Live Wire

by Bijou Hunter

  4

  ~ Saskia ~

  Embracing the Monster in the Mirror

  I've crossed moral lines in my life and done violent things to the human body. I've hunted people like prey, leaving me to wonder if I still have a soul.

  I refuse to live with regrets. My crimes are mine, and I accept them. The people I harmed do not haunt my nightmares. Sleep never escapes me because of a guilty heart. I am at peace with who I am and what I’ve done.

  Yet I find myself suffering from the illusive sense of regret when considering how I spoke to Brad. Worse than how I treated him, I'm horrified about why I was so rude.

  I'm lusting after my client!

  This oversexed act isn't me. I'm not asexual, but I've never lusted over anyone. I admire beauty in the opposite sex. I've used men for a release. I'm as calculated with my sexual needs as I am with my work.

  The classically handsome Brad throws a bucket of hot water over my ice princess existence. I saw only a glimpse of him before he showed up at my door, yet I was already distracted. When he watched me, I imagined what a man like him might think about a woman like me. Somehow, before we even spoke, I felt judged and discarded. My response to this perceived rejection was to behave like a vengeful brat.

  Not my finest hour.

  I leave the bedroom and take inventory of the house. Checking windows and doors, I'm impressed by the security system. With the place locked down, no one will get inside quietly.

  Twice during my walk around the house, I gain the attention of the dogs. The first time, they only watch me walk past them. The second time around, I gain their company.

  The German Shepherds weight as much as I do, and I wish I could avoid them. Showing no fear, I still sense they're very aware of my uneasiness. Are they mocking me with their dark eyes?

  "Saskia," Nell says, mangling my name like most people, "are you hungry? We're eating dinner in a few minutes. Should I put out an extra plate?"

  Very much wanting to avoid seeing Brad, I also doubt I'll enjoy Sloane family time. However, I need to deal with my attraction to him, and the best way to conquer a fear is to face it. I assume the same policy works for lust.

  "Yes, please," I call back to Nell while trying to dodge my canine escorts.

  The dogs lose interest when they hear Brad's voice. I peek into the room to find a familiar looking dark haired man with my object of lust. My gaze lingers too long on Brad, but I realize the second man is Marx Hearton from the files I studied. He's an author specializing in biographical books, meaning he'll likely ask too many questions.

  Brad takes his seat at the dining room table, careful to avoid eye contact with me. My seat is across from him with Ruth on one side and the writer on the other. Marx introduces himself and stares as if I'm a shiny new toy. Ruth and Nell bring the food to the table before taking their spots at each end.

  After filling my plate with unfamiliar food, I only hope to enjoy a quiet meal where everyone ignores me. Marx has other plans.

  "What did you think of Dark Reign?" he asks me.

  "I've never watched it."

  Brad and Ruth lift their gazes and focus on me. I feel exposed with Brad's fair blue eyes seeing only me. I wish he would look away, but he refuses.

  Ignoring the tension, a laughing Marx leans back in his chair. "Didn't you research this job before arriving?"

  I stare at him, showing nothing. All my life, I've been told I have dead eyes. As a child, I took these comments as an insult. Only later did I realize the power of my dead stare. Right now, Max is realizing it too.

  Shifting uncomfortably, he returns to eating. I catch Brad smile before he lowers his gaze. Ruth remains tense about a new woman in her domain.

  Even humbled, Marx can't shut up. "The show's writers used an actual demon for their plotline. A group of people either already worshipped this demon or began worshipping the demon after watching the show. The woman the authorities arrested wasn't clear about the chicken and the egg issue before she killed herself."

  "We're eating," Ruth mutters.

  "Sorry, but I think Saskia should know what sort of people she's dealing with."

  "All she needs to know is these people are rabid animals needing to be put down."

  Marx pokes at his food. "True but understanding someone's motivation can't hurt."

  Ruth frowns at Marx before turning her focus to Brad. Mother and son share a silent conversation. I don't know what they're saying, but neither looks happy about the outcome.

  "Motivation does not help me," I say to break the silence. "I once hunted a man whose particular perversion was to kill and eat women who'd given birth to a son and a daughter. He was convinced the women tasted better if they'd had a child of each gender. Some might say he was mentally ill. Others might deem him simply evil. The reasoning behind the murders he committed mattered only to him or those who need reasons in an unreasonable world. All I knew was he was the target to be eliminated."

  Ruth sighs. "There are some very sick fuckers in the world."

  Brad surprises me by laughing. "The mouth on this one."

  Ruth gives him a grudging smile. His laughter turns infectious. My fingers go to my lips where I find a smile.

  "Have you ever killed an innocent person?" Marx asks, determined to ruin the good mood.

  I give Marx a hard look from my dead eyes while Brad frowns.

  "Why would you ask her that?"

  "I'm curious to know if she's ever harmed someone innocent while doing her job. I guess I want to know if I'm in any danger. "

  "I can say with all certainly that if I kill you, it will not be on accident," I say without a hint of humor. "I will of course make it look like an accident for the authorities."

  "You're funny," Marx says, holding my gaze.

  I refuse to get into a staring contest with an insecure man. Focusing my gaze on Brad, I find him amused by how I taunt Marx.

  "All these years," I say, poking at my food, "the authorities must have examined the show for clues to find these people. The files claim a criminal profiler wrote an opinion on the cult. I don't need to know the why or where. I only need to understand they're the enemy. When they come, I'll deal with them. More might come, and I'll deal with them. Eventually, there won't be any more of them, and the problem will be solved."

  Marx exhales hard. "That simple?"

  "Yes," I mutter, focusing my gaze on Brad again. "These people are essentially stalkers, and stalkers have specific behaviors. They've been triggered by the interviews and Brad's reappearance. When I deal with a few of them, the others might want to crawl back into their holes again. You'll simply lure them back out by doing another interview until they're all gone."

  "Deal with them?" Ruth asks. "What does that mean exactly?"

  I glance at her. "You hired my firm for a specific reason. I won't say what you want me to say, but we both know you could have hired someone with better personal skills than I have to do this work. Instead, I'm here."

  Ruth gives me a slight smile. "Understood."

  I continue picking at my food, not recognizing the white clumpy stuff. I think maybe it's oatmeal, but who eats that for dinner?

  "It's grits," Brad says, watching me.

  I realize everyone is staring at me now. Ruth smiles and pats my hand.

  "Before this is over, we'll teach you all about Southern cooking, Saskia."

  I take a scoop of grits on my fork and eye it warily while bringing the food to my mouth.

  "It's okay not to like it," Brad says, and I flash him a dirty look.

  Rather than seem offended, he smiles. They watch me take the bite and chew.

  "It's good," I say.

  Brad grins at Ruth. "She doesn't get grits."

  "It can be an acquired taste."

  "I said it's good."

  "You're not a great liar though," Brad says.

  Frowning at him, I'm actually offended by his statement. I make my living by being able to lie directly to someone's face.
>
  Brad smiles at my anger. Despite the earlier moment when he backed down, he's full of confidence now. I ignore him watching me and try to finish the grits.

  "Do your dogs stay inside at night?" I ask, wanting the attention away from my eating habits.

  "Depends on their moods," Ruth says.

  "I'd like them to remain inside, if possible. I plan to install motion sensors at certain areas on the property. I'll pick up plenty of false positives from the wild animals in the area, but keeping the dogs inside will reduce the number."

  Nodding, Ruth glances at Brad. They again share a silent conversation while Marx glances repeatedly at me.

  "What would you do if they busted through the front gate right now?" the author asks.

  "Call my team and the police. While waiting for them to arrive, I'd eliminate anyone I viewed as a threat. Why, what would you do?"

  Brad laughs. "He'd probably piss himself in the corner."

  "How about you, big man?" Marx asks, frowning.

  "I'd hide behind Mom and her big gun," Brad says, eliciting laughter from Ruth and Nell. Smiling at me, he adds, "After all, I'm easily frightened and need protecting by strong women."

  Once again, Brad challenges me. I want to respond but can't think of a single thing to say when he's watching me with his devious gaze. Focusing on my plate, I panic a little at my new situation. While my killer instinct only cares about finishing the job, my heart craves nothing more than to stare at the handsome man making me squirm.

  5

  ~ Brad ~

  Don't Laugh at the Scary Lady

  Saskia moves silently through the house, checking all of the doors before going to bed. Watching her, I remember the funny look on her beautiful face when she tried the grits. I smile at the memory, still surprised she'd never tried it before. Her expression at dinner made me think she'll never try grits again.

  I'm so focused on Saskia that I don't think about the possible threats lurking in the darkness. For the first time in years, I feel truly alive and aggressively male. All because of a feisty redhead.

  My earlier nerves around her were gone by dinner. No longer feeling like a loser, I teased Saskia. I wasn't sure if I pissed her off or offended her. I only knew I saw a crack in her icy exterior.

  Once she closes her bedroom door, I get comfortable on the living room couch with the dogs resting on the ground next to me. I open a bag of chips and a cold beer before starting my late night of watching Paranormal Witness reruns until I'm relaxed enough to sleep.

  The bad dreams never bothered me so much. I wouldn't even call them nightmares, but I can't seem to crash unless exhausted. My doctor suggested sleeping pills. After all those months in Hollywood and having met too many addicts in that time, I want to remain clearheaded. Better to sleep only a few hours a night than need a pill to function.

  I'm half asleep watching TV when I sense movement from the dogs standing to walk to the door. I sit up startled and find Saskia sliding open the back door. Glancing over her shoulder, she gestures for me to stay put before she walks out onto the dark back patio.

  As she disappears into the dark night, the dogs whine from wanting to follow her. I feel the same way as them. I sit on the couch and search for any sign of movement outside. Near the couch is my backpack where I keep my gun, but I feel only mildly better once I hold the heavy weapon in my hand.

  Saskia is outside, hunting someone. Are they hunting her too? I consider heading out to help but know without a doubt that she'll be pissed if I do.

  The dogs and I wait inside for Saskia's return. Each minute feels like an hour. Egon and Peter whine more than once, giving me the hope that she's returning. When Saskia does suddenly appear in front of the back door, the startled dogs bark.

  I shush them while Saskia enters. She locks the door and stares at the dark night.

  "Find anything?" I ask when I realize she's not going to say anything.

  "Someone was out by the side fence. I couldn't get a safe shot."

  "Safe?"

  Saskia looks at me finally. "I could have shot him in the back, but I'm fairly certain the police would frown upon that."

  "Probably. Did you see his face?"

  "No. My movements startled the birds, and they startled him. He took off running east. I don't know if he was even a he or if he was part of the cult. He might be someone from the media or a standard issue thief. He's gone now."

  "Thank you."

  Saskia frowns up at me, and I realize I've stepped closer to her. Too close based on her expression.

  "Don't be scared," I say unable to stop myself.

  Her eyes narrowing, she unleashes a truly scary bitch face. Fatigue and two beers likely explain why I laugh rather than run away.

  "Sorry," I mumble when she frowns at my laughter.

  "Are you intoxicated?"

  "A little. You really do look funny when you make that face though."

  Her eyes narrowing again, Saskia prepares to unleash another nasty expression. She stops when realizing she's making me laugh harder.

  "Goodnight," she says through clenched teeth.

  Saskia spins on her heel, and I should fear her anger. Instead, I keep laughing.

  Feeling like an idiot for laughing so hard, I mumble, "Don't be mad."

  Saskia flips her hair dismissively before disappearing around the corner toward her bedroom. I lean against the couch and study the dogs.

  "I fucked that up."

  Peter and Egon don't care about my emotional crap. Their gazes focus on the dark night. Rather than tense, they seem disappointed to miss out on the hunt with Saskia. I don't blame them. I want to follow her around too.

  6

  ~ Saskia ~

  Mean Girl Seeking Weird Guy

  Eventually I sleep easily, even after Brad's teasing left me flustered in a startling way. When he laughed, I didn't know how to respond. Men never speak to me in such a way. Is this my punishment for years of dark choices? I lust after a man, only for him to laugh in my face. Somehow, the idea of this being a punishment calms me. In fact, the experience might make me stronger.

  Except I feel weak in the morning upon finding Brad pumping weights in his gym. Shirtless, he's a perfect specimen. Broad shoulders, thick muscled arms, a hard defined stomach and legs like glorious tree trunks, I can't imagine the cult freaks overpowering him. He's soft inside though. I think most women might even call him sweet.

  "You don't have to stand at the door," Brad says, doing another rep.

  "I know."

  "Do you not like talking with your clients?" he asks, finally focusing his blue-eyed gaze on me. "Does it affect your objectivity?"

  "No."

  Brad studies me, and I can't imagine what he's thinking. He writes music for a living. Country songs full of angst and whining. A sensitive artist isn't the kind of man I've spent my life around. I wonder if this is an act on his part. Is he playing a role to push me to work harder? Does he believe treating me tenderly, even seducing me will protect him?

  His laughter wasn't very seductive last night, yet he left me wanting more. I recall how closely he stood. How he asked if I was frightened of him. How he found me amusing. I pretended to be angry. I was instead curious rather than upset.

  What does he see when he looks at me?

  Leaving his weights, Brad pulls on a shirt, slides on a pair of sandals, and walks towards me. I assume he'll pass me by, but he stops instead and studies me.

  "I feel you thinking about me," Brad says. "I like that feeling."

  I nearly flee from the heat of his gaze. Can Brad really read me so well? Is he mocking my lust? Despite the shock of his words, I am no shrinking violet.

  "It's my job to think about you."

  Brad's gaze lingers on my face. I'm dissected, studied, and what? Does he embrace what he finds in me or am I unworthy of this pretty boy's interest?

  "This might surprise you, but I don't have much experience with women."

  Sizing up his large
build again, I doubt his statement. He doesn't lack for women. I refuse to believe such bullshit. Yet with him focused solely on me, I'm lost in his blue eyes.

  No, I refuse to bow to him. A woman is only as powerful as her ability to say no. I am powerful, and I tell myself repeatedly "no" whenever I swoon for this beautiful man.

  "You've spent the last ten years hiding in your house with your mom, so I'm not actually surprised by your lack of a social life."

  My words strike Brad at his male core. I might as well mock his manhood by claiming he possesses a small dick. The temporary hit to his ego passes. He scratches at his chin and wags his finger at me.

  "I'm onto you."

  Even struggling for a blasé comeback, I remain speechless while he walks past me and leaves the room. A few minutes pass as I stand dumbfounded by his behavior. Finally following him, I continue pretending I'm unaffected. Brad stands now in the kitchen, smiling slyly at me.

  "If you're fine in here, I'll check the perimeter."

  "Is that code for take a walk?" he asks, still grinning. "I wouldn't mind a stroll."

  My mind searches for a reason why he can't join me, but I find none. Brad likely wouldn't care if I have the best reason in the world. He seems rather intent on tempting me today.

  Once Brad follows me out of the side door, his dogs race to him. I dodge their interest, but he smiles big for them.

  "You like dogs?" he asks, petting the bouncing animals.

  I keep walking, leaving him with the animals. "No."

  "Why?"

  "They lick."

  Brad says nothing, and I finally glance back at where he's giving me a sly grin.

  "I'll make a mental note about your licking aversion."

  Staring at him, I pretend I don't understand. He stares right back at me, daring me to keep lying.

  "You're behaving oddly. Should I call your mother?" I ask.

  Brad throws his head back and laughs while walking past me. "Yes, I'm sure we'll enjoy that conversation."

  I hurry to catch up with his long strides. He strolls down a pebbled path leading to a garden. All the added pollen sends a sneeze rising fast inside me. The sound of my squeaky sneeze stops Brad. He glances over his wide shoulder and smiles at me.