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Her relief made every detail about him crisp and clear. The tension in his wiry frame, the murderous fire in his eyes, the tautness of his mouth. She wanted to bury her nose in his T-shirt and take the largest breath she could to dispel the smell of the other. She felt it so overwhelmingly she knew she was in a little bit of shock, but it didn't matter. She was completely certain inhaling Des's scent alone would reverse time so this hadn't happened. But the hard shuddering of her body as she looked into a human monster's eyes told her differently.
"She wants you out of this world," Des observed. "And I'd grant her any wish she wants right now."
"I saw...they want this."
"Consent, asshole," Desmond snarled, setting off another round of choking as his grip constricted. "It was the damn fucking title of the performance."
Julie saw that Des's hold was keeping the man in an awkward position where he couldn't get his feet under him. When he started to thrash again, panic overcoming sense, she watched the rope dig into his throat.
She knew she should be doing something, but she was numb. Her eyes locked with Desmond's, and he held her in that look, helping to steady her. Blissful safety was there. He continued speaking, like the calm flow of a river.
"The more you fight," he told his wheezing captive, "The more I'll tighten my grip. Instead of you passing out and waking in jail, you'll wake in Hell with the Devil grinning at you. And that thought just makes me smile."
Shouldn't she be telling Des to stop before he killed him? Maybe she was trusting he knew what he was doing, that he wouldn't murder someone...even if that someone had tried to hurt her.
Des kept speaking to the man, though his vivid gaze remained on her face, seeing far too much. "It would make me smile because I want you dead, the way I want a good cup of coffee in the morning, a pizza on Friday night, and this woman beside me any damn time of the day. If she wants you dead, right here, right now, you're done. She's your judge, jury and maybe your executioner, if that would make her day. Hell, if it would give her no more than a second's pleasure."
The male had stopped struggling. His breath rasped, his eyes bugged out. He'd figured out his situation and his body quivered, his terrified eyes on Julie.
"So what do you say, love?" Des asked. "You hold all the power. Does he live or die?"
He was right. She wanted him dead for hurting her, for thinking it was all right. She didn't want him in the world, a reminder of how frightened and helpless he'd made her in no more than an instant, reducing her to a victim. It must have shown in her face, because Des chuckled, cold and hard. "Down you go, then."
The male's eyes rolled back, his breath rattling. Julie's breath caught and she stretched out a trembling hand, her legs still not strong enough to propel her from the floor. "I...no. Des, no."
Des eased the inert form to the floor as tears spilled down her cheeks. "I didn't mean. No..."
He put the man on his stomach and did a swift hog tie, severe enough that his chest and knees would have been off the floor if he was on his stomach. Then Des was stepping over the body, coming to her.
"I didn't want you to... I didn't mean it."
"I know that, love. He's alive." Desmond dropped to his heels and pulled her to him, holding her close. The first touch of his hands on her, the strength of his arms, was actual heaven. She'd never felt a relief so strong. "I just wanted him to piss himself when he thought you meant it. I wanted you to take back every bit of power he thought he was about to take from you."
She cried harder, and he held her tighter, but it could never be tight enough. "If you didn't mean that about being with me all the damn time, I will hurt you," she sobbed.
"Trust a woman to remember these things even in the midst of trauma and hold it against a guy." He pressed his lips to the crown of her head and answered her just the right way. "Count on it." He held her, stroked her, until the world righted itself and she had a coherent thought.
"We should call 911."
"Yeah." He'd shifted them so he had his back against the wall, supporting them. When he adjusted to dig his phone out of his pocket, he had trouble retrieving it. She shifted reluctantly, thinking she might be hampering him, but then he got it.
"Crap," he muttered.
She was still uneasy enough to react like a startled deer to the one small expletive. Her gaze darted to the blond man, but he was still tied up. Except for a faint moan, he remained unconscious.
"Julie, love." Des curled her hand around her phone. "You don't have a signal here."
"Oh, that's right. It's awful in the stage area. It's better in the back and the lobby."
"Good. Take my phone there and call the police."
"Des..." Her faculties were sharpening rapidly, and she realized he was giving her the phone because he wasn't able to dial the number himself. His hand was shaking, and a quick look at his face showed he was pale. She put her hand on his neck and it was clammy. "You're hurt. He hurt you. We need an ambulance."
"No, we don't." He said it forcefully, and started coughing. Catching her wrist, he gripped it hard enough to hurt.
"I'm hypoglycemic. Can you do exactly as I tell you?"
She was still shook up from her ordeal, but in a heartbeat, her concern for him gave her a different focus. While she wasn't glad for the reason, she seized the opportunity with both hands. "Yes, of course. Tell me what to do."
