Page 159 of Naughty Dreams
Paul snarled back and aimed for DJ’s leg. DJ was about to see his favorite jeans ruined.
Except two arms banded around Paul’s chest. Roy had come up from the ground like a jack in the box. He hauled DJ’s stalker backward, tossing him to his opposite side, putting himself between Paul and DJ. Then he pounced on Paul’s gun hand, holding the arm in a pin. The gun fired, punching holes in the dry wall.
DJ scrambled away. From the pile of things Paul had tossed out of the cart, he grabbed a pipe for a standing microphone. Ignoring the agony in his hand, he used a double grip to bring it straight down on Paul’s ankle, stabbing him with it. Bone crunched and Paul screamed.
The gun dropped loose, and he was grappling with Roy, the two of them rolling across tile. Paul shoved Roy back and flipped over, trying to scramble for the dropped gun. Roy landed on him, jamming targeted punches into his sides and kidneys. Paul became a wild-eyed demon, raging, shouting. He bucked and loosened Roy’s grip, throwing himself forward, pushing himself onto his hands and knees to grab at the gun.
Which was no longer there.
DJ fired, the bullet punching into Paul’s head. He wanted to keep firing, but the bullet got the job done too damn fast. Paulfell backward, staring at him as he dropped. He kept staring at DJ as life left his eyes.
If his subconscious wanted to bring him nightmares about it, DJ would have a ready response.“Stare all you want. You’re still dead, motherfucker.”
DJ swayed. He really wasn’t in any shape to be firing a gun, so he put it gingerly on the ground, then stumbled toward the person he most wanted to touch. Needed to touch.
Roy had managed to get to one knee, his head down. DJ crawled over and surrounded him as best he could, arms around his shoulders and body, holding him close. He forgot about his hand and cursed when he tried to clutch Roy with it, but the other hand worked fine. It allowed him to feel the bulletproof vest Roy had on beneath his coat and shirt.Thank God. Thank you, thank you.
Roy’s hand came up, gripped DJ’s biceps. He spoke on the radio, his voice strained.
“G…Warren. Need your help down here. Equipment hall F, 1stlower level. Bring EMTs. And the local cops.”
He tipped up DJ’s chin. “Your pupils are big as the moon. And you’re talking funny.”
“Para…lytic. So couldn’t yell for…help. Don’t know…what he used, but feel like I’ve been on a carousel too long. Sick and dizzy. You okay…bullets all hit vest.”
“I think so. Hurts like a son of a bitch, though. Not passing out took some effort, but I’ve had Warren shoot me a few times to practice that.”
“Bullshit.”
At DJ’s dubious look, Roy admitted the truth. “It happened to me in the military, once or twice. Knowing you’ll likely end up dead if you pass out is a good incentive to keep you conscious.” His gaze slid toward Paul. DJ didn’t follow his look. He never wanted to see Paul again.
“Hell of a shot for a drugged out rockstar.”
“I was…five feet…away.”
“Still glad I wasn’t behind him.” Roy put his head next to DJ’s, the two of them holding onto one another. “You know I’m going to kick your ass for about ten things you did that you weren’t supposed to do. It’ll wait. Your hand… Ah, Jesus, Dory.”
“It’s all right.” Roy cradling it still hurt, but that was okay. DJ coughed. If he worked at it, and stayed at a sore-throat whisper, he could form complete sentences. “How about I kick your ass first, for stepping into view.”
“All part of my plan.”
“If he didn’t shoot you in the head like I just did him.”
“It was a calculated risk.” Roy adjusted DJ so his back was against the wall. He pressed DJ’s abdomen and a cry of pain escaped DJ’s lips, along with some wheezing. “G…Warren, step it the fuck up.”
“We’re almost there, boss.”
“I’m all right.” DJ eyed Roy. “Good thing I didn’t die. Think of what it would do to your reputation.”
“Beat to hell and still being a wiseass.” Roy touched DJ’s face, and DJ realized tears were on his cheeks. “We’re okay, kid. It’s all right.”
The squeaky sound of a bunch of shoes moving swiftly in their direction told them the EMTs had arrived, along with Warren, G and the cops. The EMTs turned the corner with a gurney carrying a black bag of supplies. Roy pointed to the gun, drawing police attention to it so it could be secured.
“Check him first,” DJ told the EMTs. “He was shot.”
“I was wearing a vest,” Roy told them curtly. “He was doped with something, and he has broken fingers and a possible abdominal injury.”
“If I had a better bodyguard, I wouldn’t be in this kind of shape,” DJ noted.
