Joker’s Wild: Vegas Underground, book 5

by Rose, Renee

  “Marissa.”

  Ah. That had been one of my guesses.

  She slides our pastry plates down. “My gramps still owns it. I just run it for him.”

  “How is Luigi?”

  “Good, good. Well. He’s getting old. He’s a little pissed off at you right now, too. Says you’re letting the neighborhood go to hell.” She glances nervously around and gives a forced little laugh.

  The familiar thud of guilt hits me like a wrecking ball, square in the chest. “Yeah, I’m working on it,” I tell her.

  “Junior won’t be around forever,” Desiree cuts in, eyes sparking. “There’s a season for everything, you know? And his season might be winding down.”

  I stare at Desiree, shocked by her instinct to defend me.

  Marissa flushes.

  I thrust the folded newspaper at her. “Here, you can take this,” I hold her eye so she knows I’m communicating something more than a garbage run. “I’m all done with it.”

  She nods and spins around to walk away, moving swiftly toward the back room.

  I drain my coffee. “doll, I’m not used to anyone being crazy enough to speak for me.” My voice comes out gruff, but it’s not a remonstration. I’m just not used to feeling indebted to people.

  “Well, that’s bullshit,” she snaps and I can’t help but smile.

  “You’re still dreaming I can quit.”

  “You want to. Admit it.”

  I find myself drawing in a sudden breath at the audacity of even allowing myself to think, much less speak that truth.

  I ball up my napkin and toss it on the table. “I can’t. End of story.” I stand up.

  Marissa emerges from the back room and gives me a nod from behind the counter. I guess that means I brought enough. I walk over and hand her a card. “Tell Luigi to call me if he needs anything, yeah?”

  She takes the card and bobs her head.

  “Or you can call. Caffè Milano is a business I will always support.”

  I mean protect, but I don’t want to say it out loud in front of customers.

  “I appreciate that, Mr. Tacone, I really do.”

  Desiree steps closer to me and I put a hand on her back.

  “Have a nice day,” I say, steering Desiree toward the door.

  “You too. Thank you,” the Milano girl sings out to my back as we leave.

  “So what’s her story?” Desiree asks rather sharply as we walk out.

  I shrug. “Don’t know. I remember her running around here as a little kid. Now she’s running the place.”

  “The money made her moony.” There’s a bitterness in Desiree’s voice that isn’t familiar to me.

  I stop her in front of my car and tilt my head, looking down into her face. “What do you mean?”

  She purses her lips. “Like she was ready to blow you after she saw how much you gave her.”

  A bark of surprised laughter tumbles out of me. “Cavalo, doll. You don’t have to be jealous. I’ll be giving you twice that.” I smile. “And you won’t even have to blow me.” Except all the blood rushes to my dick at learning Desiree’s jealous, so I’m immediately sorry for those words.

  She flushes and gives me a shove, like she’s embarrassed at being called out. “I’m not jealous,” she grumbles.

  I back her against my car, cage her between my arms. “Baby, I’d give you money just for that pretty smile of yours.” I grind against her, watching her pupils dilate, the pulse in her neck go wild and frantic.

  She grips the lapels of my jacket in her small fists and pulls me even tighter against her, rocking her hips to meet mine. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I even said I’d let you drive my car, and you should know that I don’t let anybody drive my car.”

  She beams up at me. “Then give me the keys, hot shot.”

  I shove my aching cock into the notch between her legs one more time, then dig my hand into my pocket to produce the keys. “Please don’t make me sorry,” I beg. “This car is my baby.”

  Her grin is naughty as hell, and she’s every bit the woman who drives me wild—the sassy, confident beauty who tosses her hair and swings her hips as she walks, daring every man around to watch her without getting hard.

  I groan and pull open the passenger door, sliding in.

  * * *

  Desiree

  Junior’s on edge as I pull out onto the street. One hand clutches the car door handle, one is balled in a fist on his lap. I gun it, to test how fast it takes off and we sail into traffic.

  I drive like I’m in a car race—because when else will I get to drive a car like this?

  It takes a few minutes, but Junior starts to relax. His fist unclenches and he stops watching the road like something terrible is about to happen.

  “Nice driving, doll.” He sounds surprised. Impressed, even.

  I grin at him. “What? You didn’t think a woman could handle a car like this?”

  His lips quirk. “You don’t get to drive my car and bust my balls, sugar.”

  I love when he gets bossy with me. It does something hot and tingly to my whole body.

  “I told you I don’t let anyone drive this car. Ever. Consider yourself privileged.”

  That news shouldn’t make me so happy. It’s not like he just swore his undying love to me, but it’s nice to know I’m special. I like thinking he makes special concessions just for me.

  I take a turn way too fast, letting the tires squeal. My nipples are hard, the speed and danger turning me on.

  “I’m going to give you the best blowjob, Junior,” I promise.

  He groans and leans back in his seat, rearranging his junk.

  “Where do you want it?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Where do you want the blowjob? In this car? Or is too precious for you to have sex in.”

  Junior growls, squeezing his dick through his pants with what looks like brutal force. “Oh, you’re going to blow me in this car. But I’m gonna be in that driver’s seat.”

  I laugh. “Of course you are.”

  “What’d I say about busting my balls?”

  “I don’t know, I kinda consider it my job. I’m not sure you get nearly enough ballbusting in your life.”

  Junior’s heavy-lidded gaze rests on my face and I swear I detect nothing but fondness in it. Fondness and heat.

  Which works for me, because driving Junior’s car is total foreplay for me. I’m so turned on by the time I pull into his garage, I’m ready to strip my clothes off and throw myself at him. But I promised a blowjob, and I intend to make it good.

  I turn off the motor and climb over the center console, onto Junior’s lap.

  His hands grip my hips. “What are you doing, doll?”

  I put my tits in his face. “Changing places,” I say with mock innocence. “Didn’t you want to be in the driver’s seat?”

  His cock lengthens under my lap.

  “Not sure I can walk at the moment,” he admits, lifting my hips and grinding me down over his erection.

  My panties are wet, nipples harder than diamonds. I grab the door handle and open the door. I climb out and lean over him, hands on his thighs. “Maybe you’d better stay where you are, then.”

  Junior tilts the seat back and shifts his knees toward me. “Maybe I’d better.” His voice is gravelly and low.

  I unbutton his pants and free his erection. Junior fists the base of it, holding his full length out to me.

  I reach for the tin of mints in his center console and pop one in my mouth. “Tell me if you like the tingle.” I open my lips to take him in.

  His cock jerks and grows even fatter as I slide my lips over it. “Oh fuck.” Junior lifts his hips to shove deeper into my throat. “I really fucking like the tingle.”

  I hum softly as I move my mouth up and down his length, relaxing my throat and taking him deeper each time.

  “Oh my God. You’re killing me,” he growls when I get faster.

  I pop off and pay some attenti
on to his balls, licking and sucking them while I let his cock cool in the air. When I put my mouth back over it and take him deep, he shouts.

  “That’s right. Cristo. You keep working that hot little mouth, doll. Gonna make me come so hard.”

  I suck as hard as I can, ignoring the ache in my jaw as I give it all I have. I want to make this good for Junior. It turns me on to witness the effect I have on him. I cup his balls, massage behind them over his prostate as I bob my head faster and faster.

  “Don’t stop. Oh God, don’t stop,” he groans. His cock lurches, balls draw up. “I’m gonna come.”

  Hot streams of his salty essence hit the back of my throat and I swallow it down, like I promised. I lick him clean and then smile wide, pleased with myself.

  “Desiree, doll, you can drive my car anytime,” he says and we both laugh.

  Chapter 11

  Desiree

  On the sixth day of Gio’s recovery, he spikes a fever. I check his temperature with the thermometer from my med kit, then his blood pressure.

  Temperature of one hundred three and elevated blood pressure.

  Crap.

  I don’t know if it was the fall out of bed, or ripping the stitches, or what, but I don’t like it. In fact, it worries the hell out of me.

  I’m not a doctor. I have no idea what that bullet hit inside Gio. And if something’s infected, all the progress he made this week will be lost. He could easily still die.

  “Junior,” I call from Gio’s room.

  He must hear the fear in my voice because he shows up immediately. “What is it?”

  “Gio spiked a fever. I’m going to need a new antibiotic—see if you can get Keflex. Or clindamycin, but that’s going to give him the shits. And salty soup.”

  He studies my face, and must read how serious this is because he’s all business. “I’ll go now. Anything else?”

  I shake my head, going to the bathroom to get warm wash clothes to try to cool Gio down.

  Junior leaves. It occurs to me that it’s the first time he’s left me alone, but that’s so irrelevant right now. Either he trusts me, or he figures this is an emergency and he has no other choice. It doesn’t matter—I have bigger things to worry about.

  I give Gio a sponge bath with warm water, then sit beside him. I’ve lost patients before. There are times it breaks my heart, no matter how hard you try to remove yourself from it.

  But losing Gio is not an option.

  There’s no way I could watch that happen. No way I could witness Junior’s pain.

  I get Gio to swallow a little Tylenol and run the possibilities in my head. The fact that his body was healing and took a turn for the worse concerns me. It will be at least twenty-four hours before I know if a new antibiotic works. In that time, he could go septic.

  Shit.

  Maybe I should talk Junior into taking him to a hospital. Although they would probably do the same thing I’m doing here.

  I pick up my phone. There’s one person I ask for help in cases where it seems like patients need something beyond medicine.

  My mom.

  And she doesn’t go into work until this afternoon.

  I call her up and speak to her in Spanish. “Mamá, I need some help. My patient had a fall yesterday that reversed his recovery. Do you think you could come and do some of your Reiki magic on him?”

  “Of course, mija.” That’s the amazing thing about my mom. If someone calls for her services, she never refuses. She believes it’s a gift from God that she’s obligated to share wherever it’s needed.

  “I’m at a house in Oak Park. Can you come this morning before your shift?”

  “Yes,” my mother says slowly. “Yes, I can come. What’s the address?”

  “I’ll text it to you. Can you come right now?”

  “Yes, I’ll come right now,” my mom says, surprised, like she doesn’t know why I’m asking again.

  “Okay, I love you, Mom. See you in a bit.”

  “Hasta luego, bye.” My mom says in her customary Spanglish.

  Relief pours through me. I’ve seen my mom perform miracles before. Quiet ones. The kind that people don’t even notice because it’s not in their frame of reference to attribute a sudden turnaround to a hands-on energy healing. And my mom doesn’t care if they acknowledge it or not. She doesn’t get attached to results. She just gives and says she gets something out of the act of giving. She receives at the same time, and that’s enough.

  I pace around the house, my stomach in knots. Junior left one of his goons here—one of the guys who grabbed me from the parking lot, but I think I can handle him. Junior said he was here for protection, not to keep me prisoner. I’m just hoping my mom gets in and out before Junior shows up, because I know he’s going to freak.

  I consider texting him, but I sort of chicken out.

  This situation is serious, and I had to make a tough decision. My mom won’t pay attention to how Gio got his wound or why I’m treating him at home. She may put it together, but it won’t even matter to her.

  She’s just not like that. She sort of operates in a bubble of kindness, my mother.

  She shows up forty minutes later and I rush down the stairs to let her in.

  “It’s okay, it’s my mom. She’s here to help,” I tell the bodyguard, who has drawn a pistol.

  He gives me a doubtful look. “Junior know about this?”

  “Of course he does,” I snap, using my customary bluster to get the guy to back off. Fortunately, he does. He opens the door a crack and when he sees it’s my mom, puts the gun away.

  She envelops me in a warm hug, kissing both my cheeks.

  “Here he is.” I lead her upstairs, wringing my hands. “He’ll go on a new antibiotic today, but I don’t like the way he’s burning up.”

  My mom pulls up a chair beside the bed and puts one hand on Gio’s shoulder, the other on his hand. “Ay, he is hot, isn’t he? We’ll see what we can do.” She closes her eyes. I watch for a moment.

  I swear I feel my own worries drain away as my mom works. Like the energy is healing me at the same time.

  When I was in high school and I’d come home all upset about something, she’d tell me to sit down, and she’d put her hands on my shoulders and within fifteen minutes, all my angst would drain away.

  I’m sure some day they’ll discover the science around energy healing—I even read a great book about a guy who could consistently and repeatedly cure mice of cancer—but I’m still content to believe she’s magic.

  After twenty minutes, I’m completely soothed. The energy in the room pulses with a fine, pure vibration. My mom shifts her hand to lightly cover Gio’s wound, even though the blanket’s up, and I didn’t tell her where it was. She just sees where to go.

  She lifts her hand above the area, flicking her fingers like she’s brushing away the heat. She circles her hand over it. Lifts and lowers it. It goes on for a while, but I don’t leave. The energy feels too pleasurable not to stay and witness the healing.

  After another ten minutes, she stands up and waves her hands over his entire body, like she’s building an energy cocoon around him. Finally, she backs up, toward me and the door.

  She turns to me and nods with a serene smile.

  I hug her. “Gracias, Mamá. I love you so much.”

  “And you?” she asks, pulling away and peering up at my face. “All good?”

  I nod, hoping I won’t flush. I’m sure I’ve changed in the days since I’ve been here. I’ve had more sex than I’ve had in years. My emotions have been tested in all directions. I may be falling in love against my own will.

  My mom nods as if satisfied by what she sees in my face. “Okay, I’m going. Have to get some lunch before my shift. I love you.” She gives me another two kisses on my cheeks.

  I lead her downstairs and open the front door, congratulating myself for getting her in and out of here before Junior gets back.

  And that’s when I see Junior’s car pull into the drive. />
  * * *

  Junior

  It takes me four stops to find a connection to give me the prescription Desiree asked for. I have to say, I’m scared as hell, because Desiree seemed to be on high alert, the way she was when she first got to my house and helped get Gio stabilized.

  I admire the fuck out of how clear and professional she is, even when worried. I guess that comes with her job.

  There’s a strange car parked in front of my house, which puts me on even higher alert. I sent Luca over to guard Gio and Desiree while I was gone, because we still haven’t found Vlad, but that’s not his car. His is in front of it. I park in the drive and draw my Beretta as I get out of the car.

  The front door moves, like it had just been open a crack and someone shut it.

  Holy fuck.

  All I can think is that Vlad showed up for his revenge. Who else could it be? I run for the front door, gun palmed along my leg. I grip the handle and turn it slowly.

  It swings open abruptly. “Hi, Junior,” Desiree chirps in a falsely cheerful voice.

  I’d lifted the gun, but I lower it, because she’s the only body in front of me. I step into the house, peering past her at…

  An older woman.

  A short Hispanic woman with salt and pepper hair and Desiree’s eyes.

  I put the safety on my gun and shove it in my pocket.

  “I called my mom,” Desiree says breathlessly and the room suddenly spins around me.

  What the fuck?

  Black bleeds around my vision.

  Was this some elaborate escape plan of hers? Did she make up Gio’s condition? I trusted her.

  I give my head a shake, drawing in a harsh breath.

  No, he really had a fever. I felt him myself.

  “My mom does energy work, and I wanted her to work on Gio. Sometimes her treatments make all the difference in a person’s healing.”

  Wait...what? I narrow my eyes, trying to understand what the fuck Desiree is talking about. She’s speaking in rushed sentences that are too hard for me to follow. Or maybe it’s my brain is too slow right now.