Once they were finished shopping at Caesar's Palace and had their packages -- a suit and wedding ring for him, a dress for her -- they headed back outside and Rocky whistled for a cab, waving one down. "Cold feet?" she asked Chris.
"No, you?"
"Not at all."
He nodded and wound an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close and dropping a kiss against the top of her head.
"Last few minutes of being a single man, Christian." She was trying to sound ominous.
"I've been trying to get you to marry me for years. I'll give you a proper wedding when we get home, Rock. Promise." Home was back East. Boston, New York, it didn't matter which. Vegas was a lot of fun, but it wasn't home.
"What's wrong with this one?"
"Nothing, but you deserve better." So much better. Better than this. Better than him. He promised himself he would do better, starting today. Today was the first day of the rest of his life and hers. The first day of their new life together.
She got into the cab, finally looking forward to this. In fact, she was almost giddy, but she'd never let him know. "You going to get in here or wait here while I marry myself?"
He smirked as he slid into the cab beside her. "Sounds interesting. Can I watch?"
A habit she'd made since their life required it, she glanced over her shoulder, looking at vehicles and their placement. "Then, I'm still Smith." Arching her brow at him.
"You don't like Driscoll anyway." He pulled the door shut and leaned toward the cab driver. "New York, New York."
He could hardly believe she had actually agreed to finally marry him, after everything they'd been through together. He was on Cloud Nine.
"I like it just fine or I would have said no." She glanced behind them again and took note of two cars that pulled out when they did. "Racquel Driscoll will just have a little time needed to get used to." She snuggled against him, then signaled him that they were being followed by laying two fingers in his lap.
He smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, the smile quickly fading when he caught her hand signal. "What? Where?"
Her thumb rolled to point behind them, then a point at her black high-top, trying to keep it casual.
He had never been very good at being inconspicuous. He turned his head to look out the window behind them. "What the..."
"How much are you carrying today?" she asked as she looked at the cabbie, wondering if he was in on it, then turned to kiss Chris. "Concentrate, honey."
"I'm on vacation!" He had his backup piece and that was it.
She rolled her eyes. "I've told you about this."
There wasn't much he could say about it in front of the cabbie. His mouth drooped into a frown.
"It's called checked bags, Christian."
"So, what now?" She wore the pants. He was just a computer geek. He could fight if he had to, but he preferred a keyboard to a pistol.
"I left my checked bags at the hotel, Racquel." If they were going by proper names now, two could play at that game.
She just glared at him. "Stop that!"
"Stop what?"
"You know damn good and well what!"
"We can argue about that later." He leaned close to her as if to kiss her and glanced out the back window. "Are you sure?" he whispered into her ear.
She opened her shoulder bag and pulled a makeshift slingshot from within. "They were watching us and pulled out when we left. Been doing even, as much as running yellows to keep up."
"What the hell are you gonna do with that?"
She just patted his cheek. "Get the window, will you, love?"
"These some of your friends from down south come to say hello?"
"Could be, but they would have just come to the room with Patron."
He reached over and rolled down the window.
Another hand slid into her shoulder bag, and she looked at him, rolling her eyes and letting out a "woooo" like a drunk, before leaning out the window much to the cabbie's annoyance. "I love this town!" She drew the slingshot back and fired into the grill of the first car, and climbed back in at the cabbie's demands. "Fire in the hole." Whispered.
"Oh. My. God. You're a lunatic," whispered back.
"Not me." Looked at her watch. "We may have to ditch."
"I'm right behind you, honey."
Then the hood of the car blew up and over, followed closely by a fiery explosion.
"Wow, pinched too much," she muttered.
The cab swerved to the side with the force of the explosion. She stuffed a twenty through the slot in the window. "Should cover us," she said and popped open the door, sliding out into a tuck and roll, so she's not ground to burger.
She stopped near the curb and broke into a flat run heading for the crowd across the street, sliding over hoods and trunks of cars as she did so.
"Shit!" He paused a moment before following her out of the car, his exit not quite as pretty as hers. He rolled against the asphalt, just barely missing getting hit by a swerving car, finding his feet, and breaking into a run after her.
She had her dress package in her hand and was glaring at him from the curb. "Run, idiot!" The second car swerved around the first fiery one, and the two men that survived the blast got into it, giving chase.
He threw up a hand as if to try and stop one vehicle from hitting him, just narrowly missing becoming road kill. In his panic to exit the cab, he'd forgotten the Versace suit. The cabbie would be dressed to kill later.
She signaled him to meet back at base, which in this case was Treasure Island. She knew he didn't have the sack and was glaring daggers at him before she stepped into the crowd.
He darted through traffic, feeling like he was playing Frogger, only this was for real and not a video game. "What? No!" She was gonna take off and leave him there?
"Damn it," he grumbled under his breath, tossing a glance at the car that had just blown up, scanning the street for any others. He shoved his fingers through his hair and wound his way through the crowd, hoping to get gobbled up and blend.
The other car had turned around and was heading up the other side of the street, and what's this? There's some idiot dodging cars, before disappearing into the crowd, and a couple of men stepped out at a light to follow him.
"Male suspect ahead, sir," one of the men said.
"Rodger. Tag and bag," replied another.
Chris hastily pushed his way through the crowd, like a salmon trying to swim upstream, heading on foot toward the rendezvous point. He looked over his shoulder and noticed he was being tailed. He pulled out his cell phone as he broke into a run.
Rocky was moving slowly, watching for tails, then looking for Chris, thinking she saw him across the street. She pulled her phone from her pocket, and dialed his number.
He had her on speed dial and was about to call when his phone rang... La la la, la la la, Elmo's World... He ducked into a Starbucks and juggled the phone before pressing it against his ear. "I've got company."
"David, it's Emily. Check you at six?" she said, not knowing who was listening and trying to let him know there were two guys following him.
"Yeah, yeah! I know!" He was starting to panic.
"You sound so excited!" She was almost chipper. "Calm down. I'm really excited to see you, too!"
He moved away from the door, standing close enough to a window that he could peek out, but hopefully not be seen. "Yeah, can't wait to see you either." Which translated to something like, "Need a little help here."
The two men in suits pushed past him, looking into the shop a moment before pressing past through the flow of people.
"So, maybe you could get me one of those silly hats again?" She watched them pass.
He couldn't pull his piece, not without drawing attention to himself. "Silly hats? What kind do you want?" The sound of her voice was helping calm him down.
"Hey, buddy! You ordering or loitering?" A guy behind the counter called over.
She double backed and crossed over the street from one of the high walks across the strip, her hand in her shoulder bag, walking toward the coffee shop, her earpiece still in for the phone. "You remember the one with the two flamingos?" Meaning the guys had just passed the Flamingo and were getting further away from his point.
"Um..." He switched ears. "Gimme a French Vanilla Latte to go."
"And a Double Mocha," she told him.
He was so unprepared for this. Stone would kick his ass. "And a double mocha," he repeated, moving over toward the counter, shoving a hand into his back pocket for his wallet and handing the guy a credit card, since he only had like a dollar to his name. "You meeting me for coffee, honey?" He hadn't even brought his earpiece with him. He was on vacation, damn it.
She watched them as far as she could see them, then watched the firetrucks and EMTs come in for the car that was nearly blown in half. "Sure, I could do that."
The clerk glared at him and handed him back his credit card. "Denied."
She stepped into the coffee shop, heading toward the bar, cash in hand. "Saving your ass again."
"Shit." He took the card and shoved it back into his wallet. He flipped the phone closed and shoved it into his pocket. The other customers and most of the staff had now gathered at the window to check out the fire show.
She picked up her double mocha and walked over to look out the window, as well. "They must have killer potholes out here."
He grabbed her by the arm, steering her toward the door, the coffee forgotten. "We need to go." He didn't really like latte anyway.
No way in hell was she leaving hers. He could leave his, but you don't mess with a girl's latte. Still carrying her package and shaking her head at him. "I can't believe you left your suit."
"I can't believe you," he echoed her.
"Me!?" She stopped to face him. "Why me?"
"This was supposed to be a romantic vacation! What suit? Screw the suit! I'm more worried about my skin than the suit."
"It is a vacation. We were on our way to get married, but some bonehead left his suit in the back of Habib's cab!"
"Oh, yeah..." Rolling his eyes. "Like the suit is more important than I am. It's always about money with you." His Tickle Me Elmo t-shirt was ripped and dirty, and he was sporting a few bumps and bruises.
She stopped to stare at him. "You starting this shit again? We were going to get married. I want you to look nice, not like some college drop out bum or homeless fuck I found out here."
"College drop out bum? Is that what I look like to you?" Never mind that he'd never gone to college; that was another matter entirely.
"Right now, it's more of a homeless look. You are missing the point, Cheers. Someone is out here to kill us."
"Yeah, okay, Princess. You can take it up with my stylist later. No, I got the point. Believe me."
"Princess?" Her eyes narrowed, "Princess?!"
He blew out a breath. "What are we gonna do?"
"You can take Princess and shove it up your ass! You think I don't care about you and your safety... You think I don't love you, that everything is about money to me? But you just seem to blow through it with no explanations. Nothing to show. I buy you something nice and new, and you lose it in less than an hour."
"Rock... my laptop's at the hotel. My whole life is in there."
He was being glared at again. "Your... whole... life?"
It was password protected and encrypted and all that, but still. "Enough of it."
She turned away from him and stepped into Margaritaville for a Volcano, also called the Yardarita. "Well, go stick your floppy in its hard drive." She took the yard long plastic container of margarita and glared at him after paying the man behind the counter.
He didn't carry the damn thing around just to search for porn and play Warcrack. His laptop was to him what her gun was to her. "I don't use a..." He glared at her innuendo. "You think this is a joke?"
"What the hell am I?" She took a long drink through the straw... literally.
"This is your fault." He waggled a finger at her. "You and your galavanting all over the Third World."
Cough, sputter. "My fault?"
"You don't think it's me they're after, do you?"
"Did you happen to notice, Hotshot... they were following you?"
"Why the hell would they be..." Pause.
Her eyes narrowed into slits again. "Why?"
Audible gulp as he realized something, a light bulb going on in his brain. "Shit, I didn't think they'd come here." He moved over to the window to take another peek out into the streets.
She took another drink from her big plastic tube. "What did you do, Christian?"
"Nothing, I just... I kinda owe some guy some money."
She ran a hand over her face and stared straight at him. "Who and how much? No fucking bullshit."
He was scanning the streets for anyone looking even remotely like a thug. "Guy named Guido."
"Guido? And the other question?"
"Doesn't matter if you owe these guys twenty cents or twenty grand. It's all the same to them." He stepped away from the window, thinking they might have to lay low til dark, but there was still the matter of his laptop.
"How much?" She wasn't moving.
He frowned, not wanting to tell her, but not wanting to lie about it either. "Fifty."
"Fifty?" She shook her head. "You want me in your life, and you owe some grease ball fifty? What other secrets you have, Chris?"
"I'm gonna pay it off."
"That isn't what I asked. You know what? I don't care. Let's go get your precious damned computer." She started toward the door.
"Rock..." He followed after her, wanting to explain.
"What?" She kept walking toward the other side of the street. Their hotel was about a block down.
He grabbed her arm to turn her to face him. "Look, I... I wanted to tell you."
"Yeah?" She turned to face him, cause she had no choice. "When would that come to light? When I met goons with guns to the head of my husband?"
"No, I..." He blew out a breath, looking more than a little upset. He'd wanted to tell her the truth. He'd hoped to tell her all of it before their little vacation was through, but everything seemed to be unraveling too fast. "I was gonna sell the Jag."
"Sell the Jag, something else that's your world."
"My world?" A pained look on his face, her words stinging deeply.
"Your laptop, your fucking car..." She just stared at him. "Where am I at on that list? Top five, I hope."
"It's just a car, Rock." It was his way of saying it was her that he loved.
"Just a car... that you polish, wax, detail, and God help us if it rains a drop while we are out."
There was a flash of anger in his eyes. "I don't expect you to understand." He started off toward the hotel.
"That's it, Cheers, walk away." Bitterly, she thought a moment about going the other way. She knew he had his secrets. Hell, she did, too, but owing money, large amounts to a guy named Guido could mean his life. She followed him instead. "Chris, wait."
He kept going, clenching his jaw in anger now. He knew he should tell her the truth, but the time just never seemed right. He'd tried to open up to her, to let her into his world, and she'd let him down time and again, making assumptions, accusing. Hell, maybe he made too many assumptions about her, too. How much did they really know about each other? He knew he loved her. He didn't really care about much else. He shoved his fists into his pockets and made his way through the crowd, intent on rescuing his laptop, if it was the last thing he did.
She just followed. She knew she'd catch him at the hotel. The place was a tourist attraction for the ship battle in the front, but she knew he'd go the valet entrance to avoid all the people. She saw him and tried to stay close, but not too close.
He didn't bother to see if she was following him. It didn't matter anymore. He'd go back to Boston and sell the Jag, pay off as much of his debt as he could, get a job somewhere, and say goodbye to the past forever. So long as Stone let him. He was tall enough that he stood out among the crowd, weaving his way, trying not to bump into anyone. The hotel wasn't that far and he didn't see Guido's guys anywhere in sight, or else he just missed them.
She followed him toward the elevators. She knew she had a better chance at getting there with or before him. She wanted to take him into her arms and give him the cash, but she also really wanted him to learn a lesson. She was torn between truth and necessity.
He went around to the valet entrance, just like she predicted, then made his way down the hall to the elevators, taking a peek around every corner before moving onward. He might be reckless, but he wasn't completely stupid. Stone had taught him a thing or three.
She took the stairs, figuring it would give her the time to cool down and relax, to try to talk to him, instead of blowing off steam at him. She knew he was in deep.
He slid his hands out of his pockets and hit the button for the thirteenth floor, looking up to watch the numbers.
Rocky stepped into the valet entrance, then up the stairs she went. Thirteen floors was nothing, at times.
Distractedly going over everything in his head, he got an odd look from a guest or two, looking more than a little ragged.
"What?" he snapped, and they turned away.
She rounded the landing at eleven, then headed up to twelve. She remembered this being easier.
The elevator dinged as it reached the ground floor and he stepped inside, the others deciding to wait for the next one. Reaching into his pocket for his phone, he considered calling her, but didn't. Not yet.
She stopped at twelve and sat on the step to catch her breath, calm down, and think things through. Not even an hour and a half ago, they were going to get married and now she was ready to kill him. She looked at the ring on her hand, wondering if it was part of the reason he owed money to sharks.
Maybe he was going about this all wrong, but he tried to do things the right way. He'd tried to get her to meet his family. Then maybe she'd understand, but he didn't want her money and most of all, he didn't want her pity. He had his pride, after all. He'd screwed things up so badly, he wasn't sure there was any way out anymore. The elevator dinged again and the doors slid open to the thirteenth floor. And there in front of him was a blond and a brunette, smiling and offering free samples of their wares.
She felt it was time she met his family and that he met hers, all her phobias be damned. She had to realize that she did love him, even on the days she didn't like him. She pushed to her feet and started slowly up that last flight, pulled open the door to thirteen, and started down the hallway toward their room.
"Hi, handsome. Want some afternoon delight?" the blond asked as he stepped out of the elevator.
"No," he replied, trying to move past them to his room.
She rounded the corner, carefully with a glance at the rounded mirrors. She could see a couple of women and someone that looked suspiciously like Chris.
"Oh, come on, honey," the brunette stepped in, trailing a finger against his arm. "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas."
The blond smiled and reached for his glasses. "No one will know but us."
Rocky paused, watching, waiting to see what Chris' reaction would be, while she carefully screwed the silencer into the end of her .40.
"I said no." He detached himself from the blond and tried to push past them again.
"I'll be damned. You can teach a horn dog new tricks," she said to herself, but continued to watch.
"We're every man's dream," the brunette cooed.
"Not mine," he replied, too quiet for Rocky to hear and finally brushed past them.
One of them whistled at the rear view while the other laughed. "Your loss." The pair of women stepped into the elevator on their way to another floor to look for more prospective customers.
"Well, hell, I didn't have to kill anyone." Rocky chuckled a bit and started on toward the room, slowly.
Chris darted a look around as he approached their room, reaching down to pull his backup piece from an ankle holster tucked beneath his jeans. He took the safety off and tried the door to see if it was open. Great. It was unlocked. He knew he hadn't left it unlocked. He suddenly wished he had Rocky there to back him up. He turned the handle slowly and pushed the door open, wincing as it made a soft creaking sound. He peered past the door into the room, not seeing anything yet. Maybe they'd already come and gone. He crept slowly into the room, as silently as possible, his piece at the ready. If it wasn't for his laptop, he wouldn't have chanced it. Everything else could be replaced. He kept his back to the wall as much as he could as he moved into the room.
"Mister Driscoll, we've been waiting for you. I assure you, Micky's weapon is bigger and aimed at your thick skull," a voice came from the other side of the room in the dark.
"Mickey on a day pass from Disneyland?"
"A comedian? I trust you are getting paid well?"
Chris squinted to see the man who was sitting across the room. "Not enough to give up my day job." Only two of them? He wasn't too worried about Deep Throat. Micky was his real problem. He didn't have to look over his shoulder to know there was a gun pointed at his head. "Tell Guido he'll get his money when I get back."
"Do you have our money?" the voice asked, and a big hand reached out for his tiny back up. Then a click of tongue. "We now have traveling expenses, Mister Driscoll."
He found the piece plucked out of his hand. "Let's cut with the formalities, shall we?"
A sigh from the darkness. "Fine, Chris. Where's the fucking money?"
"I don't have it here."
Rocky stopped checking herself in the mirror, looking herself over, and was ready to go down to talk to him, so she headed toward the room.
"You don't have it?" Disappointment in the voice. Micky stepped forward then and pushed the door closed.
"Yeah, like I carry fifty grand around with me in my back pocket. I have it. Just not here."
Rocky heard the door close and frowned, but at least he was inside.
"Micky, remind Chris why he should carry that kind of cash when he owes it." Micky kicked at the back of Chris' legs to drop him to the floor.
"Shit!" Chris turned to face Micky, but not in enough time and stumbled to the floor. He tossed an arm up to defend himself, the other swinging at anything that moved.
Micky just smiled down at Chris then, missing his front tooth, but not caring, before leveling the .500 at his head. "Chris, how much do you have on you?"
Okay, a .500 at your head will make you stop swinging your fists pretty quick. Chris froze, heart hammering. "Enough to buy a Kit Kat bar. You don't get blood from a rock. I'm no good to you dead."
"I don't care for Kit Kats either. Where is the money, Chris?"
"Call off your goon here and we'll talk." Chris chuckled, humorlessly. "You think I'm gonna tell you where I keep my cash? Are you nuts? I might as well put a bullet in my own head."
"No, it seems you know what a pistol like that can do to you at that range. The hassle alone is enough to see your brain splattered all around this room."
Rocky tapped on the door. "Chris, I left my key."
"Shit. Whore I spent the night with. Let me get rid of her."
"A whore? You spent Guido's money on high dollar sex?" Another click of tongue. "Why would she have a key to your room?" He looked around a moment then turned on the light. "My .45 will keep you still. Check the closet, Micky."
"Get lost, bitch!" Chris lifted his head and called toward the door. "I told you I don't want an encore."
Rocky stared at the door. "Bitch?" She was pissed with that. "Open the fucking door before I kick it in."
Micky then stepped back from the closet with some mid-riff shirts and capris. "Cross dressing, Chris?"
Chris was on his knees on the floor, trying not to draw any trigger happy fire. He shrugged. "I like silk. Now you know my little secret." He called toward the door again. "I don't like your wet towels all over the place!"
Micky slapped him in the back of the head. "You aren't funny, Chris."
Rocky stopped, her heart beating in her chest. "There were only three towels," she said.
His head jerked forward at the slap. "I try."
"Price is seventy-five now, Chris."
"You gonna let me get rid of her so we can continue this conversation in private? Seventy-five? Are you out of your mind?" Just let that bastard Micky get close again. He was starting to get pissed.
"Micky, show her in. She dies with him. Murder-suicide of a desperate, indebted man."
"No!" He started to move to his feet.
"You aren't in control." Micky shoved him down, with the help of that big steel barrel.
Chris grunted as the barrel of Micky's gun made contact with his shoulder, knocking him back onto the floor.
Rocky checked the door and found it open. She stepped in, looking down at Chris on the floor.
"I told you to beat it, skank!" He flicked his eyes toward the guy in the corner, hoping Rocky understood his body language.
"I heard you, but you still owe me money," She dropped her hand toward her purse, then looked around the room at Micky and the other man.
"Micky, check the clothes against the skank."
He hoped she had Micky, because he had his sights set on Deep Throat.
"She's not the same one that came to the bar with him," the goon named Micky remarked, rifling through the closet.
That had Rocky looking back down at Chris.
"What?" Chris' eyes widened behind his glasses. They had just signed his death warrant.
"Oh, really?" Rocky asked, letting her New York accent shine. "He told me he was single."
"This is stupid." Chris tried to get up again. "She's got nothing to do with this."
"Stupid is you owing me seventy-five thousand dollars, Chris."
"It's fifty, dumbass."
"Micky, adjust his attitude again."
Oh, no, not again. He got to his feet and took a swing at Micky.
Rocky stepped back, allowing the man to pass. All she heard was another woman and more money.
Micky took Chris' shot and smiled as he spit the other front tooth at the man. "Best you got, little man?"
"No, I got more where that came from." And up came his other first into the guy's gut.
Micky huffed out a breath with the punch and swung again, aiming for Chris' head with the left and then the right holding the pistol.
Chris wasn't sure why Rocky wasn't doing anything to help him, but he refused to acknowledge he cared because if he did, it would put her life in danger. He blocked the left with his arm, but the pistol made contact, knocking him off balance, head ringing, dazed.
"More money, Chris... and women?" For a moment, she thought about throwing the ring at him. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I'll get my things, and you can take this son of a bitch to a hole in the desert." Rocky set about throwing her things in the suitcase pulled from the nook where their clothes hung. "Swear to Christ, you can't be honest with me ever," she said as Micky took another two swings and tried to bear hug Chris.
Chris looked over at Rocky, blinking through a haze of pain, undisguised shock at her betrayal.
"Seventy-five thousand could save his life." The brains of the two-man team spoke up.
"Good luck getting that out of him. Cheating, lying, son of a bitch!"
Maybe it was better this way anyway. The sooner she left, the safer she'd be. But before he was able to say anything, he found himself doubled over in pain, unable to breath as the big goon tried to squeeze the life out of him. He heaved a breath and kicked at the guy's shins, the edges of his visions starting to go black.
"No more lies, baby. You are the only one, Rock, I swear!" she yelled, while Micky was attempting to work him over. "I should have known you were full of shit!"
Micky's grip slipped a bit as he was kicked, but he had to laugh. "I don't think she likes you any more than the boss does."
"Rock..." Chris hissed through clenched teeth. "I can explain."
"Oh, yeah, right. I've heard that shit before," she shot back.
Micky tried to readjust his grip on the man, turning to avoid kicks and headbutts.
"Hit him hard for me, big guy," she said as she pulled her suitcase out the door.
Chris struggled against Micky's grip, doing his damnedest to get loose, but to no avail. There was a knife in his pocket, if he could just manage to get to it.
Micky just smiled and reared up with an elbow, trying to listen to the woman.
The elbow caught Chris in the ribs, doubling him over, the breath going out of him. His fingers slid closer to his pocket, trying to pry the knife slowly out.
"That's for the lady." Micky was enjoying himself too much.
Chris almost didn't care what happened to him. If she walked out on him now, he knew it was over.
A few tears fell from Rocky's eyes as she walked away, and she wiped them in anger.
"Rocky!" he called after her, his voice filled with pain and anguish.
"Go to hell!" she called out, as she stepped into the elevator.
She was doing exactly what his father had done, walking away, out of his life, no questions asked, no answers given.
Micky laughed as he dropped Chris, readying to lay into him again, with a better angle.
"You pissed her off, too." The other man said. He looked over at Micky and nodded. "It was noble to attempt saving her, but she's no concern of ours, Chris."
Chris dropped onto the floor, feeling far more pain over her leaving than whatever physical beating they might give him.
"She's no concern of mine either," he said bitterly.
"Liar," the man in charge laughed.
"Tell Guido he'll get his damned money when I get back."
"And he's going to believe you now?"
"I don't give a fuck what he believes."
"Micky, show him what our boss thinks of a man indebted at this kind of money."
Micky smiled and moved in again.
Chris had just enough time to pull the knife from his pocket as he stumbled to his feet, turning and swiping the blade at the big goon.
Micky got a shocked look on his face and moved his hands to that massive neck, holding the front of his throat, blood gurgling as he tried to speak.
Chris snatched the gun out of Micky's hand and turned to face the man in the shadows.
The .45 was held there, leveled at him, as well. "Well, a Mexican standoff now."
With a gun that size, he only needed one shot. "Like hell it is." And with that, he pulled the trigger, point blank at the guy's head. "Tell Guido to shove his money up his ass."
The man never got a shot off, and his head was taken nearly clean off at point blank with that big pistol.
Chris pushed his glasses up, thankful the asshole hadn't broken them.
The shot rang out, and Rocky heard it, assuming it was Chris' head that got splattered. She kept moving, knowing it was time to go. "Goodbye, Cheers."
Chris knew he had to hightail it out of there. The cops would be there any minute and his prints were probably all over the room, along with hers. He wiped the gun off on his shirt and laid it beside Micky's hand, snagged his laptop, and made a dash down the hall for the stairs.
He half stumbled, half ran down the stairs, aware that he probably looked a wreck. He felt something sticky on his head and was just thankful Mickey's gun hadn't busted his skull wide open. By the time he got to the bottom, his heart was pounding and he was running on pure adrenaline, a million thoughts running through his head. He headed out the valet exit, just as he heard sirens approaching in the distance.
Rocky climbed into a cab, heading for the airport, leaving Treasure Island, and making a promise not to come back to the desert town any time too soon. She was a little heartbroken. He'd lied to her again, when he promised there would be no more lies. They were even talking about going legit. He'd had the chance to tell her about the money.
Chris flagged down a cab and instructed him to head out of town. He'd lay low in some cheap ass motel for the night until he could get a hold of Stone and figure his way out of this mess.
Once he got to the motel, the first thing he did was try and call Rocky.
She eyed the phone, seeing it was his number. She didn't want to answer, but she finally relented. "What?"
"Rocky, it's me. Don't hang up!"
"Fuck." She was about to snap the phone closed.
He sounded edgy, exhausted, at the end of his rope. "Just listen, okay?"
"What do you want?" She was a bit thankful he was alive, but now she wanted to kill him herself.
"I'm sorry. I... I should have told you, but I... Just give me another chance and I'll tell you everything. I swear."
She said nothing. She was listening, but shaking her head.
"It's not what you think."
"Which part? Money or yet another woman? Even that close to home."
"I told you, there's no one else."
"Oh, right... and I am supposed to believe that, why?"
"Because I love you, that's why. God, I can't believe you..." He couldn't even say it. That she'd walked out on him, let the goons have him, would have willingly let them kill him. He took an audible breath, his voice catching in his throat. How could he still love her when she'd betrayed him?
"Me? You can't believe me? How can I believe you, you cheating bastard. You tell me shit about your family..." She paused and looked at the family beside her staring. "Fuck you, take your precious brats elsewhere, if you don't like how I'm fucking talking, assholes!" Then she listened to him, "You lied. Seventy-five K and another fucking woman!"
It was never going to be the same again. He knew that now. No matter what he told her, she'd never believe him. He shook his head, but she couldn't hear him. He couldn't stand to listen to her anymore, to her accusations, only half of which were true. He didn't say anything. There was no point anymore. All the fight had gone out of him. He hung up the phone. "Goodbye, Balboa," he said to no one.
She stared at the phone for a long time, not believing that she just got hung up on, as well as everything else. So, she stood, and moved to the counter. "I need to change my flight. I want to go to Boston."
Chris sat there on the motel room bed for a long time. He wasn't sure for how long. His aching body was nothing compared to the aching in his heart. It felt like she'd stabbed him and cut it right out of his body, leaving a gaping hole where it once had beat for her alone
He wasn't the type to cry. He'd done all his crying years ago. He'd learned that tears never got you anything but a sore head and an aching heart. But he cried for her and when he was done, he picked up the phone again and dialed another number he had on speed dial. The number of the only person he knew who had half a chance in hell at getting him out of this mess. He called Stone.
(Continued in "Unravelling".)
