“No, fellow ogre, you’re my consort, not my subject.” He took her free hand and nibbled her fingertips.
She shivered—a good sensation—and smiled at him. “So tell me about becoming a Siren.”
“You’re going to love it. Here, let me log in and I’ll show you what my new character looks like. I can help you design yours today.” He looked at her chest and nodded. “I recommend red body armor. It’s your color.”
Her cheeks grew hot.
The printer repair had taken longer than expected, and the pizza was cut and on plates when he’d finished. Hunger and cold beer became their priority. She still hadn’t decided about “the act,” however. Should she—no, could she—smother the convent and stalker voices in her head and give in to Scott? Spread her legs for him? Stop it. That was the stalker talking.
“Wait. Before we get caught up in that, tell me about the initiation for Raging Death.”
A theatrical sigh. “If you insist. Urnu will have Ishtaria lead you on a short quest, to gain health and energy. When you’re skilled with your crossbow, we’ll battle as a pair, to get in sync.”
“Tell me again why is this so special.”
“Urnu’s Clan is legendary, Giulia. Whatever he asks to join him, it’s worth it. Fail any one of his trials, and we’re out. No second chance.”
“Will I have to eat a heart?”
He laughed. “Nah. That’s Urnu’s specialty. After we complete the quests and win the battles—and we will—the final step is a real-life initiation.”
She leaned away and her sweater skimmed off one shoulder. “Real life?”
“Yeah. Kyle gave me the details.” Scott closed the extra distance between them and stroked her bare shoulder.
“Tell me.” Giulia’s voice wasn’t as strong as she’d like. His hair smelled of her shampoo. She’d forgotten they used the same brand.
“Urnu invites us to his house. He has a converted farmhouse out towards Coraopolis.” His fingers unbuttoned another cleavage button on her sweater. “The rest of the Clan will be there, too.” Another button. “Veiled Siduri, how did you know I prefer front-hook bras?”
Giulia couldn’t take a full breath. Her head told her it was all pheromones. Her body told her nipples to harden.
“What happens at Urnu’s house?” Another button. Think, don’t feel. Distract him. “Does Urnu have a real name?”
Scott’s voice, thicker than usual, said, “Dan, I think. Kyle mentioned it once.” He unfastened the last button and the sweater fell away. “Who cares? It’s Urnu the Snake everyone wants.”
“So, what happens with the cult—sorry, clan—when we go to his house?” If Scott’s attitude is typical, they’re more like a religious cult than a simple group of like-minded people...
His hips moved and her thoughts frayed. The bulge in his pants pushed against her hand. She pushed back, gently.
“Oh, baby.” Scott put his thigh between her legs and rubbed. “You’re new at this, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” She should stay new. She should stop this. How? Her face radiated heat. Her hips started to move in rhythm with his thigh. Stop. She didn’t want to sleep with Scott. She wanted love, not lust. She wanted—
“Gonna be real gentle with you, Giulia.” He traced the lacy top edges of her bra. “Gonna show you how good it’ll be at Urnu’s.”
He kissed her mouth, her neck, the curve of her breasts.
“Stop. What did you say? Stop, Scott.”
“I want you, Giulia.” He opened one hook. “Unzip my pants and I’ll show you how much.”
She put her hands on his face. “What do you mean about Urnu’s? Tell me.”
“The final ritual is complete obedience to Urnu. Game and body.” Another kiss. “The Clan, all of them, Stoneblood and Nightclaw and Hrunting and the rest, surround us. Urnu sketches a tattoo of our character on us. We get a real tattoo later.”
“Scott, I don’t want a tattoo.” She should stop him. She didn’t want to stop him. Her fingers touched his zipper.
“Oh, yeah.” Another hook. “Tattoos are cool. I know where I’d like you to get one.” He fondled her. “We kneel to Urnu and promise complete obedience.” Another hook, only one left. “Then we fulfill the promise.”
“What, what does that mean?”
“Urnu has sex with us while they watch.”
“What?” Giulia pushed herself backward and Scott’s face smacked into the cushion. “Are you nuts?” She grabbed her sweater and shoved buttons through buttonholes. “Public sex? For a video game?”
“For Raging Death, Giulia. It’s not just a game. It’s another life. A thrilling life. Kyle said the sex was weird at first, but then it really turned him on.” Scott’s voice was back to normal. “You saw Urnu with Lugal and Ishtaria in the bar. Kyle’s straight, but says Urnu gives head as good as any woman.”
“He does what?” She left her bra as-is and buttoned all but the sweater’s top button.
“Gives head. A blow job. You never heard that phrase?”
“I’m sorry I heard it now. Don’t those people have any morals?”
“They don’t sleep with each other after the initiation, only with Urnu as a reward for winning a battle. Urnu’s steady partners are Lugal and Ishtaria, but he lets them play around with the groupies when they want. They always come back to him.” Scott drank half of his open beer. “It’s worth it, Giulia. You should hear Kyle. He says the sex bond is what makes Raging Death so powerful.”
“Good God in Heaven. Scott, whatever made you think I’d agree to this?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because you like me?”
“I do like you, but not enough to turn whore for you.”
“No, no, babe, whores do it for money. This is for power and pleasure.” He groped her thigh.
She tumbled over the arm of the couch. “Sex isn’t supposed to be about power. It’s supposed to be a means of expressing love.”
“Sure, sometimes. You’re a fun gal, Giulia, I’m a nice guy, and we want each other. That’s all two consenting adults need, besides a condom.” He dug in his jeans pocket. “I’ve got one all ready.”
Giulia stood. This was possibly the most ludicrous situation she’d ever been in.
Scott jumped off the couch quicker than she expected and grabbed her butt. “Let’s do it, baby. When you’re loosened up, we’ll talk some more about Urnu.”
Giulia pried his hands away. “I never want to hear the name Urnu again.” She snatched her purse off the kitchen table and stuffed her disk and résumés inside. “And I am not loose, Scott. I’m probably the most repressed adult you’ll ever meet.”
“Giulia, where are you going?”
“Home.” She took the cooler off the counter.
“But—”
“Glad you liked the pizza. Keep the leftovers.” She opened the door on a—thankfully—empty hall. “I hope you find another game and sex partner.”
Don’t slam his door. Don’t give the neighbors a reason to see what the noise is about.
Giulia marched down the hall, down two flights of stairs, and out the front door. Scott didn’t follow her.
Even the pay phone at the corner fast-food joint smelled of sausage grease. The disemboweled telephone book dangling from it still had the taxi company section of the yellow pages. Thank God for small favors.
“May I get a cab at the Bratmeister on the corner of Park and Pond Streets?... Ten minutes is great. Thanks.”
Giulia hovered by the plate-glass window and checked her watch. Nearly six. Should she buy something because she used their phone? No, not on the jobless budget. Bad enough she was spending money to get home.
The taxi arrived and she escaped into the clear evening air. “2244 Pearl Street, please.”
Ching. $1.25 just for pulling away from the curb.
She put the cooler on the seat next to her and leaned back. How fast those tenths of a mile racked up.
Ching. $1.35.
Publi
c sex. Not even Cosmo pushed that.
The Music Man had two weeks left to run. Six more shows to try and ignore Frank and Scott. She’d bet that by Friday Scott would find a groupie willing to sleep with the Snake for the privilege of membership in Raging Death.
$2.75.
Frank thought she was a slut. Scott thought she was an idiot.
Uncle Vincenzo was right. Mom, Dad, if you’re watching this farce up in Heaven, don’t cry over me. I deserve everything I get.
$3.15.
She couldn’t change it, so she would just move on. Stow the pepperoni and cheese in the fridge, be grateful she didn’t give her virginity to that man, and hit the sack early. Set the alarm for 5:45, get caffeine in her system, impress her potential new boss with her alertness, eagerness, and impeccable manners.
Sounds like a plan.
$4.65.
Her neighborhood. Just a few more blocks.
$5.15.
“2244 Pearl. That’ll be $5.35.”
“Thank you. Keep the change.” The price of escape and worth every dollar. One minute later, she leaned against the inside of the building’s door. Safe.
She was an anal-retentive idiot, and she didn’t care. Scott would flaunt his new “consort.” Frank would probably sneer when he figured out Scott had dumped her, and so what. She’d be able to sleep without her conscience berating her.
Giulia walked through the lobby and past the rows of mailboxes. She was glad she had morals. Glad she had standards. Glad she had, well, virtue, darn it, and the only idiocy would be to throw away all of it out of fear.
A door banged. The aroma of frying hamburger drifted down from the second floor.
“Jerk!”
“Baby!”
“Am not!”
“Are too!”
Two sets of feet pounded down the stairs, and the prank-pulling twins from the second floor raced past Giulia, firing pressurized streams from humongous water cannons. The buzz-cut twin ducked behind her and soaked his brother’s shoulder-length hair. “Gotcha!”
His brother shook water from his eyes, used the anemic ficus in the corner as cover, and returned fire. Giulia stepped aside, saying, “I’m not a shield,” and got the full, ice-cold charge on her chest.
“Yow!” Goosebumps erupted all over her.
“Sorry, lady,” Long-Hair said.
“Missed me, jerkwad!” Buzz-Cut stuck out his tongue and ran out the door, slamming it in his brother’s face. Long-Hair pumped his gun and pulled open the door. “Chickenshit baby!” The door swung against the wall and bounced closed. From upstairs, she heard their mother yell, “Watch your mouth!”
Giulia leaned over the ficus and wrung most of the water into its cracked potting soil. Wouldn’t Scott have something lecherous to say if he saw her now? Doubtless including hi-beams, clingy rayon, and his desire to help her out of her wet sweater before she caught pneumonia.
She walked down the empty hall to her apartment. Mmm. Old Mr. Colombo in 110 was cooking enchiladas. Giulia’s stomach growled, ignoring the two pieces of pizza she’d fed it not so long ago. Her watch read 6:20. She could put together peppers and eggs. There should be brioches in the freezer, too.
She shivered. Her goosebumps didn’t seem to care that it was... 73, according to the hall thermostat. She had to get into a dry shirt before her encounter with the squirt gun on steroids sabotaged her immune system. Brats.
When she inserted her key, the door swung open a few inches.
“You’ve got to be kidding. Giulia, you idiot.” After the sticky problem yesterday and today she still didn’t think to double-check it when she left for the theater. Well, after she talked to the doughnut shop tomorrow morning, she’d call the landlord. He might have a hangover if the Pirates won, but he could replace her lock despite that.
She twisted her key back and forth. Smooth to the left, a hitch to the right. At least the deadbolt worked. She shot it home and set her flute case and music on the counter.
Cold water soaked the front of her jeans, too. Giulia detoured from the kitchen to her bedroom: first, dry clothes. She pushed open the bedroom door and kicked off her shoes.
Blake Parker lay naked on her bed, hands and feet tied to the posts on the near side like a blond Slim Jim.
The glossy black rope tying Blake’s wrists didn’t look like rope. Neither did the crimson fabric around his ankles. Ties? Bathrobe sashes?
His dilated pupils hid much of his blue irises. Duct tape covered his mouth.
“Mr. Parker—” Giulia stepped toward him, hand out to remove the tape.
The door slammed behind her. She whipped around as a pair of hands jammed a metal-and-chain contraption into her doorjamb, locking her in her own bedroom.
A tall blonde put her back to the door. “Don’t touch him.”
At first, all Giulia saw was a gold satin push-up bra. Beneath it, a pierced navel with an emerald and gold charm. Beneath that, a matching satin thong above long, slim legs and manicured feet in lamé high-heeled sandals.
“Sandra Falke?” A dozen ignored clues collided in Giulia’s head.
Now what? She had to think. What kind of psycho problems did Falke show in her interview? What was up with the slinky underwear?
“Why are you—what is Mr. Parker—”
“We’re going to show you what a negligible piece of litter you are, sugar.” Her eyebrows matched her lipstick matched her “outfit” matched her shoes. Her bellybutton charm winked in the sunshine as she brushed Giulia aside and stood by Blake’s head. “And Blake will do it by showing me one of the ways I’m the perfect match for him.” Sandra ripped the duct tape off his mouth.
Giulia flinched.
“Ow!” Blake’s face contorted. Then he giggled. “Sandy, dolly, that hurt.” He puckered glue-speckled lips. “Kiss it and make it better?”
Giulia’s forehead wrinkled. That wasn’t Blake’s usual revolting style. “What’s the matter with him?”
Sandra picked up a gold and green knife from the nightstand. “Just a little something we added to Blake’s wine at supper.” The knife handle caught the same ray of sunshine as the charm.
“Pretty,” Blake said.
“Wait a minute.” Giulia wanted to get in Falke’s face, but the knife was still in her gold-manicured hand. “How did you get in? Ever hear of trespassing?”
“Like anyone would notice in this derelict neighborhood.” Sandra came closer, towering over Giulia in those heels. “Were you in a wet T-shirt contest this afternoon? I gather the sweater was your concession to modesty.” She laughed. High and tinkling, like tiny wind chimes.
“What I do is none of your business.” Giulia kept an eye on the knife. “By the way, you drugged and kidnapped an innocent man. That’s illegal, last I checked. I don’t think you’ll like getting sent to jail. Gold underwear isn’t state issue.” Keep her distracted. Let her think you’re a clod. Get her to set down the knife.
“What an innocent you are. The only justice Blake will be seeking with me is a justice of the peace.” Another tinkling laugh. “Blake, you didn’t know I added wit to my accomplishments, did you?”
“Huh-huh-huh, Sandy, you’re funny.” Blake squinted like he was trying to focus with those dilated pupils. “You look pretty. Just like a Barbie doll.”
“I am not an empty-headed bimbo—” Sandra raised her hand.
Blake cringed. “No, Sandy, don’t hurt me, I’ll be good. I’ll make you happy again.”
Sandra sighed. “It’s time for the pill to wear off. You’re making me gag.” She picked up Giulia’s Bible from the nightstand. “That joke about a JP was just a joke, of course. We’ll have a cathedral wedding attended by select business and society contacts.” She flipped pages. “ ‘Come out, you daughters of Zion, and look at King Solomon wearing the crown, the crown with which his mother crowned him on the day of his wedding, the day his heart rejoiced.’ Blake’s mother always liked me. She’ll love putting a crown on you, won’t she, Blake darling?
”
“Prince Blake and Princess Sandy.” Blake shook his head. “Ooh, dizzy.” He shook his head again, and his eyes lost their glazed look for an instant. “Sandra?”
Giulia hoped she kept the relief out of her face. Keep after her. Distract her till his circuit breakers reconnect. “What’s the idea behind the last message you slipped me, Falke? What makes me so important in your obsessive little universe?”
Sandra’s eyes narrowed. “You need to learn some respect, little investigator wannabe. My family background puts you in the class of, oh, hired help. And when I marry Blake, you’ll sink to the level of illegal-alien migrant worker.”
Giulia aimed wake up thoughts at Blake and gave a deliberate laugh. “The mistress of the manor shops at Frederick’s of Hollywood? If you can’t keep a man without imitating one of your own Barbie-doll creations, you ought to look into self-esteem counseling.”
Sandra slapped her. “Watch your mouth, she-camel! That was my favorite message to you, you know. After what you did with Blake, I wanted to rip your eyes out. But my teacher reminded me that you don’t matter. You don’t matter at all.”
“Teacher?” So Sandra wasn’t in it alone and didn’t take the photographs. Did a personal assistant qualify as a teacher? Who would Sandra trust enough to take their doctored photos as gospel? “That explains it. Your fluffy blonde brain couldn’t hold enough of the Bible to choose the appropriate verses.”
Giulia expected another slap. Instead, Sandra crossed her arms and produced a game-show host smile. “Our Lady of Sorrows Boarding Academy for Young Women, eighth through twelfth grade. Bible study every morning and evening taught by dried-up old women in black serge. When I left there, I swore I’d never wear a plaid skirt or a Peter Pan collar again.”
The verse came to Giulia’s tongue. “ ‘You have trusted in your wickedness and have said, “No one sees me.” ’ ” Blast. What was the rest of it?
Sandra closed her eyes just for a second, then opened them and said, “ ‘I will pull up your skirts over your face that your shame may be seen.’ ” She threw the Bible across the room. It hit the mint and basil pots, knocking over the stand and scattering dirt and leaves on the rug. “It doesn’t matter what happens to you, Miss Wannabe, but Blake needs to be taught a lesson. My teacher told me the best way to make him obey was to make his latest piece of ass part of the lesson.”
Force of Habit: A Falcone & Driscoll Investigation Page 19