Mr. Real

by Carolyn Crane

  He smoothed a hand down Alix’s shoulder, her arm. “Give me your hand.”

  She turned up to him and smiled. “How am I supposed to hold the paper if I give you my hand?”

  “I have something better than the paper.”

  She gave him a saucy look. “Something better to hold than the paper?”

  “Put out your hand, my dear.” He touched the back of the couch near where he wanted her to put it. She let one side of the paper fall to her lap and put out her hand, palm up.

  Gently he grasped her wrist, removed the bracelets, and set them aside. Then he kissed her palm and extended her arm out a bit more.

  “What’re you doing?”

  He slapped on the cuff, closing the other bracelet around the end of the couch frame.

  “Hey!” She yanked on the handcuff, laughing. “What are you doing?”

  “One guess.” Still behind the couch, he moved to the other side, pointed to a spot there. “Other hand.” If he were in her position, he’d claim to be uncomfortable with handcuff play. Most spies would avoid having both hands cuffed. One hand you could get free; two got tricky. He’d have to cajole her, maybe even force her, but he hoped to stay in the gray area for as long as possible.

  She narrowed her eyes, smiling. “Somebody has some big ideas.” She tugged on the cuffed hand. She could probably tear through the smaller vertical slats, but not the frame itself. “I don’t know,” she demurred, looking at the other spot he’d indicated.

  He could hardly believe it—she intended to allow it. “The other hand, my dear,” he said, in the stern tone she seemed to respond to best.

  Suspicious smile again. “Give me one good reason.”

  “Because I want you immobilized for what I’m about to do. Because it will be much more intense. And exquisite. And I will take you places you’ve never been.” He dangled the remaining cuff from one hand. “Have you ever?”

  Her breath shallowed. “No.”

  She appeared truthful in this. Could it be? “But you’ve thought about it.”

  She cast her eyes playfully up to the ceiling, giving him a big shrug.

  He strolled around to stand in front of her, drew the paper gently from her hand. Stunning. It was only a matter of time now before she positioned her hand for him. Yes, she was something of a hedonist. When it came to sex, she enjoyed both pushing and being pushed—but to allow this!

  Nobody was lurking outside to come in and save her; he’d been monitoring the grounds for hours. He’d assured himself of the absence of transmitting devices the day he’d arrived and again last night. Was she that confident? Or just that stupid?

  He’d do whatever it took to find out now.

  In the past days he’d felt vulnerable, felt a vague revulsion for hurting and killing others.

  No more.

  Just as bits of the most devastating diseases were the keys to making protective vaccines, he’d allowed those dangerously soft feelings to inoculate him, to make him harder, colder, crueler.

  After she’d gone to sleep last night, he’d sat up in his room, meditating on the detachment that had once come so easily to him—remembering the way it felt and the way it worked in his mind. He watched as these new impulses toward kindness or softness arose in him, and he practiced pushing them away. Detachment was a matter of disconnected perspective. It was a matter of allowing things to become remote, like looking through the wrong end of a telescope.

  In this way he’d gained his old attitude back. For the moment, anyhow.

  He kneeled, slid his hands onto her thighs, up, up, up over a vertical rip in her jeans and beyond. She inhaled softly as he pressed his thumbs gently onto her aroused center, wanting him to keep on. Instead he stood, pointed to the place on the back of the couch where he wanted that hand.

  “Oh my god.” And with that, she complied.

  “Good girl.” He walked around and cuffed it there. Now his butterfly’s arms were stretched out to either side, like slender, pale wings. She tested the bonds, faux-offended. If he were a better man, he would find some type of fabric to cushion her wrists before he went to work—athletic socks and washcloths worked well. But he wasn’t a better man.

  Hyko and company would have done well to bear that in mind.

  “Now then.” He returned to his position in front of her and cracked his knuckles, one of his favorite nonverbal statements. She really was fetching, platinum-pink hair contrasting wildly with the blood red of her top. Black bra straps showing from the sides.

  “Am I going to regret this?”

  “Most certainly.”

  She smiled. Did she have something on him she could pull out? Was that it?

  He went to her and drew a finger up her neck and to her chin, then he slid onto the couch over her. He planted his knees on either side of her hips, straddling her thighs, pinning them. He placed his hands on either side of the frame, next to her ears, caging her. He looked hard into her eyes.

  She grinned. “Uh oh,” she said playfully.

  Playfully.

  “Uh oh, what?” he asked.

  She studied his face. “You get out of line,” she said, “and Lindy’ll go wilding all over your ass.”

  “You think Lindy will come to your aid?”

  “Lindy is very loyal.”

  He stroked the backs of his fingernails down her cheek.

  Alix closed her eyes, seemed to give over completely to the feeling of being contained, touched. Perhaps she really was this reckless, this much of a hedonist.

  “After I’ve spent the last forty-eight hours feeding her treats?”

  She opened her eyes. “Touché.”

  “In a different scenario, Lindy would protect you, I’ll give you that. She is a predator, after all. Descended from, at any rate.” He removed his hand, tilted his head. “Did you ever notice how Lindy’s eyes—dogs’ eyes in general—are placed in the front of the head? As opposed to, say, a mouse’s eyes, which are placed almost squarely on either side of its head?”

  She furrowed her brow, apparently unsure what to make of this.

  “The predator, you see, never has to worry about what’s behind him,” Sir Kendall said. “He only has to care about what’s in front of him. His facial arrangement endows him with the ability to fix firmly on his prey as he stalks and bursts forward for the kill. Quite different from animals like mice and most birds, with their side-mounted eyes, wouldn’t you say? They’re the hunted. Eyes designed to monitor their surroundings. They don’t need the ability to fix on a target.” He turned, traced the line of Alix’s jaw. “Rabbits supposedly have binocular overlap in the backs and fronts of their heads.”

  “What is this? National Geographic special of the month?”

  He brushed a bit of hair from her face. “Their ears, too, are positioned to take in a full panorama of sound, whereas Lindy’s ears will swivel and fix on specific targets to the exclusion of all others—all the better for an efficient forward attack. True of cats, too. Ears like periscopes.”

  Alix sniffed. “Is this supposed to be erotic?”

  He locked his legs more firmly over hers. Best to go into this with her on the edge. “I think people are a little bit of each, don’t you?” he said. “Though some people have more predator in them. And some people think they’re predators when they’re actually prey. That makes them the easiest prey of all, because they’ve sacrificed some of their defenses.” He waited, let that sink in.

  “Okay. Huh.”

  He drew his fingers up under her shirt and touched the neat little poof of her belly, allowing his fingertips to graze her there.

  “Ah!” She twisted. “That tickles.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. And then he grazed his fingernails back down across her tummy, tickling her again.

  She yelped in his ear. “Don’t!”

  He pulled away. “That tickles? Really?” He smiled, waited. People tended to be more ticklish when tied, but this girl was shockingly ticklish. “How ab
out this?” He twaddled his fingers against her belly.

  “Hey!” She screamed. “Don’t!” She looked at him wildly, realizing only now, it seemed, that he was in control. “Don’t, okay?”

  “Do tell me, what’s more ticklish. This?” He poked her lightly.

  She fake-glared at him.

  “Or this—” he paused, did nothing.

  Her mouth hung open in surprise. “Don’t you dare…”

  Again he twaddled his fingers on her belly, and she wriggled and scream-laughed. “Come on!” She breathed hard when he stopped. “Come on.”

  “Or maybe this—” Now he tickled her efficiently and expertly, right on the flanks. She laughed and writhed. “Ahhh!” she screamed. “Fuck!”

  He stopped.

  “Nick, I am so getting you back for this,” she said breathlessly, eyes shining.

  “But you are so wonderfully ticklish.” He brought his fingers near her belly and she yelped. He hadn’t even touched her. When you pushed a person to her limits, you found out what she would and wouldn’t do. And if you were smart and careful, you could push a person to her limits without actually pushing her to her limits.

  “Seriously. I’m way too sensitive.”

  He brought two fingers near her belly and hovered.

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “I would.”

  Her jaw dropped, eyes wide, slightly feral. Well then. He knew what shock looked like on her now.

  “I’m serious,” she said in a low voice.

  He smiled. “I’ll stop when you tell me exactly what is going on here.”

  “What? Nick—come on.”

  He tickled her full on.

  “Ahhhh!” She writhed wildly, shrieking, trying to jolt him off her legs. She laughed, but they were involuntary laughs. This girl had no ability to center herself whatsoever. Was Hyko not preparing his people?

  Lindy ran around and barked excitedly.

  Sir Kendall stopped.

  She panted. “Don’t…you gotta…I’m serious…”

  He smiled.

  “Okay?” Her cheeks were glowing, caramel eyes shining, bright hair falling in wild pink chunks around her face, the picture of exhilaration. She would be a delicious fuck right now, and she’d enjoy it immensely because she’d feel everything.

  She narrowed her eyes. “You are terrible. This tickling thing is not that sexy. I am so going to make you sorry.”

  “You are? How?”

  Sassy smile. “You’ll see.”

  “Will I?” He kissed her gently, lightly.

  “Oh my god,” she breathed into the kiss before he pulled away. “No, come back. You come back here, Sir Kendall Nicholas the Third.”

  “Now you don’t want me to stop?”

  “I just want you to skip over the tickling part to the part where it actually starts getting fun,” she said huskily.

  He leaned in and kissed her again, and she melted into it with a groan, and then she sucked his tongue, a saucy little move of hers. Once released, he kissed her neck. She groaned some more, as if she had not a care in the world. “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” he whispered.

  She snorted.

  Is this why Hyko had chosen her? Because she took nothing seriously? Such people could be difficult to control. Slowly, he slid his hand back down toward her belly.

  A jerk of shock. “Don’t you dare!”

  “What was going to happen last night? Outside the bar?” He moved his hand closer so she’d feel the tips of his fingers.

  She glared. “This is less than fun.”

  “I’m waiting.” He stared directly into her eyes, reminding her of his predator status. “One…two.”

  He resumed tickling her. She dissolved into all-out wriggling and shrieking. “Oh my god! Don’t!” He moved to her flank. She screamed more loudly—wild, unhinged shrieks, part laugh, part scream.

  Lindy barked and bounded around.

  More screams. Movie quality stuff. This girl had zero self-control.

  Then came a loud crack and a crash.

  Sir Kendall jerked his head up, glanced past Alix’s shoulder. A man had smashed through the door and was bursting across the room toward them. Sir Kendall sprung off Alix and went for his ankle holster just as the man hurled himself clear over the couch and tackled him.

  Sir Kendall thudded to the ground under the weight of the man. Pain cracked through his back and skull. The intruder punched his face, his neck—a flurry of stunningly powerful hits. Sir Kendall blocked the blows, but clearly the man was a trained fighter—with a look and build uncannily similar to his.

  Sir Kendall went for the man’s eyes, his throat, trying to get out from under him, but the punches grew more and more furious. Nobody got the best of him in a ground fight—nobody! He tried a head butt—the man took it on the shoulder and hugged in closer, jamming an elbow in under his chin, choking him.

  “Oh my god!” Alix cried. “Stop it!”

  This distracted the interloper just enough—Sir Kendall shifted out from under him and they struggled anew, tangling like snakes between desperate hits, Sir Kendall trying get an opportunity to reach his ankle holster and gun.

  A plant crashed onto them. Lindy barked.

  “Hey! Come on! I can explain this!” Wood cracked. Alix breaking couch slats. Sir Kendall spat dirt and blood from his mouth as they rolled. Sharp pain in his chest where the man had gotten him with an elbow. The man was on top again, arm on Sir Kendall’s neck. The man didn’t merely look similar to Sir Kendall; he looked just like him. Fought just like him.

  “Hey!” Banging. Alix jumping the couch toward them.

  Sir Kendall scootched his hand down his leg, felt the tip of his gun—he had to get the gun before he blacked out.

  “Guys!” Alix yelled.

  Sir Kendall jerked sideways, wrapped his fingers around the butt of the gun, and extracted it, pressing it to the man’s neck.

  The man stiffened, stilled.

  “Loosen,” Sir Kendall grated out. “Slowly.”

  “Don’t shoot him,” Alix said. “Just…everyone be calm!”

  Lindy barked, racing back and forth between the couch and the fireplace.

  The man loosened. Contemplating moves. He was good. But Sir Kendall had the gun.

  “I’ll do it,” Sir Kendall said. “You’re the intruder.” He pushed it harder into his cheek. Slowly, the man relaxed his choke. Sir Kendall unhooked his legs, and, still on his back, planted a foot in the man’s gut, handily shoving him away. The man rolled and righted, lithe as a cat, and stared, horror shining in his eyes.

  Sir Kendall got to his feet, struggling to keep his expression neutral; the similarities between the two of them were shocking. Face, build, fighting moves, stance—good lord, even the hands. A chill spread over him. This was no random look-a-like. It was not plastic surgery, and he certainly didn’t have a twin.

  Hyko had cloned him.

  Stranger still, the clone seemed just as stunned, gaping at him. “No way,” the man said, as though he imagined uttering those words would banish Sir Kendall. “No fucking way.”

  “Crap,” Alix said, breathing hard. Clearly she was surprised, too.

  The clone turned his fiery gaze on her. “You…” He took a step toward her. “Are you okay?”

  “Oh no you don’t.” Sir Kendall jerked the gun at him.

  The clone turned to him, eyes wild. “No way,” he said again.

  There was something about the man. He had to be a clone—there was no other explanation, yet there was something about him. Again that sense of a dream he couldn’t quite recall. Of vulnerabilities.

  “It’s okay. I’m okay,” Alix said to the clone.

  The clone swung his baffled gaze back to Alix. “What’s going on? What is this?”

  “Uh…” Alix stammered. “It’s not…” She looked bewildered, guilty, even, as though she’d been caught in a crime of some sort.

  Yet the clone hadn’t been sent to
neutralize her. He seemed as surprised as she was. He’d asked if she was okay.

  Sir Kendall took a step toward the clone. “Hands on your head, fingers knit together. Three seconds or I blow off a limb. One…”

  Again the clone addressed Alix—tenderly, Sir Kendall thought. “You sure you’re okay? Because—”

  “I’m fine!”

  “Two!” Sir Kendall commanded.

  The clone turned an icy glare on Sir Kendall and slapped his hands loosely onto his head. “What is this?” The clone asked him. “What have you done to yourself?” He turned back to Alix. “Why does he look like that?”

  Sir Kendall puzzled over this. Why clone him with an American accent?

  “Uh,” Alix jerked at the restraints, still anchored to what was left of the couch frame. “If I could get uncuffed here.”

  Sir Kendall ignored her. Why does he look like that? Did the clone not realize he was a clone?

  Alix said, “A little help?”

  “Let her go,” the clone said. “Right now. Gun or no gun, I’m going to see you let her go.”

  They’d all three been taken by surprise, which meant none of them was in control. But Sir Kendall was the smartest one in the room; he would take control. And the first step to taking control was acting like you already had it.

  “The likeness is decent,” Sir Kendall said. “I’ll give you that. The plan, however, is ridiculous. Tedious, in fact.”

  “What?” The clone barked.

  “Look,” Alix said. “This is my home, and here’s what’s going to happen. Nick, you’re going to come over here and unlock me, and you,” she addressed the clone here, “are going to leave. In fact, if you leave now, I won’t call the cops or make you pay for the door.”

  “Are you serious? He was attacking you.”

  “Yeah, I’m serious,” she said.

  Serious yet deeply conflicted. Her tells as much as shouted it. She was duty-bound to send him off, and it was the last thing she wanted.

  Interesting.

  “It was hardly an attack,” Sir Kendall replied. “It was a bit of fun.” He said this as much for the clone as for Alix. Could he keep her strange allegiance to him intact? “Just a bit of naughty play, old chap—I’d suggest—”