The tension in the room is palpable, and the three guys, who I learned are named Desmond, Cody, and Jasper, are sweating so much their skin reflects in the yellow light from the overhead fixture.
About an hour ago, the bartender, I still haven’t gotten her name, led the five of us back to a dark room with a small card table and a couple of chairs. The felt table is worn to the pressed wood underneath and not one of the chairs sits squarely on the ground, but the three men don’t seem to care. After Gracin flashed his money, they only had eyes for the pocket where he stashed it.
The first two hands, Gracin sat back in his seat and quietly listened to the three of them talk shit. He let them beat him until they felt comfortable. Then this attention grew much more focused.
It’s their tenth hand, and Gracin hasn’t been kind to their wallets. I can tell Desmond— the one who looks like Danny—wants to call him out on something, but he wisely bites his tongue. Which is surprising considering how much they have drunk. While they’ve been downing Jack and Cokes, Gracin’s sipped his warm beer and studied them. A panther waiting to attack, all sleek muscles and dark eyes.
“Call,” Gracin says and places his bet. “So are you gentlemen from around here?”
I nearly snort into my third beer, which I’ve been drinking much slower than the first two, but I manage to contain it. He’s lulled them into such a false sense of security and plied information from them so subtly I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.
So far we’ve learned they visit California and Mexico frequently and that they all have family in the area. I wanted so hard to perk up when they revealed that little piece of information, but I forced a bored expression on my face and pretended like I’d rather be anywhere else in the world. It wasn’t hard because I’d rather be with Danny watching the life drain from his eyes.
“Yeah, they’re from around,” Desmond says with a side-eyed look at me. He’s the only one of the bunch who wasn’t completely charmed by my faux airheadedness or wooed by the stacks of cash Gracin kept piling on the winnings in the center of the table.
“Why are you so interested?” he asks Gracin.
“Just making conversation.”
When the others aren’t looking, he sends me a look under his lashes, and I tense, my body coming alive. Whatever he’s planning is going to happen soon.
Desmond doesn’t look mollified. If anything, his suspicion grows. “Then I’d suggest you focus more on your cards and less on chitchat.”
He places his cards face up on the table. The others do the same with Gracin at the end. Desmond’s aces best Gracin’s kings, and Gracin sighs.
“Sorry, baby,” he says to me. “I didn’t mean to ruin our night.”
Desmond sends his friends a wordless order, and they surge up from the table, their hands slipping knives from where they’ve been stowed in pockets.
“You think we didn’t know who you were the second we laid eyes on you?” Desmond says. “You must be dumber than you look.”
“That’s a possibility,” Gracin says calmly without bothering to get up. He takes a sip of his beer and casually places the glass back down. “What is it you think you’re going to do with those pig stickers?”
“You’re coming with us,” Desmond says. “Uncle Sal’s been looking for you.”
“I don’t think I can accommodate you,” Gracin says and begins tucking his things back into his pockets. “You can give him a message for me, though.”
Desmond scoffs. “I’m not giving him shit. Keep your hands where I can see them. Your lady, too.” He jerks his chin at me, and the two men circle the table and bracket me on either side.
“You’re going to want to leave her alone,” Gracin says with forced calm. “Put a hand on her, and I’m gonna have to put my hands on you, only I won’t be as nice. All I wanted was a few answers.”
“I’ve got one,” Desmond says, “fuck you.”
Gracin sighs like he’s dealing with a roomful of children instead of a couple of grown men armed with knives. He pulls the gun from its holster and points it at the man on my right, who pales considerably.
“Step away from her,” he growls.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Desmond snarls as he pulls out a phone. “Shoot one of us, but you won’t be able to get us all, and the second you try anything, one of these boys is gonna have a knife to your girl. Don’t fuckin’ push me.”
“You think so?” Gracin asks, and I shouldn’t be surprised he’s so calm.
“You’re damn right I do,” Desmond says.
I pull out the gun Gracin had given me and train it on the man on my right and then the knife I kept in my pocket goes to the throat of the man on my left.
“You really think so?” I say and smirk.
While Desmond is staring at me dumbfounded, Gracin lunges with his characteristic feline grace and smashes the gun against Desmond’s head. The two on either side of me are too stunned to move for a second, so Gracin advances on Jasper, this time hitting the man with his fist. Gracin gets the same result, and the man crumples to the floor next to his buddy. The third moves faster than Gracin expects and has me in his arms, his knife slicing right through my shirt and into the meat of my upper arm.
I cry out, and Gracin shouts, stunning the third guy enough that I can drop to the floor and out of his reach without getting hurt. By the time I scramble away and climb back to my feet, Gracin has him in a chokehold. The man bucks, trying to get free, but it’s almost laughable. A moment later, he joins his friends in la-la land.
“Fuck,” Gracin says as he takes in the shallow slice in my arm. I start to protest when he takes off his outer shirt to press it against my wound, but I’m cut short. “Fuck, baby, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I’m okay.”
“I shouldn’t have let you come,” he says.
“Gracin!” I say sharply. When he looks at me, I admonish, “I’m fine. Let’s finish what we came here to do, okay?”
“Keep pressure on the wound, and I’ll take care of these guys and bring the car around back. Don’t move anywhere.” He turns and takes two steps before thinking better of it and coming back to my side. “I fucking mean it. Don’t move from this spot or I swear to God . . .”
As soon as he leaves, I slump against the chair behind me, feeling woozy and punch drunk. The men at my feet twitch, but they don’t rouse. I keep the gun in my hand just in case, but no one wakes.
Gracin comes through the back door and helps me down the short hallway to the exit before tucking me in the front seat of his SUV and disappearing back inside. Yes, I can walk perfectly fine on my own, but again, I keep my mouth shut. I’m not sure what he does with two of the guys, but when he comes back out, he is dragging Desmond behind him.
Once the Danny look-alike is tied up and tucked into the back of the SUV, Gracin tears out of the parking lot, and I grip the oh shit handle to keep from falling into his lap.
“We’re fine,” I say. “We got what we wanted.”
He isn’t listening to me, of course. Instead, he has his cell phone pressed to his ear. “Get Doctor Haversham. I don’t care if he’s on call for the goddamn Pope, I want him at the house in an hour, or he’ll be hearing from me personally.” He slams the phone into the cup holder, and I try to keep from smiling.
“You realize I’m a nurse,” I say to him. “I can probably take care of this by myself. It’s really not that deep at all. Just a couple stitches.”
“We’re going to have the doctor look at it, end of discussion,” he says, his tone implacable.
“Fine, but I want to know whenever you get any information out of frat boy here.” I jerk my finger over my shoulder to Desmond, who’s still out cold.
Gracin grunts.
“Seriously, Gracin. I’m fine.”
“I’ll believe that when Haversham gives you the all-clear.”
Both of his hands are clutching the steering wheel for dear life, and sympathy cuts through my frustration at his insistence that I see a doctor. I press a hand to his arm like I wanted to do when we were driving earlier.
“Gracin,” I say tentatively.
“Don’t . . . just don’t.”
I sigh and sit back in the seat. It’s going to be a long drive back.
As soon as we pull into his garage, two men stride to the SUV to deal with Desmond and Gracin hustles me up to my room where Haversham is already waiting.
“I told him it wasn’t a big deal,” I say to Doctor Haversham.
The doctor glances from Gracin to me, and I know he won’t be on my side on the matter. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Shouldn’t be more than a few stitches.”
I shoot Gracin a look that says I told you so, and he scowls.
The doctor cleans the cut on my bicep, which is only a couple of inches long and not very deep. He numbs it with a local and begins stitching with efficient movements. I ache to ask Gracin what he’s done with Desmond, but I assume what I have to say is better left until the doc is gone.
Fifteen minutes later, Gracin shakes the doctor’s hand. “Thank you so much for coming at such short notice.”
Dr. Haversham gives Gracin a small smile. “Anytime, Mr. Kingsley. I hope not to see you for a while, though.” With that, the doctor closes the door behind him, leaving me alone with Gracin.
“You should get some rest.”
“Rest?” I’m disappointed that he doesn’t want to stay. “What about Desmond?”
The soft expression on his face hardens. “I’ll handle him.”
“And what am I supposed to do now?”
“Rest,” he repeats and guides me back to the bed. “I’ll come get you if I learn anything from Desmond.”
I do as he says only because the wound in my arm is throbbing so much it makes it hard to concentrate on anything other than lying still.
The next morning when I wake, it’s to the sound of Vic’s voice.