Page 72 of Naughty Dreams
DJ’s hand came up and fumbled at the glasses, as if he was trying to figure out what they were, but before he could remove them, Roy’s hand was on his, gripping and easing it back down to his lap.
“We’ve got to get past the press and your fans to get to your hotel room. All right?”
When he got nothing, Roy sharpened his tone. “Dory, I’m talking to you. Answer me.”
A flicker in the haze. Dory stared at Roy with desperate, dull pain. But his jaw tightened, a ghost hint of his stubborn will, and he nodded.
Roy gripped his shoulder. “Just follow my lead.”
Though he seemed to be looking at him from some place deeper than the reach of an oil drill, DJ nodded again. The limo pulled up to the curb and?—
Thump!
The vehicle rocked as a screaming and crying girl wearing a concert shirt flung herself against it. She had long brown hair and big blue eyes, streaming with tears.
DJ jumped, then looked like he was about to be sick.
Though it shouldn’t have happened, at least the girl was peeled off the car in a flash. Roy could see over a dozen members of his team, plus an equal number of band security, tightening ranks under Warren’s snarling direction. Roy also saw three police cars pulling up, lights going, officers emerging to help. He didn’t know who’d approved the dispatch, but their precinct was getting a massive fruit basket.
While Henry’s people knew how to be intimidating enough under all normal and most abnormal circumstances, adding the police presence would help. In theory. If it didn’t, the police had non-lethal weapons like Tasers and pepper spray, as did Roy and his team.
DJ was trembling harder. It wrenched Roy’s heart to see it.
DJ was more than his client. He was also Roy’s submissive, but to get this done without faltering, Roy put aside the personal and reached for his experience and training.
He'd switched to his radio, now that he was in range, and Warren’s voice was in his ear. “Sorry, boss. We got it contained. No more of that bullshit.”
“Understood. Ready for us?”
“Yeah. PD’s in lockstep with us.”
Roy emerged from the car. The deafening cries and flashbulbs, the phones raised to capture the moment, were things he tuned out as he scanned the area for real threats. He trusted Warren, but his own instincts made the final check.
Roy reached in and took DJ’s arm, drawing him out. When DJ wobbled on his feet, he slid an arm around him, keeping his other hand in his, and headed toward the front door. There might be media speculation on the intimate pose, but Roy’sexpression was neutral and professional, so the more obvious interpretation was his client was too overwhelmed to walk without aid.
Not unexpected, and not untrue.
Guy manned the entrance with his brawniest doormen. Even the hotel manager’s unflappable demeanor showed a hint of stress at the degree of crazy crowded on his front step. Reporters shouting over the screaming, crying fans, the barricades trembling at the push of people against it. Henry’s security team had locked arms in front of those sections, and the police were moving in to reinforce.
Roy and his people knew just how out of control fans and paparazzi could get, and city police routinely confronted people who lost their shit. Trusting all of them to do their jobs, he kept his eye on that door.
DJ had his head down, but he put one foot in front of the other. Roy hoped he was deep in his head again, far beyond hearing the stupid shit coming out of reporters’ mouths.
How do you feel?Was that really a fucking question?
Why weren’t you on the plane with them?
Do you think this has to do with your stalker?
Fucking hell. Roy didn’t want that idea planted in DJ’s head, especially not right now. It was too early to speculate; it was just as likely to have been a random air disaster.
No matter what Roy’s gut said.
A lava-level heat wave of rage erupted through DJ’s tense muscles, and he turned a hellfire look on the reporter. He wasn’t completely tuned out.
Moss had refused to confirm that DJ had a stalker, but the rumors were out there, and the hiring of additional professional security hadn’t gone unnoticed. The reporter was fishing.
And about to be fed his teeth. The only question was how much Roy would hold DJ back, and how many teeth the reporterwould sacrifice to DJ’s fist and the power of his arm. The kid only looked scrawny.
