Chapter Twenty-Six
Sam
“Wheels? You there?” I crack open the door, my view limited to the peeling wall paper across the narrow hall.
“Yes ma’am?” My blond bodyguard steps in front of me and points a Taser.
“Ah, wow. Did Suds say you could do that?”If so, my husband will need a lot more than rambling to explain when I see him again.
“He told me if you tried to leave, I was to take any actions I deemed appropriate to ensure your safety. You should go back inside.” Towering over me, he pushes on the door and as I slide backwards, I freak out.
“Stop. You don’t understand. There’s no internet and no TV except really bad porn. I’m bored out of my gourd. Do you at least have a cell phone game I can borrow?”
“No ma’am. Go back in your room, please. And lock up.” He shoves the door with his shoulder and the latch clicks.
“Fine.” I do as he says, pace, shower, then pace some more.
Moaning, I search all the drawers which are empty except for a Gideon’s bible. I fail to see what all the begets have to do with anything so skip forward to Exodus. Playing personal Jeopardy, I try to locate the Ten Commandments, which, by the way, are hidden amongst other less important must-nots, like breaking the neck of a donkey. Thank God someone whittled it down. Otherwise, we all might be tempted to boil a goat in its mother’s milk.
While pondering the mysteries of the universe, shots explode outside my door and Wheels shouts, “Sam. Bathroom. Now.”
I would never leave a bodyguard to fend for himself, not if I can help it. So, I squat, unlatch the deadbolt, and turn the knob. As I open the door there’s no sign of the yellow-haired Adonis and the gunfire has moved down to the lobby.
Slowly I make my way to the stairwell and put an index finger to the pulse of a spreadeagled man on the steps. Still alive, I rummage through his pockets, find plastic ties, and secure his wrists behind his back.
“Thanks, dude.” Borrowing his gun, I hug the wall, and inch to the first floor.
The manager, of course, is long gone. Wheels crouches behind the desk looking out the front. I join him, he shoves me behind his back, and fires his weapon out a hole in the door.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
I ignore his question because it would take way too long to answer and ask a more pertinent one of my own. “How many are out there?”
“There were four. Now three… Would you please take cover, ma’am?”
He fires another round and when it quiets, I check my ammo and curse under my breath. I should’ve grabbed a few clips as well as the pistol. “Who’s out there?”
“I didn’t ask for introductions. Stay the fuck down. …Ma’am.” He pushes on my head but I pop right back up.
“I’m helping.” I fire my weapon, the bullet hits concrete, and a guy on the sidewalk shouts out in pain.
“See?”
He grumbles. “Do not kill anyone.”
“Why the hell not?” Seems fair to me.
“These guys might be working for your dad.”
My eyes go wide. “NYPD?”
“Copy that.”
