Dom Wars: Round Five Page 8

  I looked at Steve and found him a statue of petrified horror, his face nearly comical.

  "I'm hungry," Tara said. She took the doll from me. "How about you, Betty? You hungry?" She smiled and handed her back to me.

  "How long do we have to do this?"

  The preacher made his way out of the limo. "Until you're escorted out by the police."

  "The police?" Steve gasped.

  "How do we get it in?" Tara asked.

  "In your purse. Bring her to life once you're settled in," he mumbled.

  "How many points is this, anyway?" I led Tara to the double doors of the busy steak house. I only hoped there weren't a lot of kids in there. I could bluff my way through a lot, but the thought of young witnesses made me nervous as fuck.

  "Not real sure." The Preacher's rumble said he wasn't a lot happier than I was with the situation, but he wasn't going to let that stop him. Or us.

  "Wonder if they'll post the scores," Steve whispered as we walked in and waited at the little hostess stand for someone to seat us.

  "A table for...four," Steve whispered to the lady who greeted us. "We're expecting another…person to be coming along soon."

  She nodded and smiled, then eyed the preacher and his wife. "Table for two?"

  "Yes, near theirs if you can."

  "Not a problem. This way, please."

  Tara's hand tightened on my arm and I glanced to see what the problem might be, but she didn't say anything. Nerves? Most likely. Mine were definitely on fucking end.

  We followed the hostess through the crowded, well lit restaurant, dodging patrons as they made their way to the buffet. "Here is fine," Steve pointed to a comparatively secluded banquet room to the right of the crowded dining room.

  "No, somewhere more open," the preacher said.

  "How about there?" She pointed to the fucking center of the room.

  Preacher grinned. "Perfect."

  The woman led us to the table and waited for us to sit, then handed us menus. "Your server will be over in a moment." Glancing at Preacher and Becca, she gestured to another table, across the aisle and down one. "Is this one okay for you?"

  "It is." Conversations paused all around in response to that rumble, then hurriedly resumed. Looking around, I spotted all the signs of fear and discomfort. People seemed to be conspicuously avoiding looking toward the Preacher because their first glimpse of him terrified them. Which meant they'd be looking right at us.

  The three of us looked around like covert SEALS about to begin a deadly mission. If I hadn't been so nervous, it might have been funny. I glanced at the preacher who stared at me and gave a single slow nod.

  With the table covering my actions, I hoped, I slid the package out of Tara's purse and handed it to Steve under the table. His eyes widened as he stared at me and shook his head hard enough to jiggle his cheeks.

  "Ohhh, I think I dropped my fork," Tara said, bending down and yanking on my pant leg.

  I looked down to find her head under the table cloth her hand grabbing for the package. The crinkling paper ripped apart, and I glanced around, waiting for someone to notice and raise the alarm. "So Steve, how's your mother?"

  He slid his eyes slowly toward me while Tara struggled still with the paper. Sounded like she had a fucking microphone on it.

  "My mother is…good. She's…dead. Good and dead." He jumped a little as though hearing how that sounded. "I mean it's good that she's dead." His eyes slowly widened with another bad pun. "She's dead in heaven. Which is good."

  I nodded. "Dead in heaven, huh? Now there's a reward."

  His mouth hardened a little as he picked up his water, eyes darting around. "You know what I mean, you aborted sperm of Satan," he hissed while hacksawing at his ankle with nails.

  "Dude, you need some Calamine lotion, or what?"

  "I need an oatmeal bath is what I need," Steve whispered pissed. "I'm covered in every poison inhabiting that godforsaken forest!"

  I bit my lip, hearing Tara blowing air into the thing. "Do you need help finding your fork sweetheart?"

  "Whew," she mumbled. "I think I do. Kinda…" she came back topside, her hair disheveled, breathless. "Kind of dark down there, yes."

  "Let me help you," I said, going under the table the same as she had and finding she'd blown the thing up about a third of the way. I felt around the doll for the blow hole, grimacing when my fingers encountered the hole on her face. The blow up part was on the top of the head it seemed. I maneuvered it to my mouth and blew about ten good rounds before coming up. "Can't find it either. Steve? Maybe you could help?"

  He grumbled his way under the table and Tara and I looked around. "Shit, we have a few watchers," I muttered.

  Tara nodded a little, sipping her water. "They ain't seen nothing yet."

  "Dear God, what's wrong with her face?" Steve gasped beneath the table then came up, his face red. "Frankenstein is finished."

  "Well," Tara nodded, "let's meet her."

  Steve reached under the table and worked the doll out and fixed the puffy plastic limbs into the chair next to him.

  "Oh, hello Betty," Tara said, way too loud. "Are you hungry? We're just about to order. You look famished."

  Murmurs, hisses, and whispers erupted pronto. Dear God. Bet those people were quickly reassessing the threat they thought the Preacher posed. I sure as fuck would, in their shoes.

  "Yes…Betty," Steve said, joining in. "I too am… astonished with the…restaurant… décor."

  I nodded, chewing my lip. "Your shock is definitely warranted. Such a drastic change from our current residence."

  "Perhaps she's thirsty?" Tara said.

  Steve went for the water as though he were putting out a fire. He brought the glass to the golf ball sized hole in the doll's face and poured a little. "Come on sweetheart," Steve sang sweetly, "wet your whistle, my little inanimate hussy."

  "Sir," the waitress came over. "Can I please ask that you remove that…thing? This is a family restaurant," she whispered.

  Steve looked at her then me, then preacher, whose solemn head shake I could see out of the corner of my eye. "This is Betty," Steve said. "My…sister."

  Tara cleared her throat. "Their father was a Tupperware maker."

  Oh fucking priceless. "She's family," I echoed. "We're ready to order? If you don't mind?"

  She stared from me to the others, torment on her face. "I'll… be right back."

  I took a deep breath and held Tara's hand under the table. She gave me a big smile and then angled her head at Steve. "You and Betty resemble each other Steve."

  His upper lip slowly rose on the right. "She's a step sister." He slowly looked at her. "An ugly one," he muttered.

  A man in a suit came to the table next and leaned to my ear. "Please leave or I will have to call the police."

  I gave him my most understanding smile. "I understand, of course. Do whatever you need to." I looked around. "Is our waitress coming to take our order?"

  He straightened and stared down at me like he wanted to carry me out himself. Then he took a breath, eyed Tara and Steve and turned with a curt police calling stride. They couldn't come fast enough to suit me.

  We didn't have to wait long before our black-op looking robo-cop savior arrived with the manager in tow, pointing at us. "These." The offending cancer.

  "How are we going to do this?"

  Preacher stood up and walked out.

  I stood. "Sorry, we were just trying to have a family dinner."

  Steve and Tara followed suit, Steve clutching Betty to his body. "We're leaving," he said or huffed. "I didn't realize this town was prejudiced against handicapped women."

  We all marched out of the restaurant with the police officer following us to the door. We hurried on as he stopped off at the other group of manager looking people. I prayed he talked a while.

  Once in the Hummer and driving off, we all released a breath. Steve looked like he'd be ill as he clutched Betty to his body still.

  "It's go
od to see you with a woman, Steve," the preacher said, hysterical laughter in his tone.

  Steve became aware of the plastic sexual offense and threw her on the floor.

  "Now Steve," I scolded, "that's no way to treat Betty."

  He looked down at her, his face twisted in disgust as he removed a shoe, ripped off a sock, and proceeded to stuff her mouth with it. "That hole is the doorway to hell," he whispered, smoothing his flustered hair with a hand, looking at us. "An evil abyss," he assured with dead serious whisper that led to a five minute episode of laughing our asses off.

  At least it was over with. Now we'd just have to see what kind of score that gave us.

  Chapter Twelve

  I lay next to Lucian in the tent, staring up in the dark. "How much do you think we scored," I finally said. We'd been laying in contemplative, comfortable silence for five minutes.

  He gave a light snort. "Who knows?"

  "When will we check?"

  "Probably tomorrow. No telling with the Preacher."

  I stared into the darkness, reaching for his hand and lacing my fingers in his. "How's your hand? And leg?"

  "Hand still hurts but that glue really seemed to do the trick on that bite."

  "No infection? Swelling? You need to watch that for infection."

  He nibbled at my knuckles, his lips smiling.

  "I'm serious."

  "I know you are." Laughter edged his sexy tone.

  "It's not funny, Lucian. It's serious."

  "It's fucking wonderful is what it is."

  "What is?"

  "You. Looking out for me. I can see an injury fetish developing."

  I smiled and drew his hand to my lips for kissing. "No injuries necessary Mr. Bane. I love you perfectly healthy, thank you very much." I bit his knuckle then soothed it with my lips. "By the way, which assignment is next?"

  "I think yours." He drew my hand back to his lips and kissed several times. "We'll nail it. Should be easier at the Ob/Gyn."

  "Hmm. Maybe." I steadfastly refused to look into that empty space inside me.

  "You'll do fine, you're perfect for the job."

  "No. I'm not."

  I felt his lips smile. "You're a woman, love."

  "And it's the Ob/Gyn." The dark abyss loomed a bit closer and I shied away once more.

  "So?"

  I huffed, starting get annoyed with how dense he was at the moment. "You know, I had no clue about the things Becca said."

  He went serious. "What things?"

  "The baby idea things."

  "Well, you're young."

  "And broken, don't forget." And there it was. Right in front of me, staring me in the face like some wild demon straight from the pits of hell. Broken. Failure. Damaged goods.

  He lay perfectly still for a moment then moved up on his side. He found my face and stroked along it softly. "You're not broken, baby. You're still a mother in here. Where it really matters." He tapped my chest but his words stole my breath and brought the full weight of the pain crashing in.

  "I'm not," I gasped, letting him pull me into his chest.

  "You are. Any woman can produce a baby. It takes someone special to love that child beyond herself and do whatever it takes to see him grow happy and healthy. Trust me, I know." He paused a second, as if to push bitter memories away. "You know we can adopt, right? There are so many children that need a perfect mother, just like you."

  I nodded against his chest, clinging to the soft firm tone of his voice. He was right. But… "I just…want to know what it feels like," I squeaked, "feel life growing in me." Part of me felt the need was selfish, while another part insisted that was the only kind of motherhood that counted.

  "Shhhh," he stroked my back slowly and firmly. "I know you do. I'm so fucking sorry, love." He placed delicate kisses on my forehead while wrapping me in his naked limbs.

  A shuddering breath helped me swallow some of the agony. "I felt so stupid when Becca was coming up with those ideas. I don't know anything about it."

  "I know, I know. But you're not stupid at all, you've just not had a reason to learn it. I mean I don't even know the proper term for my own underwear. I call them BVD's only to find out they're actually boxer briefs. But, I didn't need to know it, just so I got the ones I liked."

  I snickered against his chest at his sincere tone.

  "I know," he said, like I was laughing at him. "And I thought briefs were those underwear that…briefly covered your parts."

  I burst out laughing in his chest and he pushed me onto my back, kissing me with a smile on his lips. "You lie," I said between kisses.

  He only barely nodded, while getting all perfect with his skills, his hands coming alive with a purpose that spoke to my pulse.

  "Can we do it again?"

  "What?" I asked, rather gasped, into his mouth as his fingers became more purposeful.

  "Play that game."

  I moaned a little. "Come on command?" Anticipation ratcheted up my pulse.

  He answered with a growl and nod.

  "If I can be the master," I whispered.

  He paused as though considering the possibility for the first time, then hissed out his answer, "Fuuuck, yes."

  I whimpered with the iron stab of his cock into my upper thigh and excitement ran through me.

  Lucian's strong fingers sank into my ultra-sensitive breast, reminding me that not having great sex on regular basis served to make me sore. Mmmm. But how quickly it blossomed into pleasure.

  That magical mouth left mine and nuzzled along the curve of my jaw and worked down my neck, every point of contact trailing fire. His grunt of satisfaction came as his tongue flicked over my nipple with insane precision. "So fucking perfect."

  The heat of his cock increased with little thrust against my thigh, reminding me of my intention to make him come at my command. Not about to be distracted from the mission, I took hold of him and raked the nails of my opposite hand down his back.

  He gave me a rough groan, telling exactly how much I affected him. He was already close. Eagerness turned me to my back, drawing him along to cradle him between my thighs. He slid against my entrance and muscles suddenly bunched under his skin as he fought for restraint. My legs wrapped around his waist to draw him into me even as he tried to hold back. All that self-defense training came in handy, in the most unexpected ways.

  I lifted my body against him, taking him in all the way. "No fair," he hissed, as he drew back a little and returned. Urgency drove us both as we worked together toward the goal.

  I waited for the right second, when his muscles quivered with the need for release, and sank my nails into his ass. "Come for me, Lucian."

  The tent reverberated with his growl as he drove hard one last time before his body bowed for his orgasm, and my own followed, refusing to wait.

  ****

  We rode in silence with Steve on my left, scratching various parts of his body like a dog with the mange, and Tara on my right, biting her thumb nail, her right leg hopping up and down a hundred miles an hour. I placed a hand on her leg and squeezed a little.

  "Let's go over the products again." Tara yanked the box toward her and pulled out the first item. "This would help a woman…" Tara looked at Becca who got on her knees and gently took the item from Tara.

  "Why are you so nervous, momma?"

  Ugh, shit.

  "Nah, not nervous. Well, I am in a way, want…" she scratched the bridge of her nose, "want to make those points. Need to, actually."

  Becca's chocolate gaze roamed over Tara, in a keen search for answers. It appeared she found them and thought Tara was in need of gentle handling. The elegant African woman proceeded to go through each toy and read their functions and in turn, their benefit, her tone soothing and even.

  I decided at that moment the woman was my favorite person in the world for caring about Tara that way.

  Steve's upper body slowly leaned toward me. "What am I supposed to do, again?" he whispered.

  I thought
about it a second then leaned to whisper back, "Might be a good idea if you just hold the product bag."

  Steve's immensely troubled gaze turned forward as he nodded slowly. His expression said he was about to surrender to the electric chair and this was his last ride. Unfortunately for him, my concern for Tara refused to let me give him a second thought.

  Tara had us stop off at a local department store and hurried in for loads and loads of hare-brained supplies for her up-cumming gimmick. Ha. Fucking stupid, trying to sell this shit to vanilla crowds.

  She spent time on the way drawing rapidly on various index cards, shooing me away when I tried to help, murmuring like a mad scientist, as she went. The idea required her one hundred percent concentration to pull off, more evidence of the hare-brained-ness of all this shit.

  Bunch of shade-tree sex-pots is what we looked like. I had dressed in jeans and t-shirt, but Steve decided he needed to look professional. He'd put on his tailored suit, the one that looked like he'd been dragged through the woods for a few miles. And Tara, poor baby didn't know it, but she resembled a frazzled babysitter for a family with a dozen kids.

  We were so far from normal, it was frightening. The only thing we had going for us was our sheer determination. If we wanted it bad enough, we'd find a way to convince them. Worst case scenario, we would come off as a sincerely, seriously deranged trio.

  I just had a bad feeling on this one. Too many 'normal' folk in this joint. Toy stores, I mean you kind of know you're dealing with fantasy land, but a hospital? You couldn't get any closer to serious real life. Like the portal of the fucking universe, people were born here. Died here. And we were going to try and sell dildos to the incoming fucking traffic? Jesus Christ, this was really feeling like a bad idea.

  Acting all legitimate, while walking around with our bags of porno-paraphernalia, we were sorely out of place. In the hospital corridor, we followed Tara this time. Steve whispered harshly next to me, "Deja vu!"

  "Was just thinking the same thing." Memories of Round Three flooded my mind, when we'd followed Tara to that lawyer fucker's office.

  T-Rex Tara. That's what she was right now. T-Rex mode. And I was glad, too. She needed the strength for this bullshit. This one was way too personal for her.