It’s the same argument every time. He advocates the love of stick while I advocate a partiality to a chick slick. It’s crazy, and possibly crude as all get out, and Nana would roll over and sit up in her grave. But I love my queens almost as much as I love old Hussy, the one-eyed flea ball that passes as my cat.
“Whatever. Been there, done that, hated the snail trails.”
Crude bastard.
“Yeah, yeah, okay, man luvah, I get the message. You’re breaking my heart, you know. I had all these dreams of turning you to the dark side. We could go to Hawaii together and you could rub coconut oil all over my girl boobies. Your loss though, sukkah.”
He has the grace to smile and give them a salute before rising and making his way to the door, his beer drained and left for me to pick up.
“Just be careful, yes? And do not leave your freaking window open for that rat-breath little pussy to climb into anymore. Lock your shit up tight, honey, or I’m telling Gino about this.”
I wave him off but shiver a little at that thought. Gino is my boss, the son of Gio, the owner of Graceland, and he also happens to be a little less than sane.
No joke. One tourist decided to grab my ass one night, thinking I was a guy and wouldn’t mind his attentions. What happened after that was a whole lot of violence, cops, and Gio making money talk the talk to keep my friend out of a three-squares program.
So yeah. So not telling Gino. The man is one of my pals, and he takes that seriously, so seriously in fact, that I’ll be locked in one of the Graceland hotel rooms for sure if he finds out that some psycho is targeting me.
What a bunch of ruckus over nothing, I think as I toss the empty bottles and saunter out of the staff lounge, blowing Harroldini the Magnificent a kiss as he passes on his way to grab his nightly salami on rye.
“See ya, Rosie!”
“Harry! Have a good one.”
The night air is dry and sweltering when I tromp through the door leading to employee parking. I thank God that my ancient little Civic still has air conditioning capabilities, as I drag my feet through the deserted space.
It’s one in the morning and still hot enough to fry an egg on the pavement, as I slouch beneath the weight of my purse and dig into its cavernous depths for my keys.
I’m just grasping them when I get to the car and look up, my heart freezing when the white square catches my eye, the paper placed neatly beneath the wiper blade on the driver’s side.
My hands shake when I reach out and slide it out from under the blade, and I’m getting a full-on case of the shivers as I pull the edges open and smooth it out, the dim overhead streetlights giving me just enough light to read by.
Love me tender; love me true. I will make you cry
Because my darling, I hate you. And I will watch you die.
Oh love me tender; love me true, all the way to death.
And my darling, when I get to you, I’ll take away your breath.
Your time is almost up, Rosetta. Enjoy what you have you evil whore.
While you still can.
P. S. Seen Hussy lately?
As death threats go, that one isn’t even the worst. But it’s the first one that’s used my name and something as personal as my adopted cat’s name. That tells me that this person isn’t just cruising to kill a female Elvis impersonator as I keep telling myself, but actually just hates on me. And goddammit! I haven’t seen Huss lately, and now I’m freaking worried.
My hands, trembling and sweaty, crush the note, and I finally give in to the fear that’s skittering down my spine as I try—and fail—not to react to the feeling I’m being watched.
I feel eyes on me and almost lose my cool when a loud footfall in the parking lot echoes somewhere from behind me. I bolt, or at least I run as fast as my purse and gym bag will allow, and go for the door, my hands shaking when I grasp the handle and pull, swinging it open and falling in with a gasp.
I can’t say why, maybe it’s just fear and a mixture of paranoia, but suddenly I feel as if someone was coming for me, and that I wouldn’t win if they got to me.
I’m tough, at least on the inside, but my body is not. I’m like Iron Man trapped in Tinkerbelle’s body, and I’d be about as effectual in a fight as Lon, who once dropped everything he owned, shoved his hands in the air, and screamed like a banshee when someone poked him in the back.
Turned out, he’d dropped his bottle of baby oil while we walked out the front one night. And no, it’s not what you’re thinking, assholes! We use the oil to maintain the sheen on the wigs, so get your head out of the gutter. He’s gay, not a freaking porn star.
“Rosie?”
I run right into the security office, my lungs heaving, and I almost collapse into Harvey in the process, my newly washed skin clammy with fear, anger, and the knowledge that this thing I’ve been trying to ignore may not be all that ignorable.
“Someone…at… my car,” I wheeze. “Can you show me footage from employee parking?”
Harvey frowns and starts pulling up the footage. I watch as a shadow shifts in the darkened area of the parking structure before peeling off the wall and walking slowly toward my car, one of only four in the area.
He’s wearing a hoodie, a black one that bags around him, hiding everything from his face to his build beneath the cavernous fabric. It damn near sends shivers down my spine when he pushes the note beneath the blade and then turns and waves at the camera, almost as if he’s taunting me personally.
Hmm. Well, that is creepy.
“Shit, Rosie! What the fuck?”
I almost groan when I hear that voice, and I do let out a squeak when Gino storms my way, his six three frame—decked out in Armani—doing nothing to hide the violence packed into that hard body.
His brown eyes are sparking and burning with anger as he grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me into his body.
“Gino.”
“What the hell is going on? Franny called me and said you ran this way like a bat out of hell. Harvey?”
“S-sir, uh, it looks like some guy put something under her wiper blade and, er, uh, it don’t seem all that friendly, sir,” he stutters, throwing me a look of apology.
Everyone knows Gino and his temper, and put that together with the fact that he sees me as his freaking baby sister, and well…
Chapter Two
Rosetta
Have I mentioned yet why my name is Rosetta? You’re probably wondering why I’m bringing this up after I just saw some freak dare me on camera. I don’t blame you, but right now I need a distraction from the ranting lunatic in front of me and, well, I like this story, so I’ll tell you.
When I was born twenty-eight years ago, it was possibly one of the best and worst days of my life. Best, well, because I got to live and come into the world, that’s always a plus, right? Worst because my mom was not exactly what you would call a stable individual and that, my friends, means that she was not the best thing that happened to maternal instinct as we know it.
Anyhow, Nana told me this story so much, and despite my mom’s air of malaise and outright hostility when I ripped her vag to hell and back, I like the parts where Nana came in.
See, I have a head of red hair. Not that ginger shit you’re thinking of, all orange and carroty or anything. Nah, I have red, red hair, like people often stop me on the street and ask me where I get my color done because it’s so vivid and striking.
According to Nana, she took one look at my shock of hair and knew I was a Rosie. Mom apparently kept yelling about my being full of blood and gore, but it turns out that I inherited a Mayhew gene that is a throwback to bygone Irish or some such.
So yeah, Rosetta. The Blue came in because I have eyes the color of sapphires, truly, no joke. My eyes are navy blue, like so blue that in some light they look purple. At least Lon always says so.
“Stop ignoring me and freaking have some sense, Rosie! Jesus woman, this shit has been going on for two months, and I’m only just now finding out?”
> Gino keeps pacing, raging and shooting me death glares as I lean back into the leather sofa in his office, sighing as the plush brown cushions give way to cradle my spent limbs.
The man has a real knack for yelling, let me tell you, and after the tumbler of Glen he shoved down my throat, coupled with my earlier exhaustion, all I want to do is curl up and fall asleep and pretend this hasn’t happened.
He won’t let me though, and I moan my displeasure when he plants his hands beside my head and snarls at me, his brown eyes sparking madly.
“Rosie.”
“Gi, please stop yelling. I’m tired. All I want to do is go home, fall into bed, and sleep for the next twelve hours.”
I can’t actually do that because I have a class at ten in the morning and three loads of laundry that won’t do themselves.
“Take this seriously, goddammit. Did you read that note? What about the others?” he demands, grabbing my purse with a growl when I try to jerk it back from his clutches.
I curse myself when he dumps the contents, not a care in the world for my things, and blush when tampons, feminine wipes, and a tube of lube roll to the plush red carpet beneath my feet.
The lube is for dry menses days, okay? Jesus, don’t judge. That shit hurts, and it’s not as if I can just wing it since my wardrobe is usually white.
My groan, though, is not from embarrassment but dread when he grabs the few dozen or so notes that I just shoved into my purse whenever I got them and starts reading.
The more he reads, the more he curses, and I want to hide when his face starts going red and his jaw clenches dangerously. Yup. I’m screwed, I think when he slams the notes down onto the table and grinds his teeth so hard I hear it from my place on the sofa.
“Why haven’t you reported this?”
“Uh, one, it’s just silly. What are those things, Gino? Just some weird notes with poorly written poems and inconsequential threats. Oh, and by the way, no way do I want to sit in the police station for two hours just for some fat, little donut guzzler to sniff at me and tell me they can’t do anything.”
“Not the cops, Rosie! Security,” he snarls. “Carl takes the security of all female staff seriously. You know that.”
“Yeah, I do, which is why I didn’t go to him. He’d have been up here, blabbing to you faster than I could sneeze. I didn’t want that, all right? It’s silly! Stupid. Foolish. Do you see a trend here, Gi? I knew you’d go overboard about it, and I do not want or need you shoving me into a corner.”
His eyes narrow, and I cringe back into the cushions when he snarls and closes his eyes.
“I promised Dad I’d look out for you, and I take that seriously. Besides, you know how I—and the family—feel about you, kid.”
Yup. They adore me. They have since Nana worked here years ago after Mom split and left her to raise me. My nana was one of the hottest showgirls in this town, and I am one hundred percent proud to admit that she danced her way to a decent retirement up to the age of fifty-one before arthritis and emphysema got her.
She was Gio’s favorite showgirl, a sort of add-on to the family you could say, and as a result, I became one, too. That’s how I got this job, not that Gino or Gio wanted to hire me. Their thinking was that they’d pay for school and I could get a decent job that wouldn’t require me to work my ass off and live in a dump, as they call it.
They’d use any excuse to fire me, least of all this shit with a stalker gunning for me. Another reason I didn’t want to tell them about this.
“Look, I get that you’re a protective big brother, Gi, and I love you, I do, but you’re not my freaking keeper here. I have a life, one I enjoy and will not give up just because you’re ready to go all paranoid schizo on me about a few harmless, poorly-written notes, okay?”
“Harmless? This one says you’re going to die painfully. This one alludes to disembowelment, and this fucking one out-and-out threatens to set your house on fire while you sleep!”
Okay, so that one was particularly unpleasant.
I can’t help the eye roll or the way I suck on my teeth when he starts pacing again.
“I’m going home.”
“No.”
“Yes! I need my bed. You know I can’t sleep anywhere else but my bed, and I refuse to let some idiot keep me from it!” I yell, coming to my feet.
I’m stubborn, and like I said, I may not be big, but I have Thor’s balls and Banner’s hair trigger. I’ll be damned if anyone keeps me from living the life I’ve carved out for myself. Gino included.
“Rosie—”
“No. Look, I know and appreciate what you’re trying to do here, Gi, but the answer is definitely no. I’m going home; I’m going to sleep, and tomorrow I will be back at work for my shift. This is my life, and I will be cotton pickin’ darned if I let you pull this all out of proportion.”
“Stretch. Stretch this out of proportion,” he mutters, smiling a little at my foolishness.
I have a habit of mixing up sayings sometimes, a quirk that Nana loved and something I’ve just kept doing after she passed away even when I know the right way to say it. It makes people laugh, so yeah, I keep going.
“Consider security.”
“N—”
“Just for tonight at least so that I don’t worry all night! Carl will stake out your place. Just for tonight,” he urges, making me groan.
“You promise?”
“I swear that Carl will only be there for tonight.”
***
Lex
The phone starts blaring Def Leppard again for the third time in two minutes, and I groan as I disentangle myself from the hottie beside me and reach out blindly for the bedside table, grabbing at the thing with a curse.
It’s three in the morning and nowhere near time to lift my hungover—possibly still slightly drunk—head from the pillow. Definitely not since my pillow happens to be two very nice tits that cradle me just right.
The woman…Mindy, Cindy? I can’t quite recall right now, grunts and turns over in her sleep, taking my pillows with her, her ass sticking up in the air, inviting me to play again.
The phone keeps going though, and I glare at it, answering with a curse.
“Do you know what the time is, asshole?”
“Yes. Like I even care, Jacobs.”
I want to groan out loud when I hear Gino over the line and not his father, Gio. This guy is one of my least favorite human beings. Not that I have any real reason to dislike him really. I just don’t like his intensity, or the way he used to stare at my sister whenever he or his dad made it into town for a poker night.
I like the guy in a strange way. Though, I have to admit, hearing from him at this time of the morning gives me pause and has me praying that things do not start snowballing for me. I just got into this whole permanent leave of absence thing with the Watchers while Storm hunts for whoever the hell is coming after us all. Cleo convinced Jericho to let me crash at their place and even bring women to the attached loft apartment over their garage.
This is a sweet deal for a guy like me. One I don’t want to lose out on just because some Vegas idiot has a bug up his ass or something.
“What do you want, and don’t give me that shit your father was giving me last month. Not at this time of the morning, Gino. I don’t do Vegas security, no matter what the check or perks,” I growl, jamming my feet into boxers before hopping out of the room and into the kitchen for something to eat.
“Not that, Jacobs. Look, I have a situation at the moment, and I need your help is all. One of my staff, Rosie, a woman who’s like a sister to me, is in some trouble down here. I need someone personal on her while I get my guys involved and have them investigate the situation.”
Dammit.
“So use one of them to babysit the woman while the others…what are we talking here?” I ask, against my better judgement as curiosity hits me.
“Stalking. And I think last night that there was an attempt on Rosie. She’s been getting some really shi
tty notes, creepy, threatening. Whoever this guy is, I have a bad feeling that he’s going to come after her soon, man.”
I feel myself sigh because, darn it, I have a soft spot for all women, particularly attractive, easy women who like my balls, my smile, and a pat on the ass as I get them out of the door.
“Notes.”
I hear Gino’s grin when he realizes he’s hooked me, and I grit my teeth when my phone vibrates, letting me know I have incoming mail. I don’t bother to talk. I just walk over to my workstation and get the shit printed out before going back to the kitchen and the leftover pasta Cleo sent over earlier, my stomach needy now that I’m officially awake and not snacking on a female to sate the hunger.
“Christ.”
I’m silent the entire time as I read through the notes while eating, and it gets so bad I have to stop or I may choke on the anger rising in me. These aren’t stalking notes, not by a long shot. There are no intimate details here except for what’s included, no doubt, to scare this Rosie chick.
No, these are warnings. It’s almost as if the guy is intent on playing with her before the ultimate goal of murdering her. These are filled with hatred.
“This isn’t a stalker. Whoever this is, whatever the hell is going on there, I’d get the law involved, Gino.”
“You think I haven’t? Since I got wind of this just over two hours ago all I’ve done is mobilize my guys and get a few blues in here. They all say the same fucking thing. Christ, I even got Harvey to go through tapes from weeks back on the nights Rosie admitted she found the notes on her car…and nothing. This prick remains in the shadows and doesn’t make one freaking mistake. All you see is a hooded figure. That’s it. The notes have no prints beside Rosie’s and mine from when I read them earlier, and from what Carl said, there’s no way to track this shit.”
Hmm.
“Full name.”
“Rosetta Blue Mayhew, age twenty-eight.”
I’m looking at her on my laptop screen before he finishes giving her age, and I want to groan out loud at what I find. Sonofabitch, this chick is not beautiful, pretty, or any other definition of attractive. She can’t be. Because the only word I can use for her is perfection.
THE WATCHERS: 6 Military Romance Bundle Page 61
