Joker’s Wild: Vegas Underground, book 5 Read online

  Or maybe she just sees the resemblance.

  “Let me see.” She pries the blood-soaked washcloth from his wound. “Gunshot wound,” she mutters. “Help me roll him to the side to check for an exit wound.”

  I’ve already noted one, but I help her see for herself.

  “Good, that’s good. It means we won’t have to go digging out a bullet. How much blood has he lost?”

  I don’t know if she expects me to give an actual calculation, but all I can do is hold up the first towel he went through before the current washcloth.

  “Great. That’s a good sign, too. There would be way more blood if it hit anything major.”

  I’d already guessed at the same, but I don’t disturb her process. “Tell me what you need.” I lift my chin at Paolo, who’s standing in the doorway. He pulls out his phone, thumb hovering over the keypad.

  “A needle and thread to close the wounds. Gauze to pack them. Saline. Lots of saline—to keep them clean. I can use Everclear or some other alcohol in a pinch, but I’d really prefer saline. And I’ll need IV needles—21 gauge if you can get them. And the bags and tubes. Sodium potassium for the IV. And an antibiotic. Is he allergic to penicillin?”

  “No.” My throat closes, a fresh rush of fear for Gio flooding me.

  “Then penicillin.”

  “Hang on. Back up. I didn’t get it all,” Paolo mutters.

  She repeats the list for him. “Also, any pain killer or muscle relaxant would be good, because it’s going to hurt like hell for a good while.”

  “Got it,” Paolo says.

  I’m feeling better about my decision to involve Desiree by the minute. Her swift, incisive action is exactly how she won over my impossible-to-please ma when she worked for her. She’s excellent at what she does.

  And so very nice on the eyes, too.

  Not that I dragged her here for that.

  She eyes the bloody towels again. “I don’t think we’ll need a blood transfusion.”

  “If we do, you can take my blood,” I say quickly. I remember getting typed when we were kids and we Tacones were all the same—O positive.

  “Or mine,” Paolo says. He’s nearly as pale as Gio.

  “Is that it for medical supplies?” I ask.

  “In the trunk of my car is a med kit. I’d like to have that, too.”

  “Get her car somewhere safe,” I tell Paolo.

  “On it,” Paolo mutters, leaving.

  I don’t have a clue where he’s going to get all the shit she needs, but I know he’ll figure it the fuck out, just like he somehow figured out how to find and bring Desiree. This is our brother’s life on the line.

  * * *

  Desiree

  “Giovanni,” I blurt, finally remembering Junior’s brother’s name. I met him once at his mom’s house.

  My heart’s been beating hard since I saw him lying on the bed with a bullet wound soaking the sheets. I don’t know why I care so much, but it seems worse when you know the guy.

  And I guess I hardly know him, but I looked after his mom for nearly three months and she talked about her kids all the time.

  His eyelids flutter open and he focuses on me and groans.

  “Don’t move,” I warn him. “I know it hurts. Don’t worry. We’re going to take care of you, Giovanni.”

  “Gio,” Junior rumbles beside me.

  “He goes by Gio. Got it.” I straighten and look at him. “Listen, I can’t do much until you get me the supplies. I don’t want to stitch the wound until I clean it. I think he’s relatively stable if we don’t let him move.”

  Junior nods. “Paolo’s getting the supplies.”

  And since there’s nothing to do but wait, I decide to make my dissatisfaction felt. “You can’t just kidnap me anytime you need a nurse.”

  Junior’s face goes completely impassive. He says nothing.

  Nothing.

  Like he’s not even going to dignify me with an answer.

  I smack his chest. “Seriously.”

  He catches my hand and pulls it back to his chest. “Careful, doll. I said I’d let it slide last time. You hit me again, there’s gonna be consequences.”

  A shiver runs up my spine, but it’s more thrill than real fear. I know, because my panties also dampen. I love having Junior talk consequences with me in his deep gravelly voice while holding my hand to his chest and standing inches away.

  I almost love it enough to press my luck and find out exactly what those consequences will be, but I’m not quite that stupid.

  I try to shove him away and retrieve my hand but he doesn’t budge and my hand stays glued where it lies.

  He dips his head and pins me with a dark stare. “You take care of Gio, I’ll take care of you.”

  Now a little trickle of fear runs through me, even though I think he’s making me some kind of offer, rather than a threat. I hear the undertones of every mafia deal on TV in his words, and it freaks me out.

  “I’ll patch him up and stay until he’s stable, but that’s it. I work tomorrow at noon at the hospital.”

  He shakes his head. “You won’t leave here until he’s better. I don’t care if it takes a month. Tomorrow you’ll call into work and tell them you came down with the flu.”

  I gape at him.

  Shit. I am definitely still a prisoner here.

  “My mom works at the same hospital—she’ll be dropping by my house the second she gets off work.”

  His blank mask doesn’t change. “You’d better think of something, then.”

  My stomach drops.

  “Or what?”

  He cocks his head, studies me for a moment. “There’s a reason we’re not at the hospital, capiche?”

  I nod.

  “So think long and hard about whether you want your mom to be one of my loose ends.”

  My entire body flushes with ice.

  That was definitely a threat.

  A very scary threat.

  And does that mean I’m going to be one of his loose ends, too? When my usefulness ends, will he get rid of me so I won’t talk?

  Ohmyfuckinggod.

  I’m in deep shit here.

  My knees buckle. I probably would’ve stumbled back except for his grip on my hand.

  He pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger to bring my eyes back to his. “You’ll stay here until he’s better. No contact with anyone outside. And when you walk away—you’ll have enough money to buy yourself a brand new car.” Junior had to give me a ride home from his mother’s once when my car died in front of her house. He knows how old my car is. “Okay?”

  I shove at him again, tears smarting my eyes. This time he lets me go. “No, it’s not okay.” I blink rapidly so he won’t see me cry. “You think you have my number just because I drive a piece of shit car? You think you can just kidnap me, take control of my life and make it all right with a wad of cash?”

  It’s unwise of me to argue with him. Stupid, really. I don’t even know if his offer of money is real, or just what he’s telling me to make sure I’ll do the job. I do know he can make me do it, regardless.

  But I’m just winding up and can’t seem to stop my bluster now. “I could lose my job, you know. I just started there—I only have one day of sick time accrued.”

  Junior’s lips close into a flat line and for the first time I realize how lethal he looks. I’ve always focused on the handsome side before. But now? Now I see the visage others must see when they’re pissing their pants and asking God’s forgiveness of their sins before they die.

  Because his expression is deadly.

  “You lose your job, I’ll cover you, okay? Now stop giving me shit. Your job is here for now, and I expect you to do it well.”

  I glare at him, but I don’t dare open my mouth again.

  He turns me around, back to face Gio. “Come on, doll, don’t make this hard.” His voice loses some of the steel, bringing in a note of coaxing. “It had to be you,” he says to my back.

&nb
sp; I resist the urge to look over my shoulder at him and ask him to elaborate.

  “The second you walked in here, you knew what to do. You took charge of the situation. I don’t trust anyone else with my brother’s life.”

  Something rigid eases in my chest. “I’m sure there’s plenty of other people,” I mutter.

  “No.” He steps closer. He’s right at my back, although not touching me. “It had to be you.” His hands come to my waist, lightly resting there.

  Tingles race up and down my spine. My quads tighten and quiver.

  “I’ll make it worth your while.” He bends his head down to mine, his mouth close to my ear. “I promise.”

  I swear there’s innuendo in that promise. Unbidden, a fantasy I had when I worked for his mom surfaces. One where he pushes me over the kitchen table, taking me roughly from behind while I beg him to be gentle. That fantasy doesn’t seem too far off from becoming a reality now and that should terrify me. Or make me sick.

  Instead, flutters take off in my belly and the urge to push him over the edge into his damnable consequences resurfaces.

  Fortunately, I’m not that idiotic. I shove the urge back down, bury it under layers of fear and righteousness and vow to never, ever let my attraction for this man show again.

  He’s dangerous.

  He doesn’t deserve that kind of attention from me.

  I can’t even begin to entertain ideas like that.

  Chapter 3

  Junior

  “You call Nico?” Paolo stands beside me as we watch Desiree work on Gio.

  It’s 3:00 a.m., and she’s already disinfected, stitched and packed both wounds.

  “No,” I bristle. You’d think fucking Nico ran this family now the way everyone looks to him. Yeah, he’s the one who made the Tacones hundreds of millions. He made us legit, took us away from illegal activities just by bringing the old gambling business to a state where everything’s legal.

  He also had nothing to lose. He’s the fourth son of Santo Tacone. He slipped away with no big expectations on his head. Very little blood on his hands. He didn’t have the pressure to emulate my father’s vicious ways and keep order in Chicago. Didn’t have to hold La Famiglia and the old neighborhoods together after our father went to prison.

  “We should call him.”

  “Why?” I snap.

  Paolo shakes his head. “What if this is a big fucking mistake? Madonna, Junior, if Gio dies—”

  “He’s not going to fucking die!” I snap.

  Desiree whirls at the same time and glares at Paolo. “Nobody’s dying on my watch.” She rubs alcohol over Gio’s forearm for the IV. “If you’re going to be bringing my patient down with your bad attitude, you should leave.”

  Cristo, I love the piss and vinegar in her. It makes my cock so hard when she picks that chin up and flashes defiance right in my face. Considering her rebellion doesn’t stem from ignorance, I’d say the girl had balls of steel. If she had balls, of course.

  Paolo scowls and pulls me back into the hallway, out of earshot. “Okay, I get that she knows what she’s doing, but what the fuck, Junior? Did you seriously think this through?”

  I gnash my teeth and don’t give him an answer.

  “Tell me you weren’t thinking with your dick when you asked me to bring her here.”

  I wrap my fist in his shirt and slam Paolo up against the wall, my fear for Gio making my normally low patience level non-existent. “Shut your fucking mouth. She’s here because she’s good, that’s it.”

  “Right.” He’s breathing hard, probably working to keep his own temper in check. “And what happens to her when this is over, huh? You gonna get rid of her?”

  I pull him away from the wall and slam him back, because I don’t like him threatening her life, even in a secondhand, vague way. “No, stronzo. I’m gonna pay her off. Money or fear will keep her quiet. Or a combination of the two. I’ll handle it.”

  Paolo doesn’t quite meet my eye, but his jaw is set at a sullen angle. “Someone ought to call Nico.”

  I release him and throw my hands out, Italian style. “Be my guest.” I stalk away, down the stairs to the kitchen. I can’t eat, but I pour a couple fingers of scotch for myself and throw it back.

  I listen for Paolo’s voice on the phone with Nico, but it doesn’t come. Instead, the front door slams.

  My skin pricks with irritation, but I pour another finger of scotch and swallow it down. Send a text to Mario and tell him I want a glass repair company at Caffè Milano first thing in the morning. I never intended to burn that business with Family shit. I will stop by there personally to repay them for damages and make sure no one there’s going to squeal as soon as I can get away. And after the dust has settled.

  I don’t know how long I stand there with the empty glass in my hand, but eventually I hear light footsteps coming down the stairs.

  Desiree comes into the kitchen. Exhaustion shows in the circles under her eyes, the weariness around her mouth.

  I pull out a fresh glass, pour another couple ounces of scotch and hold it out to her.

  She stares at it for a moment, then takes it wordlessly and tosses it back. Her shudder as it goes down confirms my suspicion that she’s not much of a drinker.

  “Hungry?” I ask.

  “Yeah, but I don’t think I’ll eat.” She pats her hips. “Not good for the girlish figure to eat before bedtime.”

  “Fuck that. You worked your ass off today. Your body needs fuel.”

  I’m not the daddying type. Not in the least. I don’t even know what makes me insist. Maybe I’m just offended by her suggestion that her curvy body isn’t the most perfect figure ever made.

  I walk to the refrigerator and pull it open. It’s mostly full of take out boxes and ready made food like that. “You want a sandwich?” I ask. “Or there’s half a calzone in here.”

  “You have any ice cream?” Her soft voice is right behind me, and I register it with distinct pleasure.

  I throw open the freezer, happy because I know I do. I pull out a full pint of Ben & Jerry’s mint chocolate cookie. I’m not big on sweets, but I bought it the other day on some weird impulse.

  “Ohmygod, that’s my favorite.” She literally snatches the carton out of my hand and tears the top off.

  My lips twist in an uncharacteristic smile as I pull open the silverware drawer and grab two spoons.

  I hand her one “I like your enthusiasm, doll.”

  She wrinkles her nose, holding the carton of ice cream right against her chest as she digs the spoon in. She flops down in one of the kitchen chairs.

  I don’t have people over to my house, and when I do, I make it a practice not to make them feel at home. So it shouldn’t please me that it’s so easy for her to get comfortable.

  But again, this is the same character trait that won my ma over. She didn’t tiptoe around the house and act stiff and formal. She ruled the roost while she was there, bossing my ma around, all the while doing an irreproachable job.

  I sit down in the chair beside her and try to stick my spoon in the ice cream.

  “No way.” She jerks it away, angling her body to shield it from me.

  I chuckle. “One spoonful. Give me a taste.”

  My last words hang in the air between us, taking on an erotic undercurrent. Desiree blushes a bit when she offers the carton.

  I take one spoonful, savor the rich treat, and then put my spoon down.

  Desiree digs into the carton like it might be taken from her at any minute and she needs to get as much in her before that happens. I watch as she mmms and groans in pleasure, my dick getting hard. Every time those full lips mold around the spoon I get jealous. I vow to buy a fucking crate of this ice cream to have on hand while she’s staying here.

  She doesn’t stop until her spoon scrapes the bottom and then she blushes again. “Dang. This is why I shouldn’t be allowed to eat before bedtime.”

  “You deserved it.” My voice sounds rusty, which seems abo
ut right, since it’s unlike me to throw out compliments or praise. Ever.

  She flushes deeper, looking distinctly guilty. “I have a tendency to stress eat.” She sets the carton down with one large spoonful left in it.

  “I enjoyed the show.” I didn’t mean to say it, but it’s the truth. Watching her wolf down the ice cream was damn cute. I relished her enthusiasm and clear pleasure of the dessert.

  Maybe in my head I’m thinking the hedonism she displayed over the ice cream translates to the bedroom.

  Not that I’m going to fuck her.

  I’m definitely not going to fuck her.

  It’s bad enough I dragged her into this shit storm. I don’t need to further taint her with me.

  La Madonna knows, I ruin everything I come close to.

  I scoop out the last bite with her spoon and hold it out to her. It’s weirdly intimate and as soon as I do it, I realize it’s too much.

  “No.” She shakes her head and turns her face away.

  “You sure? All right.” I put the bite in my mouth instead and her gaze tracks to my lips, like she enjoys watching me eat as much as I loved watching her.

  She stands up, running her palms down her scrubs like they’re sweaty. “So. I’m spending the night, huh?”

  Right. She’s not a guest, she’s a prisoner. I need to make sure she understands that.

  I stand, too. “You’ll stay in Gio’s room,” I say. “That way if he needs you, you’ll hear him.”

  Her eyebrows shoot up and I can tell she doesn’t like it, but she doesn’t say anything. I would put her in another guest room, but I don’t trust myself with her. Lord knows I want to get my hands all over her sassy curves. Want to find out what she tastes like. What it’s like to pound between her legs and make her scream.

  But none of that is going to happen.

  So putting her in Gio’s room is definitely the best plan.

  We walk up the stairs to the landing. “You got a toothbrush I can use?”

  Cristo. It’s like an overnight without the sex. Not something I ever do—overnights, that is.

  “Uh, yeah, I think I do.” I head into my en suite bathroom and dig out an unopened toothbrush head for my sonic toothbrush. I hand it to her with the toothpaste and point to the guest bath.