“I’m sorry you have no privacy. You should have that. I’m sure I’m not the only one who wishes you well.”
Gage blinked in surprise. It was as if he refocused on her, finally seeing her. His voice was gruff. “Thanks.”
And then Milla Kierce kissed the handsome man like it was the end of the world.
Gage had kissed maybe a million girls. But this girl, this kiss in a crazy room with a gun held to his head was changing his soul. It was the look in her eyes, the intense kindness that made her lips melt his numbness. He actually pulled away to look at her again, needing more of that gaze. Her brown eyes held a knowing. She had an almost superhuman calm. Too calm.
“You’re giving up.” He shook his head.
She shrugged. “If we’re going out in a blaze of glory, I want to have a smile on my face.”
She was all fucking serene—like the daughter of Mother Teresa and Gandhi. They were interrupted by the sound of Fart’s belt hitting the ground. Gage cringed and reluctantly took a look. The Devil’s Fart stood with his tighty whiteys pulled up high. His balls were creeping out the sides of the fabric.
“Wow.” Milla shut her eyes and turned her head.
“No shit.” Gage had to gather himself. This gunman was an assault on every sense he had. And this proved even more that the dude was totally out of his fucking mind.
“Screw her right now!” Fart did a deep knee-bend and shook his balls.
Gage twirled Milla into his arms and dipped her. “No giving up. That thing is not killing me. Or you.”
Milla rolled her eyes at the rock star. She watched his mouth as he whispered more directions. “We’re going to give him a show. Stay with me.”
In a blink her dress was unzipped again. And her very false smile slipped off as soon as her black dress did. Milla quickly gathered her mounds of desire before she could be exposed. Shit. Not mounds of desire.
Gage pulled her in and pressed her hard against his chest. “Let go. Hug me.”
She shook her head. Now she was here for all she was worth in just her underwear. So not cool.
“Do it. I won’t let him see you.” He nodded encouragingly. She slid her hands out from between them and hugged his neck.
“More kissing!”
Gage began his effective lip gymnastics again. “Okay, grab my crotch.”
“No.” Milla pressed against him harder, not wanting a gap of space between them. Gage traced his hands up and down her bare back. She had goose bumps and chills and sweats at the same time. Fart had pulled down his underwear too, so Milla stopped checking on him. She shivered with revulsion.
“Now,” Gage said.
“Fine.” She carefully snaked her hand down to the front of his pants and grasped him. He was not aroused at all. She gave him a surprised look. “Nothing?”
He gave a pointed look in Fart’s direction. “Now’s not a great time. How about I owe you one?” Milla gasped as Gage changed his grip and twirled her toward Fart. He grabbed her boobs so his hands were a bikini top made from flesh. “Like it,” he whispered in her ear, pressing his chest into her back.
Milla’s heart pounded as she started to moan. To her own ears it sounded as false as it was. She tried to ignore her nipples perking up from the friction and the chill in the room. It was all awkward. Fart was having at himself like he was his own paid hooker. Judging from his frantic movements, this disgusting man was about to have a disgusting orgasm.
Andres did a beautiful job of keeping his composure. There were complaints pouring in about the nudity currently being aired on national TV. He shook his head when Peter asked him if they should implement a privacy bar to cover the exposed parts on the hostage taker. No, this was the most rewarding news story of his life, on his home court. There were beautiful young people acting out sexual situations, and next there would be gore. Everything that made the news worth watching was happening at once—a buffet of the most sensational news stories ever. His network would air it all raw and defend it later. The other networks could water down their news, but Andres wanted his delivered straight to the vein of his viewers. He smiled as he thought of returning to his anchor position. They would beg him to now. And think of all the copycat crimes. This was a gold mine.
Victoria walked in with a group of police officers. “Sir, we have visitors. ”
Reluctantly, Andres allowed Peter to sit in front of the desk where he’d been calling the shots. Andres introduced himself, and a Detective Rocco Brun spoke for the police.
“We need you to stop this live feed immediately. Our officers are ready to infiltrate, and I want access to all your surveillance cameras.”
“Well, gentlemen. It’s good to want things. But we have a tricky situation here,” Andres replied slowly. “I think we need an injunction from a judge before I accept that as a situation that works for me.”
Detective Brun cracked his knuckles. “No problem. Joey get me our favorite judge on the phone. And, Andres? If this little game hurts either of those people in that room, this’ll be the last thing you said with your real teeth.”
As the detective turned his back, Andres glanced at one of the monitors. He hid his surprise. Andres was pretty sure one of the vents in the hallway outside the dressing room was hanging open. That could mean a few things. Possibly there was a second attacker in the ductwork, or a scared person might have mistakenly evacuated into the air conditioning vent, or maybe, just maybe, there was a knight in shining armor trying to get involved. Andres casually turned off the monitor with the evidence while Detective Brun took a phone call. I’ll decide the fate of that room and not one other person. This story is mine.
“I’m owning this orgasm! Coming, right here! On the floor! Whore! Owning!” Fart curled as his body sputtered his balls’ guts on the floor.
At the climax of the climax, Gage twirled Milla behind him and attacked. As Gage made his move, so did another man. The vent crashed open, and Milla screamed. In a split second, New Guy steadied himself and jumped on the pile of Gage and Fart. The punches were vicious and desperate. Milla grabbed her dress and held it in front of her, shying away from the fight. Gage and the new man seemed to be working together. Because she wasn’t in the fight, she seemed to be the only one to see the gun’s barrel sneak out of the pile of men. Stupid Fart had managed to point it upward, putting both Gage and the new man in the line of fire.
Fart screamed, “I will kill you until you die from it!”
It was a stupid reaction, but it was the only thing she could think to do. Milla hopped up and stomped on the hand holding the gun. She felt the white hot heat before her brain registered the noise of the gunfire. Her leg simply stopped holding her up, and Milla hit the floor hard for the second time that night.
Chapter 8
Swiper mops
WHEN THE SCREEN EXPLODED with movement, Andres pushed Peter out of the way so he could offer commentary. He needed his voice to accompany the dramatic action.
“Looks like we have an intruder in the hostage room. Could be police?” He looked toward Detective Brun who shook his head and watched the trembling pile of men on the screen. “Oh, wait, we have the girl, Milla Kierce, standing up. She’s going for it, ladies and gentlemen. It appears our female hostage is approaching the fight.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Andres saw Brun motioning with his hand at his neck in the universal signal, telling someone, somewhere to cut something. Andres figured out what it was when his whole building was plunged into darkness. Brun had one of his men cut the power to the offices, ending the broadcast. Fuck. The backup power was weak, but after a moment it flickered on. The surveillance monitor feed remained dark.
“You bastard! That was the best news story of the decade!” Andres felt like his heart might pop.
The detective rounded up his men with a hand gesture.
“Did it ever occur to you that having a window into that room might help you figure out how to get in?” Andres growled as he loosened his tie.
“Old man, just because you’re off the air doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes in that room.” Brun signaled his men out the door.
Andres fumed. He stomped. He cursed.
Peter cleared his throat. “Sir?”
“Not now, you flaming asshole! Go die.” Andres clenched his dentures together.
“Um, sir? I believe that police detective is viewing the room via a wireless Internet connection hooked up to the wireless cameras.” Peter looked even younger in the office’s dim lights.
“Great. I believe the Easter Bunny gets it up the ass from Santa Claus.” Andres kicked a wall and winced.
“That’s…interesting. But I’m pretty sure I can tap us into that feed from my laptop using my cell phone and air it on YouTube live—if you want to be back on air, that is.” Peter pulled out his fancy phone.
“Tell that to me in English, you horny suck-up.” Andres’ interest piqued, as did his almost-dead penis.
“We can go live in under five minutes. You like that, you prickly old bastard?” Peter unearthed his laptop and a bundle of cords.
“I like that a lot.” Andres moved closer to all the newfangled machinery. “Make that happen.” He tightened the knot on his tie and patted his giant hair.
The gunshot just forced Gage and Sydney to punch harder—going from any sort of organization to flat-out primal responses. In the tangle of fists, he was pretty sure he and Sydney had punched each other a few times. Finally, Sydney had possession of the gun, and he carefully backed up. Gage let go of the disgusting man.
“Dude, this is like the third time we’ve wrestled a man with no pants. What’s up with that?” Sydney held out an arm.
Gage accepted the man hug and pounded his friend’s back. “How the hell did you get here? I told you to leave.”
“I was all Die Hard-style in the air vent.” The big man smiled at his friend and winced at the former gunman flopping around in his own juices.
“Oh shit.” Gage jumped past Sydney and took to his knees in front of Milla.
There was blood everywhere. She was all kinds of topless. And she had a great rack. Not that he was noticing. Crap, she could be dead, and then he was some sort of criminal for looking at her tits. She moaned. Gage sighed with relief. He watched as she opened her eyes, looked at the blood, and went limp. Gage turned toward high-pitched laughter. The pants-less man opened his coat to reveal what looked a hell of a lot like a bomb. Gage felt himself going a bit limp, and straightened up.
“You’re one crazy fucker.” Sydney leveled the gun at the man’s head.
Peter and Andres huddled in the office’s lobby in a storage closet. True to his word, Peter was able to pull up a live feed, and using the laptop’s webcam, Andres was again broadcasting. The footage was being uploaded directly to YouTube, and Andres tried not to feel like this was a tremendous downgrade from network TV.
Peter shook his head and smiled. “No, boss. Now you’re global. Let it fly.”
Peter was busy tweeting and Facebooking to build buzz, or so he said. Andres blocked out that he was now sitting on a bucket. He pretended his backdrop was his majestic office instead of Swiper mops and vats of OxiClean. Maybe he could work in a spokesman job for both those products when this whole event was over…
“I’m coming to you live from an undisclosed location. The police shut down my network reporting. But enough about my dedication to delivering the American public the truth, here’s what’s happening in the dressing room: it looks like we have two nude people—a man and woman—and two men in clothes. We have a new gunman. Could the rock star, Gage Daxson, and the new gunman have demands for the police? We’ll get to the bottom of this, please stay tuned.”
Andres loved himself a little bit more as he improvised. “We’ll return to action after a brief word from our sponsors.” He turned around and grabbed a Swiper mop. “This hostage situation is a big mess! When you’re faced with body fluids and blood in your own home, use a Swiper to clean it up!” He put the mop behind him again. “Now back to the action. Oh, the humanity. It looks like we now have a man with a bomb. I repeat, a man with a bomb is in the hostage room. We have nudity, sex, gore, and bombs. This is truly TV at its best. I mean worst—of course, worst!”
Peter gave Andres two thumbs up, mouthing, “Great idea, boss!”
Andres smiled and then frowned, making sure his on-air face was somber. “People will most likely be dying here tonight. Please, stay tuned.”
Rocco Brun was frustrated. Just before they entered the hallway, intent on giving the perp a taste of the SWAT team, Joey his go-to tech guy, had halted the command.
“Sir, we have a bomb. We can’t send our people in there.”
Joey was right. As badly as Rocco wanted to take down the asshole, he couldn’t lose the men and women in his charge to a stupid call. So they held their positions while Rocco reviewed the tape. It appeared there had been a brief change of power when the men had wrestled the gun away, but now the pants-less perp was wiggling his flaccid penis and his homemade bomb.
“Get the bomb squad here. Tell them we’re going in to get this bad larry. And soon.”
“I’m putting it down,” said a man’s voice Milla didn’t recognize.
“Kick the gun over to me!” said a stupid voice she did, unfortunately, recognize.
Milla woke up topless and bloody. The pain in her foot was crazy. It felt like her baby toe was being held in a fire. She gathered her boobs. Gage Daxson was holding pressure on her foot with her dress. Too much pressure.
“Stop squeezing! You’re going to pinch my toe off!” She tried to pull her foot away, but he wouldn’t let her. Instead he pulled off his T-shirt with his free hand and handed it to her. She slipped it on as she noted all the blood again. I will not faint, I will not faint. She looked up and the Devil’s Fart was shaking his balls near her face like a set of droopy maracas.
“I own the bomb! I’m going to blow everybody up! And the best part?” He squatted and everyone in the room groaned.
Milla looked up and found herself eye to eye with the maniac.
“You’re going to die.” He cackled.
Milla felt lightheaded. Between the slap, the concussion, and now Gage squeezing her bloody foot, she was pissed and maybe a little delusional.
“Well, do it quick because I’d rather die from a bomb than the stench coming from your nuts.” Milla rolled her eyes and slapped at Gage’s hands. “Stop. It hurts.”
“Uh, don’t look. Can you do that for me? Don’t look at your foot ” Gage bit his lip and glanced back at the huge new guy.
“Hey, girl. I’m Sydney.” He had a deep, pleasant voice. “You should probably listen to my boy.”
“I’m Milla. And I’m not listening to anyone right now.” She pulled Gage’s hands away and screamed. “Where’s my baby toe? OH MY GOD! He blew my toe off!” Milla tried looking for the missing digit, feeling around with her hands. Her foot throbbed.
“Sweetheart, you can’t. It’s not…There’s nothing to find.” Gage risked getting close to her injured foot. “I need to put pressure on it. I don’t want you to bleed out.”
“I loved my toe!” Milla’s eyes filled with tears. “I love flip flops. Can you even wear a flip flop with no baby toe?”
She cried softly into her hands. The Devil’s Fart was close to her again. She smelled him first, then heard him.
“I think flip flops are low class.”
Milla snapped. She whipped her head in Fart’s direction and punched him right in his horrible face. Once, twice, and then a third time. She tried to punch him until he died, but Gage stopped her.
“Don’t. He’s got a bomb, remember?” Gage pulled her to his bare chest, which honestly, was a little pale, but his sweet abs made up for the lack of tan.
The Devil’s Fart started screaming through his nose. He sounded like a human-sized tea kettle. Like Mrs. Potts on her period.
“Yeah, I remembered the bomb. I just hate him a lot.” Milla
looked up from Gage Daxson’s arms.
As Fart descended into madness, Gage gave her a crooked smile and offered, “I think I like you.”
Chapter 9
Boom Boom POW!
JOEY KICKED IN THE DOOR that led to the supply closet. Andres and Peter startled and tried to cut to commercial as the policeman stomped into the small room.
“I thought so.” He pulled his walkie off his belt and keyed the mic. “Sir, I’ve got them. Send a few people to the first floor, if you can spare ’em.”
Andres tried sweet-talking the cop. “Listen, son, this here is my job. I keep the public apprised of the situation in my studio.”
Joey just smiled as his back up arrived. He spun Andres into a quick restraint while cuffing him.
“You’re arresting me? No! I’ve not broken a law. Not a single one.” Andres started to struggle.
“No, pops, you’re not being arrested. I’m just assisting the elderly—up to my boss.”
Joey pulled Andres in the direction of the stairwell. When the protesting Andres and his faithful-yet-quiet assistant reached the hallway above the bomb-filled dressing room, Detective Brun was not amused.
“Tell me how the new guy got into the vent.” He seemed to be doing eight other things while waiting for the response.
“I will do no such thing. The events in that room are fated to come to fruition.” Andres did his best to look dignified and knowledgeable.
Late Night with Andres Page 3
