Page 35 of Naughty Dreams
Then he was up, and snapping an order at the two men. They let him go and Roy Tasered him, dropping him to a jerking heap on the pavement.
Sirens heralded the arrival of the police. But before they could get out of the car, the fans broke through the barricade, rushing past Henry’s guys. In a blink, they were on DJ, the girls weeping, trying to help him up, hug him, hold him. It was a part-hysteria, part-helpful thing, except for a couple opportunistic crotch and ass grabs.
Henry’s people immediately started hauling them off, pushing them back, but that turned the fans’ attention elsewhere. The police, who’d taken over cuffing the attacker, found themselves neck deep in those who descended onto the hapless gunman, claws out, punching and hitting him.
At some other time, Roy’swhat the fucklook might be amusing. But right now, DJ scrambled up and, in what was probably a first in Roy’s career, his client went shoulder to shoulder with him, helping him, band security and the extra cops arriving on scene pull the enraged fans off the guy.
Who apparently could shriek in a higher pitch than any of the girls, but since DJ saw at least one stiletto stab his groin, DJ could understand that.
“Free tickets for everyone behind the barricade in five seconds. Five, four, three…”
Even without a mic, he could project his voice pretty damn well. When it penetrated, the crowd thinned out enough thatsecurity was able to regain control. The paparazzi were filming like they’d caught the break of their lives. DJ purposefully shot them an amused, all-in-a-day’s work expression. It should hit every outlet within the hour. Moss would be pleased.
But his humor died as his attention returned to the gunman.
“You took my girl,” the kid wailed as they shoved him into the cop car. It rocked from the weight of his landing in the back seat. “You faggoty-assed son of a bitch.”
A gay slur while accusing him of heterosexual poaching. Guess it didn’t have to make sense. Or maybe he was suggesting DJ’s ass was gay while his dick wasn’t. He’d consider it later.
He might be a little punchy right now. Giddy in a very strange way. Adrenaline.Gotta love all its flavors.Where was his notebook?
Roy gripped DJ’s arm, his men and Henry’s forming a barrier around him and moving him double time to the side entrance. He was like a tape on fast forward. He even had that whirring, squealing noise in his head.
But once they were inside, Roy took him into the break room, which had a microwave and fridge, several tables with chairs, and a basket of snacks. Plus a glass case full of the sodas the kid had been here to deliver. Guess he’d taken care of stocking it before he’d decided to shoot DJ. Which was considerate, because DJ needed a cold bottle of water.
A weird wave of dizziness and nausea hit him. Roy closed the breakroom door, giving them privacy.
“I put my guys on the door. They’ll tell your band you need a few minutes.”
DJ managed a thumbs up and bent over, hands on knees, breath rasping out of his lungs. “What the hell,” he wheezed. “It wasn’t…that…bad.”
“Someone just tried to kill you,” Roy said matter-of-factly. He put a bottle of water in DJ’s hand. His touch on DJ’s shoulderwas strong and reassuring. “Sit up slow when you’re ready, and take some easy sips. You need a blood sugar boost. All you’ve had is tea and a handful of the trail mix I gave you.”
“Captain Crunch.” DJ pointed. A box of it was sitting on the counter. It was Pete’s, DJ was sure. He brought a box of it wherever they practiced. Their caterers always kept a case on hand.
Roy found plastic condiment cups in the cabinet. The plinking sounds of the cereal going into one might work for a song composition. Like U2, who’d thrown silverware down a staircase on one of their songs.
Roy sat the cup next to him so DJ could take a pinch. His mind had cleared enough to recognize a disappointing fact. “That wasn’t him.”
“No. But look on the bright side. It means you get to keep my charming presence for a while longer.”
“Plus your impressive ability to crush my ribs against asphalt.” DJ managed a wry smile. The sweetness of the cereal helped. As well as the memory that went with it.
“We used to beg Marjorie for this stuff, but it was too expensive. She’d get us the knock-off brands, though.”
The guy had fired more than one shot. Three? They’d zinged around DJ like tossed fireworks. But Roy had taken him down. Roy had been the shield between those bullets and DJ.
The thought slammed him fully back into himself, removing the tunnel vision that had kept him from noticing the spattering of blood on his bodyguard’s shirt.
DJ followed it to a fortunately small cut on Roy’s neck. The shirt was ripped, the tie loose at the collar. Two buttons were missing midway down. His hair was mussed, giving the dark and forbidding expression a sexy smolder.
DJ untied the tie, letting the two ends lie against Roy’s chest. He freed the button at Roy’s throat and the one right below it,so the shirt was open to the lowest missing button. He wore his cotton tank beneath. If he removed the shirt, DJ could run his hands over the impressive pecs.
Roy watched him, expression unreadable.
“Just humoring me, huh?” DJ asked, when the silence drew out.
“You know the saying, ‘It’s better to ask forgiveness than permission?’ You better ask for both, because I didn’t say you could touchorundress me.”
