by Sable Jordan
Kizzie shrugged. “Concerned citizen, just happened to be in the neighborhood.”
“She is Master Duquesne’s submissive,” Sumi supplied. Color Kizzie surprised at that slip up.
“So,” Fay smiled, a predatory gleam laced with disdain, “you’re the infamous Gigi. The American’s bitch. You look troubled.”
“Do I?” Kizzie said, a heavy dose of indifference in her tone.
“Yes. You don’t approve of my treatment of Sumi. You don’t like bullies?”
“I don’t like assholes. Bullies fall under the umbrella.”
Fay laughed. “A woman with spunk. I can appreciate that. The nothing who brought you here insisted you were dead. Clearly she failed in that too. As usual, I’ll have to finish the job no one else is capable of doing.” Fay turned to Sumi. “I suspect this one will put up more of a fight than you. Have a seat. I’ll kill you next.”
Sumi actually trudged over to a wooden chair, and then knelt on the floor. Fay stubbed out her cigarette in a nearby ashtray on top of a chest of drawers.
Kizzie checked the clock again. Eight minutes or so… “Just looking to talk to your Mistress. I’m not here to kill you.”
“And that is the difference between us.” Fay said, sliding open a drawer. A flick of the wrist and the balisong fanned open, sharp blade exposed. “I intend to gut you stem to stern.”
* * * *
Scenes were much more fun with the participants alive first, Sumi decided. For last minute planning, and apart from Fay’s mean words, it wasn’t turning out half bad. And not knowing who would come out on top was intriguing.
Gigi ducked Fay’s skilled thrust with the knife, swiped out her leg and felled the shinsei like a tree. But Fay quickly reclaimed her feet, charging again. She forced Gigi against the wall, blue hair dancing and licking about her face with every shift. Fay was the best warrior among them, no doubt her killing her father made her less inhibited than the others.
The knife slashed downward. Gigi blocked it, countered with a fist that Fay stopped cold.
These two might be a while.
Sumi pushed to her feet and tiptoed to the other side of the illuminated playroom. It was nice to be back here. The familiar smell, the familiar layout. Like coming home again. A hallway extended into the darkness, opening up to several other bedrooms on this side. Sumi started in on her search.
After all, she had to be here somewhere.
A loud thump sounded against a wall, and glass shattered. Sumi kept moving.
Doors flanked either side of the hallway, and she peeked into the first one. Nope.
The next door brought her to a spare bedroom. Tatami mats on the floor, and a number of bamboo canes lined the walls. She stepped inside, and flipped the lights. This used to be her room when she was in training. But now it was covered in pictures of Fay. Bright red rope dug into Fay’s skin, her arms and legs bound in prawn position. Her face wasn’t visible, but the tattoos were clear. Sumi removed a photo from its frame and ripped it down the center.
Grunts met her ears, and she remembered the scene.
Who would win?
Her money was on Fay. She’d never seen Gigi fight, but Sumi had been on the receiving end of Fay’s hard fist more times than she could remember. Fay would make Gigi pay, no doubt.
She peeked into another room, and flicked the switch.
A huge grin split her face as a loud crash sounded in the distance.
“There you are!”
* * * *
Kizzie delivered a headbutt that dazed Fay enough to get the woman’s hands from around her throat. She coughed, dragged in a breath and then charged, launching them both through the shoji screen. They landed in a tangled heap of legs and wood and thin paper. The lock in her pocket dug into her hip and Kizzie grunted.
Fay stumbled to her feet, knocking over a dresser and the contents on it. She searched for the knife she’d lost in flight, and then grabbed for a cane in the corner.
Kizzie pushed past the pain, crawled free of the rubble and grabbed the closest item she could find to defend herself—a paddle. Black leather, the inside a blur of red as she brought it up.
Fay grinned, extending the length of knotted bamboo toward Kizzie, like a woman poking a bear with a stick. Fay had the better reach; Kizzie would have to be close to strike her.
Fay jumped forward, feinting with the whangee cane. Kizzie held back, paddle in hand. Sumi was unaccounted for, yet another threat, but better not to stack her troubles too high. She focused on Fay, dancing like a sprite, wiggling the cane.
It whistled through the air, coming straight at her. Kizzie ducked, but as she stood Fay flipped her wrist and caught her across the face, the hard knots digging into her skin.
It stung like a big bitch. But Kizzie recognized her distance, reared back and smacked Fay across her grinning face with the paddle.
Fay paused, clearly stunned. Brought a hand to her leaking mouth.
Ouch bloomed red on Fay’s pale cheek, and Kizzie looked down a the red cutouts of the impression paddle. She snorted.
Screaming, Fay came at her harder, faster, moving like a blur. Kizzie caught a punch in the shoulder, blocked a punch coming for her throat and delivered a knee to Fay’s inner thigh. Fay crumbled, but when she stood, the balisong was in her grip.
Blue hair stood out like she’d been electrocuted. Her eyes flashed with unadulterated hate and she smiled a broad, bloodied smile.
A bark sounded, perking Kizzie’s ears.
A dog.
How big?
How close?
Fay launched another attack, this one led by the knife, slashing and swiping. She lunged, Kizzie spun and got behind her, hooked her arm around Fay’s slender throat and squeezed.
The knife kept swiping, blindly. Fay snagged a foot around Kizzie’s leg and lifted, taking her base out from under her. They fell as a unit, and Kizzie’s back slammed the ground, forcing the air from her lungs, but her arm was locked and tightening. She wrenched up higher, Fay’s arm flapped like a fish, trying to stab the knife into Kizzie’s face.
She wouldn’t stop. Kizzie knew it and increased the pressure.
Fay’s breathing came out harsher and harder every cycle. She forced a slow breath in, feet scrabbling on the floor and then, all too quickly, stopped.
She went limp in Kizzie’s arms.
She didn’t release the knife.
The dog barked again.
Kizzie pulled up another fraction of an inch and twisted, holding the position until Fay flapped again.
The knife fell to the floor.
Another clipped bark sounded, followed by a tiny giggle. Both were hard to make out over the pounding in Kizzie’s ears. Arms still locked around the neck of the woman on her chest, Kizzie angled her head to where Sumi entered. She held a black and white ball of fur, the owner of the barking, the dog’s little tail wagging as it licked Sumi’s face.
“I think Baya likes me,” she said. “Think Master will let us keep her?”
Two bricks shy of a shithouse.
As though realizing Fay lay dead, Sumi tipped her head to one side, revealing a crimson dog collar digging into her neck.
Her voice went rough and she said to Fay, “You have to choke a fire.” Setting the dog down, she unfastened the leash dangling from the collar around her own throat, and announced “What is the meaning of rope, pet?” with a humorous hint of victory in her tone.
Sumi came forward with the leash, as though meaning to tie it around Fay’s neck. She frowned. “She doesn’t deserve to be made sacred, does she?”
The door rattled, and Kizzie scrambled to get out from beneath Fay.
Too late.
It swung open.
Xander filled the frame, eyes scanning the wreckage and then settling on her. A combination of fury, distress, and relief settled in the dark depths.
“Master!” Sumi enthused. “Look what I made Gigi do.” She rushed over, skidded to a stop before him and dropped
to her knees. “Will you hit me now?”
Kizzie cracked her sore knuckles, wiggled her fingers. Pushed from the bed and slipped off her jacket, tossed it aside. Her face hurt. Blood freckled her tank. She should change, but if she showered, she might miss something. They’d been back roughly an hour, and she’d been holed up in the room with Phil, impatiently waiting for Fay’s phone to crack. Eager to know what was happening in the other room.
Three platters of food were cooling on the table. A fourth was empty. No doubt Xander’s steak needed to be warmed and the thought of eating her burger turned her stomach. She glanced at the phone, willing it to hurry up. Her foot bounced on the floor, and she thumbed over each knuckle of her hand again as the door to the room opened.
“She talking?” Kizzie asked, in Xander’s face before he was fully inside. He glanced at her, then his gaze went over her shoulder. Kizzie spun to where Phil lounged on the bed in a t-shirt and jeans, bare feet crossed at the ankles, back against the headboard. Eyes on Xander, he absently flipped through the channels with the remote.
“What happened?” Kizzie asked.
No response.
Another glance at Phil. Something passed between the two men, unspoken but tangible. Cold and even.
She turned again, meeting Xander’s frosty glare. He brushed past her, headed for the bathroom and lifting the bottom of his sweater as he went. The door slammed.
Heat speared through Kizzie’s veins, suffusing her face. Did he really think he could leave her out of the loop for days and then march in here and shut her out after what she’d just done? If it wasn’t for her, they wouldn’t have Fay’s phone. And where the hell was Sumi?
Water started in the shower.
Her feet were already moving, propelled by the rage quaking in her belly. She stopped at the bathroom door, spun on her heel and paced back, hands clenched into fists. Soon as he came out he would catch an earful
She made the circuit again. Repeated it. Her eyes narrowed.
Like hell she’d wait.
“Leave it,” Phil called out.
But Kizzie pushed the door open, stepping into a torrential downpour in surround sound. Jeans, sweater and shoes littered the floor, which wasn’t normal for Xander based on what she’d seen while playing roomies. She kicked the base of the door with her foot and it slammed shut again.
“What the hell happened in there, Duquesne?” Kizzie demanded. More silence met her. Xander’s back was to her, solid form discernible through the glass, unmoving. The room was cold, and there wasn’t any steam.
“I know you heard me,” she said, trying to keep her voice from rising. Screaming wasn’t her bag, not when there were better ways to get your point across—knifepoint…gunpoint… hollow point. Screaming was irrational, emotional, and in her business she had to keep a cool head.
“Xander!”
He didn’t shift.
Fed up with his newly acquired monastic silence, Kizzie yanked the shower door open and stepped inside—hand-stitched Italian boots and all. The glass swung to its max and then came back with a reverberating bang. She seethed behind him, his broad shoulders deflecting the cold spray and shooting a bevy of stinging droplets into her face. It did little to douse the flame.
At full boil, nostrils flared like a raging bull, Kizzie stared at the expanse of his back. Her mind went everywhere all at once, and her argument followed.
“Stop being so stubborn! Jesus, Duquesne, we’re sorta in a bit of a time crunch here, what with a nuke— Goddammit, say something already! What happened with Sumi? What did she say?”
The urge to hit him until he spoke had her digging her nails into her palms. Two quick jabs to the kidneys ought to do it.
But Xander didn’t move. Arms outstretched, hands pressed to the wall in front of him, he let the cold water flood over his bowed head and sluice down his body.
Kizzie wiped errant water from her face, chest heaving. Yelling hadn’t gotten her anywhere, and that’s why she usually dispensed with the chitchat and skipped straight to the all-too-effective ass kicking.
Xander’s back expanded and contracted with every slow breath, taut muscles shifting beneath his skin. Between his spine and left shoulder blade was an entry wound, about the size of a dime, angled upward. She didn’t remember an exit on his chest. Either the bullet was still in him, or the way in was the same way it had been dug out. Further down on the right side was a 6-inch scar over the vertical muscles closest to his spine. He’d literally been stabbed in the back. A bevy of other scars and marks crossed the skin, faded with time and practically invisible unless at this close range. Who’d put them there?
Her hand moved without her brain’s consent. Kizzie lightly stroked her fingers over the depressed circular scar. A little more pressure, and then her palm was flush with his freezing skin.
And what she felt beneath the play of taut muscles confused her.
Xander was trembling, his entire body shivering from a source deeper than the water. His heart thudded faster than his measured breaths should have allowed, and now Kizzie wondered what was going on.
Unclenching her jaw, she snaked a hand around him and twisted the knob toward hot. He still didn’t move, and the overwhelming urge to comfort him slammed into her chest. Something was bothering him, she didn’t know what and he clearly wasn’t in the mood to talk. Still, Kizzie wanted to help however she could. She grabbed a washcloth and soap, worked up a lather and pushed the terry square over his back.
Xander shifted then, his head dipped lower.
Kizzie bathed him in silence, focusing on getting him clean, on letting him know she was there. Thoughts of Harvey fled. Thoughts of everything but Xander fled. Something important was happening that confused the hell out of her but she wasn’t going to question at the moment.
She ducked under his outstretched arm. Trapped between his body and the spray, she stifled a gasp as the hot water shot pins and needles across her fabric-covered flesh. Xander’s gaze was fixed and unblinking, as though he didn’t even see her there. His breathing appeared to have slowed, but there was a troubled frown on his face.
Kizzie kept working, rubbing gentle, soapy circles on his abs, his chest, up his arms. The simple act calmed her, and spread a warmth through her that had nothing to do with the water. She crouched to wash his legs and the strokes became less efficient. Her gaze strayed from her task and locked on his semi-erect cock. Her pulse quickened; she bit her lip before she found her lips busy doing something else. She glanced up. Xander was still staring into the nothingness of the stall’s marbled wall.
The cloth hit the floor with a wet thud. Standing, Kizzie rubbed the soap between her hands and then smoothed them down his abs. She took his length into her grip, slowly stroking, over and over as he stiffened in her hand, gently palmed his balls, all the while staring into his handsome face. The water had stuck his lashes together in thick, dark spikes, and she watched intently as the chocolate orbs they surrounded cleared. He focused on her now, eyes narrowed, breaths coming through his parted lips in sharp expirations.
Kizzie didn’t slow down, circling her thumb over the engorged head of his cock. Her other fingers lightly gripped satiny steel; found a new motion to repeat and locked in on the action. She closed the gap between them, found his mouth with hers. A tentative kiss at first—she really was swimming in unchartered waters here—then more confident.
She wanted to feel good.
More than that, she wanted to make Xander feel good. To wipe away whatever could make her tough Dom shake like a leaf.
Her hands gripped his shoulders, his hands gripped her ass, pulling her against him as his tongue made another maddeningly slow circuit of hers. Kizzie couldn’t breath and didn’t want to. She wanted out of these clothes; to feel his wet skin sliding over hers; to feel him slipping inside her.
He broke the kiss abruptly. “Stop.” Almost a whisper, soft and husky, his erratic breathing running step for step with hers.
Her lids
fluttered open, seeing her own lust reflected in his eyes. Beneath the desire something cold glinted in their depths, small enough for her to ignore it. “I know,” Kizzie pecked his chin, kissed up his jaw. “YesSir, pleaseSir, thankyouSir,” she said quickly. “Now, can we—”
“No.” His hands went back to the wall on either side of her head, caging her in. “Stop.”
That brought her fully out of the haze with a frown.
Xander was angry. Really angry. Brows low and knotted, nostrils flared, mouth compressed into a thin line. Not the controlled Dom kind of angry she’d seen before. He looked close to hitting something, or her, and for half a second confusion gave way to fear. But Xander wouldn’t hurt her. So…
“What’s the problem?”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
Plenty. Did they really need to go into that right now, though? “Uh…”
“What the hell were you thinking!” His voice went way past normal, and Kizzie’s spine stiffened, her wall of indifference shot back up.
She took a deep breath, searched his face. “Why are you angry?”
“Angry?” A short, sarcastic chuckle. “You think I’m just angry? Have you seen your face?”
“Way to make a girl feel special, X,” she joked. His eyes went murderous. Her shoulders slumped. “It’s just a scratch or two.”
“A scra—? Jesus, Kizzie, I could shake you right now.”
“I’m all for you spanking me.”
“What kind of stupid ass move was that!” He groaned. “You just couldn’t wait, huh? Couldn’t trust I might know what I’m doing?”
“I wasn’t—”
“Thinking! Yes, I’ve established that. Pay attention. You should have told me what you were planning.”
“Told you?” Kizzie fired back. “Told you when, exactly? In the past couple days you weren’t speaking to me?”
“So instead of apologizing for assuming I’d ever take what you didn’t want to give, you ran head first into an ambush? That makes a shit ton of sense.”