Sake Bomb (36 page)

S
cenes 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!”

* * * *

K
izzie 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
?”

K
izzie 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.