"Maybe so," Gabe admitted reluctantly, "but the fuck-up can be corrected."
A chill rode up her spine. "How? By killing them?"
Gabe shook his head. "Murder isn't my bag, puss. Putting someone in the hospital is something else. I'm talking about that Dooley bastard. He's long overdue for having me pound some sand up his ass."
Mockery edged her voice. "If you're smart, you'll keep those meat hooks of yours in your pockets. At least until the money turns up. After that, I won't give a damn what you do to Dooley, or he to you."
Gabe glared at her, his face chalky and pinched. "You think he'll clean my clock, don't you?"
She kept her eyes glued to the road ahead. She gave a short, bitter laugh. "It could happen. I don't like any of these locals, but I have learned something about them during these past few weeks… they like to drink, fuck and fight, and they're exceptionally good at doing all three."
Gabe made a derisive sound. "I'm no slouch myself in the knuckle department, puss; I've done some battling in the ring, remember?"
"So did Manny Black," Trish said angrily, "but it didn't keep that bastard I'm shacking up with from knocking him on his ass. I say back off, Gabe. It's better to be pissed off than pissed on."
Gabe laughed suddenly and surprised Trish by saying, "Know something, puss? You're right. About everything."
Her stomach started to relax. Gabe was starting to calm down, but she had to be sure. "Then you'll leave Dooley alone? "
Gabe exhaled loudly. "It won't be easy, but I'll keep the old hands in my pockets until we find the money. You say Elke and Dooley have been hunting for it at night?"
Trish nodded, "Which means that you'll have to give up some sleep so you can tail them. I can't do the job. After dark is when Bruce does his best to put bedsores on my back."
"No problem. I'm slowly getting used to going without sleep, but not without sex."
Trish ignored his hint at sex and took the right road at Truck Stop Junction. She was tired of making like a community whore for everybody who came up with a stiff prick.
Gabe cut into her thoughts. "When you reach the rest area, pull into it."
Trish sighed, asking foolishly, "Why?"
Gabe started to lose his cool again. "Never mind why. Just do it."
I'd better do as he says, she told herself. The strain is beginning to show on him. It wouldn't take much to put him over the edge and get my ass dumped.
"All right, Gabe," she said placatingly. "All right."
They arrived at the tourist's pull off a few minutes later. Trish checked the wild impulse to drive past, skidded into it and killed the engine. A moment later tension gripped her. It had something to do with Gabe's sullen silence. In fact, it had everything to do with Gabe's sullen silence. Fear clawed at her guts. She tried to quell her nervousness by looking around. Her eyes prowled, her heart hammered, her nose wrinkled. Some rest area. One overflowing litter barrel that smelled as though something had climbed inside and died; a plank table cluttered with dirty paper plates, empty beer cans and pine cones; one abandoned Canada Dry bottle, and one used sanitary napkin. It was enough to gag a maggot.
She turned her attention back to the still-silent Gabe and said peevishly, "Let's go somewhere else."
Gabe baring his teeth in a mirthless smile, shook his head. "I like it here. Get out."
All color drained from her face, and her mouth dropped open. She had made an error in judgment by concluding that Gabe had taken her harsh words concerning Elke Lockridge and Joe Dooley the way she had intended them to be taken-as sound advice. He was hating her for being right, and in his own sadistic way he was going to do something to let her know it.
"Don't worry," he said, sensing the fear that gripped her. "Nothing's going to happen. I only want to talk. Get out."
Trish sat frozen. A feeling of total inadequacy flooded her system, and it became increasingly difficult to speak. She made an effort to gather her courage, to put the sudden anger she felt into verbal form, to fight him with open defiance. She finally managed to find her voice, and now the words dropped from her lips like hard pebbles trying to defy gravity. "Gabe, I've got something to say. I want you to stop using me for a punching bag every time something goes wrong. I didn't sabotage your stinking pickup, so why take it out on me?"
Impatience edged his voice. "I don't intend to take anything out on you, but if you keep bugging me, I might. Get out."
Trish surrendered to the inevitable and climbed out of the car. She stood still. She really felt like running. She sucked air into her lungs and waited, breasts dancing in rhythm to the same fear that was making her flesh crawl.
Gabe stopped before her. His eyes bored into hers. He was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was husky with anger. "You're a slow learner, aren't you?"
She blinked. "I don't follow."
He gave a short, bitter laugh. "Oh, you follow, all right. I'm talking about the bad habit you have of trying to run a ring through my nose."
"All I said was that making waves before we got the money would be stupid."
"And you were right," Gabe conceded, "only you should have told it to me in a nicer way. I don't like chicks who try to cram things down my throat."
Trish groaned inwardly and looked off into the night. A weakness settled into her knees. She knew what was coming-another dumping. She tried to head it off at the pass. She licked her lips in a moistening gesture and said apologetically, "I'm sorry, Gabe."
He smiled coldly. "Sorry won't get it, puss. What you need is another lesson in how not to act so goddamn bossy. The one I gave you the other night didn't work. This one might. Drop your laundry."
Trish stood frozen.
Gabe laughed as though he were gargling with mouthwash and took a step forward. Fingers tightened over her shoulders. He drew her to his body. His mouth mashed down on hers, lips hard and tongue working to reach the inside of her mouth, wrapping around her tongue.
Trish felt his stiff cock jab against her stomach and felt suddenly nauseated. She didn't want to play. She twisted away, panted, "Gabe, don't!"
He snarled like a wild animal and reached for her heaving breasts. She slapped his hand away with no particular force. A mistake. Hers. Gabe's hand chopped down and caught her across the breasts, bringing instant pain. She screamed and staggered back, clutching herself.
"Damn you," she hissed. "You hurt me!"
Gabe laughed and unholstered his cock. "Bossy bitches were born to be hurt. My mother found that out the night I dumped her overbearing ass and ran away from home. Yeah, she sure did find out."
His words jarred. Trish's eyes bugged, and she looked at Gabe as though seeing him for the first time. A sinking sensation filled the pit of her stomach. The truth was there for the reading. Gabe was insane, not playing with a full deck. Strange she hadn't noticed it before…
Gabe closed the narrow space that lay between them. He lifted his hands to the twin mounds behind her blouse and croaked, "Give me your tits, bitch."
Her arm lifted, dropped. Her long fingernails clawed a bloody trail down the left side of his face. She shrilled, "Leave me be, you crazy bastard!"
Gabe didn't seem to hear her. He was oblivious to everything except the desire to hurt and humiliate her. He trapped her in his powerful arms and jammed his mouth against hers until her teeth began to hurt. His arms tightened, pulling her toward his exposed prick. Their lower bodies collided, and Trish felt his erection gouge and threaten to punch a hole in her skirt. She sagged against him for a few seconds. Then she uncoiled like a broken spring and struggled desperately to escape the tongue Gabe was trying to cram into her mouth.
"Stop fighting me, puss," Gabe snarled as he lifted the hemline of her short skirt with his hard-on and rammed the tip of it against the webbing of her bikini panties. "You aren't going to win anyhow. This juicy cunt of yours is mine. All mine."