Joker's Wild

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Junior

I’m still mostly functioning on autopilot. Probably in shock in my own alpha asshole way.

Even so, I know pulling Desiree into this situation was wrong.

I’m breaking one of our sacred rules—don’t involve or corrupt the innocent.

But she was the first person I thought of and the only one I fully trust to save Gio. Yeah, we have a few veterinarian connections we’ve used in the past, but it’s been years. They must be in their eighties now—friends of my grandfather. I don’t know who we can trust anymore.

And if Gio dies, it’s all on me. I’ll never forgive myself. I keep questioning my judgment on not bringing him to the hospital, but if I do, the Russians’ deaths will be pinned on him. Or on me. f**k! —on us.

This is how my father would’ve handled it. We’ve treated bullet wounds in-house before. Just not immediate family. Paolo, Luca and Mario follow us in.

I pull Desiree into the house, jog up the stairs, still holding her hand.

She’s all piss and vinegar, dragging her feet to show me her reluctance, but underneath it, I smell her fear.

Which is for the best. I need her afraid. In my line of work, fear is an integral part of business.

We reach the landing and I turn toward the guest bedroom where Paolo helped me carry Gio, who had passed out by the time we arrived.

“Oh shit.” Desiree sees Gio. She strips off her coat and throws it on the floor as she runs into the room.

Relief hits me square between the eyes. Any worries I had that I’d have to coerce her to even look at him evaporate. She’s already in nurse mode, zeroing in on her patient.

“Your brother.”

She’s met him, then.

Or maybe she just sees the resemblance.

“Let me see.” She pries the blood-soaked washcloth from his wound. “Gunshot wound,” she mutters. “Help me roll him to the side to check for an exit wound.”

I’ve already noted one, but I help her see for herself.

“Good, that’s good. It means we won’t have to go digging out a bullet. How much blood has he lost?”

I don’t know if she expects me to give an actual calculation, but all I can do is hold up the first towel he went through before the current washcloth.

“Great. That’s a good sign, too. There would be way more blood if it hit anything major.”

I’d already guessed at the same, but I don’t disturb her process. “Tell me what you need.” I lift my chin at Paolo, who’s standing in the doorway. He pulls out his phone, thumb hovering over the keypad.

“A needle and thread to close the wounds. Gauze to pack them. Saline. Lots of saline—to keep them clean. I can use Everclear or some other alcohol in a pinch, but I’d really prefer saline. And I’ll need IV needles—21 gauge if you can get them. And the bags and tubes. Sodium potassium for the IV. And an antibiotic. Is he allergic to penicillin?”

“No.” My throat closes, a fresh rush of fear for Gio flooding me.

“Then penicillin.”

“Hang on. Back up. I didn’t get it all,” Paolo mutters.

She repeats the list for him. “Also, any pain killer or muscle relaxant would be good, because it’s going to hurt like hell for a good while.”

“Got it,” Paolo says.

I’m feeling better about my decision to involve Desiree by the minute. Her swift, incisive action is exactly how she won over my impossible-to-please ma when she worked for her. She’s excellent at what she does.

And so very nice on the eyes, too.

Not that I dragged her here for that.

She eyes the bloody towels again. “I don’t think we’ll need a blood transfusion.”

“If we do, you can take my blood,” I say quickly. I remember getting typed when we were kids and we Tacones were all the same—O positive.

“Or mine,” Paolo says. He’s nearly as pale as Gio.

“Is that it for medical supplies?” I ask.

“In the trunk of my car is a med kit. I’d like to have that, too.”

“Get her car somewhere safe,” I tell Paolo.

“On it,” Paolo mutters, leaving.

I don’t have a clue where he’s going to get all the s**t she needs, but I know he’ll figure it the f**k out, just like he somehow figured out how to find and bring Desiree. This is our brother’s life on the line.

Desiree

“Giovanni,” I blurt, finally remembering Junior’s brother’s name. I met him once at his mom’s house.

My heart’s been beating hard since I saw him lying on the bed with a bullet wound soaking the sheets. I don’t know why I care so much, but it seems worse when you know the guy.

And I guess I hardly know him, but I looked after his mom for nearly three months and she talked about her kids all the time.

His eyelids flutter open and he focuses on me and groans.

“Don’t move,” I warn him. “I know it hurts. Don’t worry. We’re going to take care of you, Giovanni.”

“Gio,” Junior rumbles beside me.

“He goes by Gio. Got it.” I straighten and look at him. “Listen, I can’t do much until you get me the supplies. I don’t want to stitch the wound until I clean it. I think he’s relatively stable if we don’t let him move.”

Junior nods. “Paolo’s getting the supplies.”

And since there’s nothing to do but wait, I decide to make my dissatisfaction felt. “You can’t just kidnap me anytime you need a nurse.”

Junior’s face goes completely impassive. He says nothing.

Nothing.

Like he’s not even going to dignify me with an answer.

I smack his chest. “Seriously.”

He catches my hand and pulls it back to his chest. “Careful, doll. I said I’d let it slide last time. You hit me again, there’s gonna be consequences.”

A shiver runs up my spine, but it’s more thrill than real fear. I know, because my panties also dampen. I love having Junior talk consequences with me in his deep gravelly voice while holding my hand to his chest and standing inches away.

I almost love it enough to press my luck and find out exactly what those consequences will be, but I’m not quite that stupid.

I try to shove him away and retrieve my hand but he doesn’t budge and my hand stays glued where it lies.

He dips his head and pins me with a dark stare. “You take care of Gio, I’ll take care of you.”

Now a little trickle of fear runs through me, even though I think he’s making me some kind of offer, rather than a threat. I hear the undertones of every mafia deal on TV in his words, and it freaks me out.

“I’ll patch him up and stay until he’s stable, but that’s it. I work tomorrow at noon at the hospital.”

He shakes his head. “You won’t leave here until he’s better. I don’t care if it takes a month. Tomorrow you’ll call into work and tell them you came down with the flu.”

I gape at him.

Shit. I am definitely still a prisoner here.

“My mom works at the same hospital—she’ll be dropping by my house the second she gets off work.”

His blank mask doesn’t change. “You’d better think of something, then.”

My stomach drops.

“Or what?”

He c***s his head, studies me for a moment. “There’s a reason we’re not at the hospital, capiche?”

I nod.

“So think long and hard about whether you want your mom to be one of my loose ends.”

My entire body flushes with ice.

That was definitely a threat.

A very scary threat.

And does that mean I’m going to be one of his loose ends, too? When my usefulness ends, will he get rid of me so I won’t talk?

Ohmyfuckinggod.

I’m in deep s**t here.

My knees buckle. I probably would’ve stumbled back except for his grip on my hand.

He pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger to bring my eyes back to his. “You’ll stay here until he’s better. No contact with anyone outside. And when you walk away—you’ll have enough money to buy yourself a brand new car.” Junior had to give me a ride home from his mother’s once when my car died in front of her house. He knows how old my car is. “Okay?”

I shove at him again, tears smarting my eyes. This time he lets me go. “No, it’s not okay.” I blink rapidly so he won’t see me cry. “You think you have my number just because I drive a piece of s**t car? You think you can just kidnap me, take control of my life and make it all right with a wad of cash?”

It’s unwise of me to argue with him. Stupid, really. I don’t even know if his offer of money is real, or just what he’s telling me to make sure I’ll do the job. I do know he can make me do it, regardless.

But I’m just winding up and can’t seem to stop my bluster now. “I could lose my job, you know. I just started there—I only have one day of sick time accrued.”

Junior’s lips close into a flat line and for the first time I realize how lethal he looks. I’ve always focused on the handsome side before. But now? Now I see the visage others must see when they’re pissing their pants and asking God’s forgiveness of their sins before they die.

Because his expression is deadly.

“You lose your job, I’ll cover you, okay? Now stop giving me s**t. Your job is here for now, and I expect you to do it well.”

I glare at him, but I don’t dare open my mouth again.

He turns me around, back to face Gio. “Come on, doll, don’t make this hard.” His voice loses some of the steel, bringing in a note of coaxing. “It had to be you,” he says to my back.

I resist the urge to look over my shoulder at him and ask him to elaborate.

“The second you walked in here, you knew what to do. You took charge of the situation. I don’t trust anyone else with my brother’s life.”

Something rigid eases in my chest. “I’m sure there’s plenty of other people,” I mutter.

“No.” He steps closer. He’s right at my back, although not touching me. “It had to be you.” His hands come to my waist, lightly resting there.

Tingles race up and down my spine. My quads tighten and quiver.

“I’ll make it worth your while.” He bends his head down to mine, his mouth close to my ear. “I promise.”

I swear there’s innuendo in that promise. Unbidden, a fantasy I had when I worked for his mom surfaces. One where he pushes me over the kitchen table, taking me roughly from behind while I beg him to be gentle. That fantasy doesn’t seem too far off from becoming a reality now and that should terrify me. Or make me sick.

Instead, flutters take off in my belly and the urge to push him over the edge into his damnable consequences resurfaces.

Fortunately, I’m not that idiotic. I shove the urge back down, bury it under layers of fear and righteousness and vow to never, ever let my attraction for this man show again.

He’s dangerous.

He doesn’t deserve that kind of attention from me.

I can’t even begin to entertain ideas like that.