Beauty and the Assassin

by Nadia Lee

  On the other hand, he is signaling that he’s willing and ready to listen. So if I don’t tell him what I need him for, I’m a moron. Life is a risk, and I’m going to have to roll the dice.

  Tolyan’s waiting, his eyes unblinking and cool. The man doesn’t seem like the sentimental type. Just because he gave me a sandwich last night because he noticed I was hungry doesn’t mean he’s Mr. Sympathy.

  Stick to the facts and the outcome you want. Nothing else.

  “I have a stepbrother. His name is Roy Wilks. He’s been harassing me since I was eighteen, and I’m tired of it. I’m wondering if you can make him stop.”

  “Why is he harassing you?”

  Why? Is he wondering if I deserve it? Or is it just lurid curiosity? Whichever, it’s probably a good sign he wants to know more. “I don’t know. He’s just crazy. He’d come into my room and…do things.”

  Tolyan’s gaze sharpens, and my heart starts racing. It’s the first time he’s shown any real reaction to something I said.

  “What kind of things?” The words come out gravelly and acrid.

  “You know.” I swallow a hot lump in my throat. I haven’t done anything wrong. I know I’m a victim. But that doesn’t mean I feel okay talking about it. There’s a small but persistent voice in my head that sounds awfully like the people who heard the story. And it whispers—firmly—that maybe it was my fault. I might’ve done something to provoke Roy. Or at least I should’ve fought harder instead of just watching mutely all those nights.

  Because…how can terror make you mute? You should’ve been screaming your head off. That would’ve scared him, but instead, you stayed quiet. All you did was hyperventilate, a hand over your mouth, and shed silent tears. Like that was going to be enough to stop him.

  You could’ve done more. You should’ve done more if you didn’t want him sneaking into your bedroom and—

  “I don’t know,” Tolyan says.

  “He…had sexual urges about me.” I force a smile, to pretend that what Roy did doesn’t affect me anymore. And fail. I can feel that my muscles aren’t moving correctly to form a pretty smile. They’re twitching and shaking. I’m sure the smile I’m trying doesn’t even look like one. I quit trying. “He… He—”

  Tolyan raises a hand. “Have some of this. It’ll make you feel better.” He leans forward and passes me the water he’s been sipping.

  I take it with trembling hands and take a big gulp. Just as the liquid pours onto my tongue, I realize it isn’t water.

  A fireball explodes in my mouth, nose and throat. I sputter, then cough as some of the alcohol slides down into the wrong pipe. Tears drip from my eyes. Holy shit that hurts!

  Tolyan gets up and sits next to me. He puts a hand on my back, then starts patting. I expect an almost violent pounding, but his hand is surprisingly gentle and comforting.

  And for some reason, that makes me want to cry like a lost child who’s finally found somebody who cares about her. Instead, I stiffen my resolve. I’m asking for help with Roy, which is more than enough of a mess for Tolyan. He doesn’t need my emotional baggage.

  “I didn’t realize you were such a lightweight,” Tolyan says. “And so tense.”

  I pretend I didn’t hear his second comment. “What is this?” I gasp, gesturing at the cup.

  “Vodka.” Then he adds, “A nice brand.”

  Nice? More like deadly! I lift my eyes and give him a baleful look. “I thought it was water.”

  Now he looks absolutely aghast. “Water? Why would I ruin a good cigar?”

  “I don’t know. Because water’s good for you? Staying hydrated is important.” Not only that, it’s good at helping manage hunger. If I drink enough water throughout the day, I can get by on just a couple of meals. And that adds up fast.

  “Vodka is liquid.”

  Whatever. I’m too emotionally drained by what happened in the last two days to argue.

  He gets up and goes to the kitchen. A moment later, he brings me a blue-tinged bottle from the refrigerator. “Here.”

  “Is this water?”

  He gives me a look. “Yes.”

  “Thank you.” I twist the cap, breaking the seal, and take a careful sip. The bottle could have been tampered with. A seal isn’t going to stop somebody like Tolyan.

  As I drink the icy water, my throat and mouth no longer feel like they’re about to spontaneously combust, although my nose still stings.

  Tolyan checks his watch, then goes back over to his chair and snuffs out his cigar. “Dinner time.”

  Did my stomach growl again without me noticing? “Oh, I’m not hungry,” I say hurriedly.

  To be honest, I am a little hungry, but I don’t want to start talking about dinner without getting an answer to my question. I need to know if he plans to help, and if so, how much he plans to charge. I haven’t quite hit my goal of ten thousand dollars. If I had that, I might feel better. It’s such a neat, even number. A lot better than nine thousand and change.

  He gives me a level look. “Up to you if you don’t want to eat, but I am hungry. Unlike certain people, I like to feed myself regularly.”

  Then he walks over to the kitchen without a backward glance.

  Should I go after him or stay here? The scent of the cigar lingers, and the empty armchair faces me.

  I’m not here to sit on the sofa alone. Okay, I didn’t come here voluntarily, but now that I am, I’m going to make something of the situation.

  Holding the almost-full water bottle like a weapon, I move gingerly toward the kitchen. The Dobermans follow, whining softly.

  Tolyan’s heating up an indoor gas grill, the exhaust fan whirring quietly over the stove. He’s rolled his sleeves up, revealing thick forearms that look hewn out of railroad ties. He puts on a black apron with three dogs of indeterminant breed on the chest. The apron doesn’t lessen the impact of his presence—all that raw power and masculine appeal.

  He lays two huge steaks on the grill. The sound of sizzling meat fills the kitchen immediately, followed by an absolutely mouth-watering scent.

  The dogs are sitting, lined up along some invisible border. One hesitantly tries to cross into the kitchen.

  “Mussorgsky, no!” Tolyan says firmly.

  The dog drops its head, chastened, and goes back to the mini-pack. Another Doberman gives him an “I told you so” look, then turns to Tolyan, licking his chops.

  I don’t blame the poor animals. The steaks smell incredible. Tolyan pulls out a small bowl of salad, just enough for maybe two, and tosses it lightly with some vinaigrette dressing.

  My stomach lets out a loud growl. One of the Dobermans looks at me for a moment. I cover hot cheeks with my hands, my elbows tucked tightly to keep the sheet up.

  Tolyan turns just enough that I can see him in profile and cocks an eyebrow. “Not hungry, eh?” he says, then flips the steak.

  “It was one of the dogs.”

  “Was it now. Which one?”

  The Dobermans look at me accusingly. Fine, I can’t blame the innocent canines. On top of that, I owe them. They fought off the flasher yesterday. “I, uh, wasn’t paying attention.”

  Tolyan grunts.

  “But since you’re making two steaks, I’ll have the one you don’t want,” I say. Hunger has the most incredible ability to overcome pride and better sense, especially when there’s potentially free food to be had. And even if Tolyan plans to charge me for it later, the smell in the kitchen is too much of a torture. I’m not strong enough to withstand it.

  He lets out a small sound that’s somewhere between scoff and laugh. “I thought you weren’t hungry.”

  “They can’t both be for you,” I say.

  “My dogs love steak. They’re hungry and grateful, unlike some people.”

  Oh. I didn’t think about that. I glance at the three Dobermans vibrating with anticipation, then back at Tolyan. Well, this is embarrassing and awkward…

  Then I note a corner of his lips quirking upward. Guess this is his smal
l half revenge, half teasing for my earlier comment. “Okay. I’m hungry and grateful.”

  Silently he pulls out two asymmetrical bowls and scoops out piping-hot mashed potatoes from a small appliance I’ve never seen before.

  “Put the salad on the table,” he says.

  I retie the knot with the sheet to make sure it stays in place, then take the bowl and put it on the table, which is big enough for six. I come back to the kitchen. “Want me to get the utensils, too?”

  “The drawer to your left.”

  I pull it out. Lying neatly inside are forks, spoons, bread knives and steak knives.

  For a brief moment, I want to take one and hide it on me somewhere, just in case. But he’s trusting me with the knives, so I shouldn’t betray that trust if I want him to like me enough to want to help.

  I set the table. Tolyan takes off his apron and carries two plates with steak and mashed potatoes. He places one in front of me. The steak is enormous.

  “If you can’t finish it all, you can give some to them.” He tilts his chin at the Dobermans sitting between us.

  They look at me, eyes full of hope.

  Sorry, doggies. I think you’re adorable, but I’m starving.

  “Shouldn’t they get some dinner?” I ask.

  “Don’t let them fool you. They’ve been fed already,” he says.

  Really? From the way they’re staring, you’d think they hadn’t had a bite in ages.

  “Anything else to drink?” he asks.

  “I’m okay with the water.” Don’t need to experience another liquid fireball of “hydration.”

  He pours himself another glass of vodka and sits down.

  The steak’s rare. I prefer medium rare, but it’s cooked to perfection, the outside seared and crusted, and I’m not going to complain. I cut into the tender meat and sigh quietly at how flavorful and juicy it is. I haven’t eaten this well in ages. The sandwich last night was great, but it can’t compare to this. And the mashed potatoes are buttery and smooth, almost creamy on my tongue.

  If this is going to be my last meal, it’s a damn good one.

  Tolyan’s eating quietly, slicing his meat with professional precision. The Dobermans whine slightly, but they don’t move to beg for food.

  After I finish about half the steak, he finally opens his mouth. “About what you said…”

  I lift my head and give him a look that’s probably just as hopeful as the dogs’.

  “If your stepbrother is hurting you sexually, surely you can report him to the police and put him in jail.”

  “I haven’t seen him since he got caught and our parents kicked him out. But he does things to let me know he’s watching me. Besides, I don’t think he wants to, you know, hurt me that way. At this point, that wouldn’t be enough.”

  Tolyan looks at me. “Repeated sexual harassment isn’t ‘enough’?”

  “Roy told me he’s going to come and kill me when I’m at my happiest.” That threat usually rings in my head when something happens to make me smile. Which is why when I envision my future happiness, I dare not do anything to make my current circumstances better. I can’t, really, until Roy’s taken care of.

  Tolyan takes the last bite of the steak and chews. After washing it down with vodka, he makes a vaguely derisive sound. “Amateur.”

  “What?”

  “I said he’s an amateur. He’s trying to torment you mentally, and that’s the best he can do?”

  “He had someone kill a stray cat that I liked.”

  Tolyan’s eyebrows pull together. Not a sign of concern crosses his face. His eyes flash with disgust.

  Somehow I feel it’s important to convince Tolyan how terrible Roy is. If a dead cat isn’t enough to shock him… “Every time I find somebody who’s kind to me, he sends a car to hit them. He killed my last landlady…and there are more. Like the guy next door who helped me carry some things when I moved to Houston. Or the dog on my street whose owner hired me to walk it a few times a week when she was out of town. He also hit the owner later. Two guys I started dating. A female friend from work. And to make sure I know it’s him who’s behind all the hit-and-runs, he makes sure the cars have a vanity plate that says RN IF U CN.”

  Tolyan shrugs, like I just told him it might sprinkle a little tomorrow.

  A hot ball of old wounds and fear explodes like a bomb. How dare he act like my painful experience is nothing? “What, that’s not enough? Would you have done more if you were in his place?”

  “I wouldn’t bother with those petty things. He’s exerting himself for nothing. As sad as the poor cat was, it wasn’t personal enough to you. Same for those people. You weren’t close enough to them for the accidents to mean a lot.”

  Is he accusing me of being an unfeeling bitch? Granted, I wasn’t super close to those people because I put distance between me and them. But that doesn’t mean he gets to try to make me feel bad for not having felt more grief and guilt for the accidents!

  “I’m not judging you. Nobody feels deep sorrow for every misfortune that happens to someone else, even people they know in real life. You simply can’t function if you feel that viscerally about everything. But if you’re experienced and wise enough to understand that, you also know that what Roy’s been doing is ineffective.”

  I want to argue, but I can’t think of anything. He’s right about people not feeling the same depth of emotion for everyone. And despite the fact that I’ve sipped water throughout the meal, my mouth seems bone-dry as I wait for more of what he has to say. I have a feeling he’s done unspeakable things, and the people who know about them are dead or in no position to talk about them.

  Tolyan gazes out the window contemplatively. “I’d wait until you’d really bonded with someone, until you were dreaming of a sweet future with him, then strike and strip you of everything,” he says. “People abhor losing things. The anguish is unbearable if it’s the sole source of their joy and purpose in life.” He sips his vodka and lets out an appreciative sigh. “But then, a man with sexual dysfunction would lack patience and vision. So it’s to be expected.”

  I stare at him. “How can you know that?”

  “What, specifically?” His expression remains unreadable.

  “The sexual dysfunction. You’ve never met him.” And I don’t know if Roy has any kind of dysfunction…aside from being a sadistic sociopath.

  “You said he snuck into your room. And ‘did things,’ but I presume he didn’t actually rape you. Am I wrong?”

  I shake my head mutely, too stunned to figure out how I’m supposed to react to his cool, matter-of-fact tone.

  “It’s obvious you’re alone now. You don’t have anybody who can protect you because if you did, you wouldn’t have come to me. And yet he hasn’t done anything to be near you or sexually abuse you. No, he’s staying away, sending some hired thugs to do a job he himself should be doing. It’s a universally acknowledged truth that when you want something done to an exact standard, you do it yourself.”

  “I…see.” It seems like the safe thing to say. But I still don’t know if this means he’s going to help with Roy. Maybe he’s just going to feed me, give me back my clothes and stuff, and send me home. Feeding somebody this nice of a meal right before killing them seems like a terrible waste of food.

  “I’ll help you with your problem,” Tolyan says.

  Yes! All the blood rushes to my head, flooding me with elation. I cover the lower half of my face with my hands. My whole body’s shaking, my skin hot and taut. Tears spring to my eyes, and I try not to hyperventilate.

  “…on one condition.”

  “You can have all my money!” I probably sound too eager, but I don’t care. I’ll donate a kidney if that’s what he wants.

  He gives me a strange look. “Do I look like somebody who can be bought off?”

  “No!” I say quickly, dropping my hands. I’m still trembling, but try to think clearly. Don’t want to upset him and have him change his mind. “I didn’t mean to i
nsult you. I just wanted to show how much I appreciate it.”

  “I don’t need your money. Besides, even if I were for sale, you couldn’t afford me.”

  “Oh.”

  “If you really wanted, you could’ve bought a gangbanger for a few hundred bucks and have him shoot your stepbrother.”

  I start, partly at what he’s saying, and partly at the placid way he speaks. “Don’t things like that cost more? Not that I’m thinking about doing that.” I can’t imagine hiring someone to kill another person, even if it’s Roy. I just want him stopped.

  “Life is cheap. You’d be amazed at how cheap.”

  “So… What do you want?” My words are overeager. But I don’t care. I’ll do just about anything—except murdering somebody or hurting an animal—if I can be free of Roy.

  Tolyan smiles. “It’s very simple. You’ll do exactly as I say, at all times, until the threat has been neutralized.”

  I said stop Roy, but he’s speaking of neutralizing “the threat.” I have a feeling we might not be on the same wavelength, and that dampens my enthusiasm. “What does that mean?”

  “Why are you confused? I said it very plainly.”

  “I’m wondering what it is you’re going to have me do.” As relieved and grateful as I am for his help, my instinct says I need to have everything clear and out in the open. Otherwise, I’m going to regret it.

  “To begin with, you’ll need to move in here with me.”

  “What? No!”

  “I can’t protect you if you aren’t around.”

  I open my mouth to argue, then shut it. He’s right. It’s unrealistic to think he can protect me long-distance. And he can’t come hang out at my place. My garage apartment is barely big enough for me, much less him and three fully grown Dobermans. But what does “moving in with him” entail?

  “All right. So let’s say I move in with you… Then what?”

  He gives me a flat look, like I just asked him to describe how water tastes.

  “I mean, like, do I get stuck here the whole time? Can I go to work? Jog in the morning? I still need to do those things.”