked. Maybe the bad karma she’d stepped in had fallen off her shoe.

She danced a little celebration boogie and dialed a familiar number. The phone rang a long time before a muffled voice answered.

“What? It’s the crack of fucking dawn. Who is this?”

“Stan?”

“Huh?

“Stan? Wake up, Stan!”

“Tempest?”

“Yeah, it’s me. I need help.”

“Whaddya mean you need help? Are you hurt? Did that asshole hurt you? I knew he was a mob guy. I told you. You never listen to me. Where are you? What happened?”

“I’m okay. I’m just stranded. It’s a long story. Can you come downtown and get me?”

“Shit, Tempest. Downtown? Do you know there’s a blizzard outside? My car’s crap. I barely made it home from the bar. And I’ve had a few.”

“Stan. Concentrate. I need you to come and get me. Remember all the times I pulled your ass out of one bar or another? You owe me.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Cool your jets. I’ll use my neighbor’s truck. At least it doesn’t have bald tires. Where are you?”

She told him where the hotel was and where she’d be waiting. Then she sat down on the edge of the counter, listening to the attendant snore. She stared out the booth window toward the street entrance and watched the dawn break over another glorious day in paradise.

“S
o, what the fuck happened? Where are your clothes?” Stan demanded.

He’d arrived to fetch Tempest in his neighbor’s monster truck, the kind that wobbled on gigantic tires and required a boost up to get into the cab. His long blond hair gave new meaning to the words “bed head,” and his face sported a criss-cross pattern from where he’d buried his face in his pillow. He smelled like a brewery.

Tempest smacked her face with her palms, trying to wake up. “I’m gonna give you the short version, ‘cause my brain’s runnin’ on empty. It turns out you were right. The guy is a Family member, or, should I say,
was
a Family member. Some of his relatives showed up to pay their respects. I remember hearing noises out in the hallway, then I must’ve blacked out, or something. Maybe the asshole drugged me. I don’t know. The next thing I knew, I woke up in a dark closet, the room was trashed, and I was alone.”

He gave her a quick look, and then shifted his eyes back to the windshield, squinting to see the road through the whiteout. “I told you not to hang with mob dudes. Sometime you’re gonna pick the wrong guy and I’ll be getting a call from the hospital or the morgue. And that’ll really piss me off. Where would we find another guitar player with tits like yours?”

Tempest smiled and patted his arm. Stan always gave her hell when he was worried about her. He was such a pussy. But it
was
kinda nice to have somebody care enough to give obnoxious lectures.

“Do you want to come home with me? Or should I take you to your place?” he asked.

She heard the hopeful tone in his voice and thought about it for a moment before answering. Crawling into a warm bed with Stan’s muscular body and his ever-ready cock would usually be a no-brainer. He’d snore and steal all the covers, but she knew he’d be there when she woke up. But, as much as she didn’t want to admit it even to herself, she felt weird about Malveaux. She’d really liked him and was sad about his death. He had to be dead. There wasn’t any other reason he would’ve left without his clothes. Being with someone else right away – even Stan – seemed disrespectful, somehow. Not to mention creepy.

“It’s closer to just drop me at my place. I need a shower and eight hours of uninterrupted sleep, which I wouldn’t get with Energizer Bunny Cock there.” She laughed and shoved her hand into Stan’s crotch.

The truck swerved as Stan jerked the steering wheel. “Hey! Cut that the hell out. You wanna get us into an accident? There’s a fucking blizzard out there.” He frowned and tightened his grip on the wheel.

“Geez, since when don’t you like having your nuts massaged? I’m just trying to show my gratitude for the crack-of-dawn rescue. See what happens the next time you whine to me about your alleged blue balls.”

“Blue balls are a scientific fact.” He laughed. “Just ‘cause chicks don’t get blue clit, doesn’t mean it isn’t a real thing. If you keep teasing Little Stan, he’ll get so frustrated that he’ll have purple balls instead of blue!”

Tempest smiled, thinking how easy it was to distract Stan from one of his relentless diatribes about how she should move in with him, or they should get married, or one of a hundred other “shoulds” he had on a mental list. She loved him, just not the way he wanted.

They finally reached Tempest’s apartment building, a thirty-minute crawl due to the unrelenting snow. The only other traffic they’d passed had been snowplows and a few city buses.

She leaned over and kissed Stan’s cheek. “I really do appreciate you. I hope I’m half as good a friend to you as you are to me. I don’t know what I’d do without you, or Little Stan for that matter. You’re a great drummer and an awesome friend.”

“Yeah.” He grabbed her hair as she reached for the door handle. “You’re just blowin’ smoke up my ass ‘cause you don’t wanna talk about anything important. I’m not as dense as you think I am, but that’s okay. I’m too tired to fight with you about your screwed-up ideas about men. Hey, shit!” He swiveled his head around, checking out the small back seat and the floor around Tempest’s feet. “Where’s your ax? Don’t tell me you left your guitar at that hotel?”

“No. I didn’t leave it at the damn hotel, if it’s any of your business. I left it in pretty boy’s car.”

Stan brought his face within inches of Tempest’s. “You’re jerkin’ me! You left your pride and joy in the asshole’s Jag? What the hell’s the matter with you? Did he really fuck your brains out?”

Tempest swiveled in the seat, kicked the door open with her foot, and slid down into the deep snow. A blast of frigid air on her ass told her that the bottom of her jacket was caught on the edge of the seat, exposing her lower body to the elements. It was lucky the visibility sucked, because otherwise the driver of the snowplow that just passed would’ve gotten one helluva show. She tugged on the bottom of her coat and stomped a foot, which caused her to lose her balance on some hidden ice. She grabbed the truck door, and screamed in frustration. Stan had hit the nail on the head. Damn it. She hated that he knew her so well, and that he knew just how to piss her off.

“Hey! Don’t fuck with me, Stan.” She kicked at the snow. “Yeah, he did. He fucked my brains out. He had the biggest cock I ever sucked, and he could make it dance and do tricks I’ve never seen before. He could license it as a tour bus and rent it out for groups. Is that what you want to hear? I was so horny that I didn’t even think about my guitar. I couldn’t think about anything but his huge cock. His balls . . .”

The expression on Stan’s stricken face was a mixture of rage, horror and grief, and the sight of it made Tempest bite off the rest of the hateful words waiting to spew out.

She felt like she’d just kicked her favorite puppy, or she’d thrown that puppy into the path of a reeking garbage truck.

Damn her out-of-control temper. Would she ever stop attacking the few people who actually loved her?

The skin on her ass went numb and prickled with that needle-like sensation. All she needed was to end up with frostbite on her butt. She sighed and gazed up at Stan’s exhausted, disappointed face.

“I’m sorry, Stan.” Her teeth started to chatter. “I don’t have any right to say those things to you. I’m an asshole and just wanted to hurt you because you told the truth. You know that I can only hear the truth if it’s the version I like. I’m an emotional toddler with no self-control. Please forgive me. I’m worried about my guitar and not sure how to get it back. It’ll kill me if I lose it, and I feel like the stupidest woman on Earth.” She paused, and watched for signs that her bad behavior would be swept under his mental carpet one more time. Seeing the corners of his mouth quirk ever so slightly, she knew his big heart had triumphed over his righteous anger. Lucky for her he was an understanding person, most of the time.

“Thanks again for coming to get me. That was above and beyond. I’ll sleep this shitty mood off and call you later. Maybe you can help me brainstorm how to get my guitar back. I’m really sorry, Stan. Please drive carefully. Turn the radio on so you stay awake.” Stan could sleep anywhere. Even while driving, unfortunately.

Not making eye contact, he mumbled, “Er, yeah, well, okay. I’ll talk to you later.”

Tempest slammed the door and hustled under the overhang in front of her apartment building, watching the truck roll out onto the unplowed road. She followed the taillights with her eyes until the snow completely swallowed them up, then she went into the building. The familiar smells in the hallway seemed especially potent and vaguely nauseating. The ever-present curry scent wafting from the Indian couples’ apartment usually made Tempest’s mouth water, but now it turned her stomach. The idiots growing pot in the basement hadn’t learned anything from their last bust. The smell of the huge plants still permeated the lower level of the building, not to mention the easily identifiable aroma of burning joints. She’d stayed out screwing around all night lots of times. Why did she feel so strange this morning? Her hands were shaking and her knees felt like rubber.

She trudged up the stairs to the second floor, hoping her roommate Lauren had finished her post-Hawaiian-vacation homecoming sex hours ago, and was snoozing in her bedroom. With any luck, Lauren wouldn’t have invited half the airplane over for a party. Tempest didn’t feel like explaining her crappy night to anyone else yet.

A hot shower and her old, flannel nightgown called to her as she turned the corner of the hallway leading to her apartment. She was so caught up in the cozy fantasy that she didn’t notice the mountain of a man standing in front of her door until she practically stumbled into him.

Startled, she stopped, her eyes scanning the frame of the hulking stranger who stood more than a foot taller than she did. Damn it. This guy didn’t look like Lauren’s usual type, but her roommate had the “any port in a storm” philosophy about men, and Tempest never knew who she’d find in her shower. She was too tired for this shit.

The man wore a cheap-looking black suit with an eye-watering, piss-yellow shirt and a black tie with multicolored cars on it. A pair of lace-up boots with fur around the tops completed his discount-store ensemble. Greasy black hair was combed straight back from his forehead, making him look like an engorged Elvis impersonator. He’d definitely gone overboard on the musky aftershave. He stood with his feet a few inches apart, his hands clasped together, like a military guy, and didn’t look directly at her. She couldn’t tell if his bulk was caused by muscles or lard.

“Hey, Huge Guy! What are you doing in front of my door? Did Lauren invite you?”

The mountain didn’t move. “The boss wants to talk to you. Let’s go. The car’s downstairs.” He had a low-pitched, raspy voice, with an East Coast accent. Except for those few words, he hadn’t acknowledged her presence in any way. He hadn’t even shown interest in the fact that she wore nothing but boots and a baggy leather coat.

“You’re nuts. Get out of my way.” Tempest made a futile attempt to shove past the man, and he suddenly grasped her arm in his baseball-mitt-sized hand and started pulling her farther along the hallway, heading for the back stairs. The grip on her arm hurt. She could feel each beefy finger pressing into her skin, even through the leather of her coat. No question. Definitely muscles.