He spat again, not liking the taste of his own blood filling his mouth. Rafe poked around with his tongue, finding he’d bit not only his cheek but the inside of his lip. More blood was coming from his sinuses, probably because he’d popped his nose on the floor. It felt tender, not as bad as his head, but probably not broken. Breathing seemed okay.
Graham didn’t look good. Slumped down against the elevator wall, his breathing seemed shallow, and blood speckled his fair skin, his cheeks nearly deathly pale and his thin lips white at the edges. He seemed smaller than he should have been, and for a frightened moment Rafe wondered if William had killed him, but a flare of Graham’s nostrils reassured him the man was alive.
For now.
It amazed him the insane man could have gotten not only into the building with a reluctant Graham but also to the penthouse floor. Every thought in Rafe’s mind whispered for him to keep the guard busy, engaged at least long enough for someone—anyone—to come. Quinn would be heading back soon—a thought that sent Rafe’s heart into a panicked stutter—but when he found the elevators wouldn’t go all the way up, Rafe had faith Quinn would call for help.
God, let Quinn get back and call for help, he prayed.
“Why Quinn?” he stuttered, tripping over his thickening tongue. Sitting up, Rafe scooted a few inches back, grateful again for the wall to hold him up. His vision was spotty, speckled with dark flashes. “Why did you try to kill him with the truck? You don’t like gay men? He didn’t share his ice cream cone with you? He turned you down for a date? What the fuck was going through your head there, Sam?”
Taunting was probably stupid, but it was all Rafe had. His keys were still on the table, locked behind the front door, and the elevator was blocked off. The only one with weapons was a porcine-faced madman who seemed to have forgotten he had a gun, preferring to use the leather-wrapped sap he swung back and forth as he stalked toward Rafe.
Rafe prodded again. “Come on, Sam. Give me the rant about how stupid we all are. Not like I can go anywhere, right? You think someone like Quinn would give you the fucking time of day? Not like you’re smart enough to—”
The guard was quick. Rafe had to give him that. He didn’t even see William’s hand until it connected with the side of his face and left behind a ringing sensation in his ears.
“Do not talk about Doctor Morgan like that.” William clenched his teeth, shaking a finger in Rafe’s face. “You don’t get to talk about him like he’s one of those other assholes who don’t even see me when I say hello. Doctor Morgan always stops and talks to me. Always.”
William crouched in front of him, leaning forward so his hot breath washed over Rafe’s face. The guard’s leather belt squeaked, and the button on his pants strained against the pressure of his bulk, his shirt gaping slightly at his waist. Ironically enough, William smelled of sugar, a sweet confection of a breeze coming from a man who’d killed at least two people and seemed intent on doubling down on that number in the next hour or so.
“You’re not so pretty now, are you?” William hunkered down, resting on the balls of his feet. His boots were worn across the toes, a crease in the leather deep enough to assure Rafe the guard spent a lot of time crouched down, waiting. The man rubbed at his face, sweat dappling his cheeks and forehead. “The truck? I didn’t mean to hurt him. And his house…. God, that just went. That wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”
“You didn’t think hitting him with a truck would be bad?” The hall was sliding about again, and Rafe had to blink furiously to keep it in place. “Did you see what was left of his car? You almost killed him.”
“He wasn’t supposed to drive like that.” William’s face flushed red, his emotions running to hot frustration. “Doctor Morgan is calm… gentle… he wasn’t supposed to zip around like one of those insane kids on campus do. I was just going to bump his car and then pull over to help him. It all just… got away from me.”
“Got away from you?” Stalling seemed to be working, or at least it kept William talking. The seconds were ticking by fast, and Rafe didn’t know how long he could hold the guard there. His phone… he couldn’t remember where his phone had gone to. “What got away from you? You kept bashing his car. And then blew up his house.”
“Okay, the house… that wasn’t my fault. I didn’t know about the gas lines and stuff,” the guard protested, a nearly childlike pitch to his voice.
“You almost killed his cat.” Rafe sent a brief mental apology to Harley for using her to get under William’s skin. “If you talked to Quinn at all, you’d know he loves that cat.”