Agnes and the Hitman (15 page)

“Your wife.” She took a step forward and raised her hand, surprised to find a meat fork in it.

She’d been expecting a knife.

“Agnes.” Taylor tried to move away, but she put the fork on his Adam’s apple and pressed hard and he stepped back against the table, arching his back to get away from her until his shoulders touched the swinging door to the basement.

“Behind you is the door the kid fell through last night,” Agnes said calmly. “He died, so I think you should stay very still right now.”

“Ag—” He tried to turn his head and sidle away, and she pressed harder, breaking the skin.

“Do you know how sharp this fork is? Of course you do. Stand still and talk fast. How long have you been married to Brenda? You are married to Brenda, right? You didn’t bring another woman into this just to mind-fuck me?”

“Agnes, it doesn’t mean—”

She pressed a little harder and the blood began to drip down his neck. “Did I ever tell you about my anger problem, Taylor?”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple sliding along the tine of the fork. “Yes.”

“How long have you been married to Brenda?”

“Not long.”

“You
lie.”
She pressed harder.

Taylor
’s voice came out strangled, probably because he was afraid to swallow. “May second.”

“The day before we signed the house papers.”
He knew all along, he’s known about the swindle from the beginning, he lied and lied and I believed him, he lied—

“Agnes, honey, it was a terrible mistake.” He swallowed again, sweating now. “I knew it right away, but I couldn’t leave her, it was the only way I was sure of keeping the house. For us.
For us.”

Agnes could hear herself breathing hard, just like in the horror films. Almost like watching herself, listening to herself.
He knew all along, he lied to me, he lied.

“I did it for
us,
sugar.”

You son of a bitch.
She clenched her jaw and there was a rushing in her ears as she tried to shove the fork through his goddamn throat, but her hand wouldn’t move. She threw her shoulder into it, and it
still wouldn’t move.

“No,” Shane said from behind her.

“Thank God you’re here,”
Taylor
said, still pinned to the wall.
“She’s nuts. Get her away from me and call the police.”

Shane was holding on to her wrist; that’s why her hand wouldn’t move. That was annoying. “Let go of me,” Agnes said through her teeth.

“No,” Shane said to Taylor, still holding Agnes’s hand. “You will not call the police.”

“The hell I won’t,”
Taylor
said, and then realized belatedly that he was still forked.
“Get her off me.”

“I won’t kill him,” Agnes said to Shane, trying to sound calm and reasonable through the red mist. “You can let go.”

“Don’t do it,”
Taylor
said.
“She almost killed her last fiancé.”

“He’s fine now,” Agnes said. “He has a plate in his head. He can’t walk under magnets, but how often does that happen? You can let go.”

“If the police should ever hear of this,” Shane said to Taylor, “she will be the least of your problems.”

“All right,”
Taylor
said, keeping his eyes on Shane. “Let go of the fork,” Shane said to Agnes. “I want him dead,” she said.

“Eventually, he will be,” Shane said. “Let go of the fork.”

“He
lied to me,”
Agnes said, her breath coming hard. “I want him dead
now.”

“Not your decision. Let go of the fork or I’ll take it.”

She looked into Taylor’s clueless, cheating, lying face, the same dumb, smug, cruel face a million women had probably looked into that day—it
wasn’t me, I didn’t do it, it’s your imagination, I can explain, it’s not what it looks like—
and thought,
If we killed them all when they did it, they’d stop doing it,
and tried to lunge, which was when Shane yanked her hand back and almost broke her arm as he dragged her behind him.

Taylor
grabbed his throat and turned to run, and Shane hauled him back with his free hand as Agnes clutched her arm and tried to get to Taylor again.

Shane lifted Taylor up off his heels, holding Agnes at arm’s length.

“Remember,” he said calmly. “No police. If the police come asking anything at all about tonight, Agnes and her fork will look like a pat on the back compared to what I will do to you.”

“You don’t scare me,” Taylor said, looking terrified.

“Then you’re dumber than I thought,” Shane said, and threw him into the hall.

Taylor
scrambled for the front door, slipping on the black-and-white tile floor and cutting himself on the pieces of broken china there, and Agnes thought,
No!
and started after him, but Shane still held the arm with the fork and yanked her back, dragging her into the housekeeper’s room and slamming that door behind them while she kicked at him, toppling them both onto the bed.

“Knock it off,” he said, pinning her to the mattress while he tried to take the fork from her, but she held on to it with a death grip, so frustrated she wanted to stab it into a wall, and he finally snaked one arm underneath the hand holding the fork and around her neck, applying pressure to get it away from her. He pressed her down on the comforter, her shoulder and neck hurting as he pried at her fingers.
“Let it go,
Agnes,” Shane said, and she tried to writhe free and then she heard Taylor’s car engine start, rev up, and then fade away, and she thought,
Damn it, damn it, DAMN IT,
as Shane yanked the fork away from her, almost breaking her wrist.

“Go to hell!”
she said, snarling with rage and frustration and pain, and he said, “Oh, give it up,” and eased back. She rolled under him and struck out savagely, so damn mad at men that she wanted to pound him, and he dropped the fork and grabbed her wrists and jerked them over her head, slamming her back down on the bed, on top and in control again.

“Will you give up?” he said, as if she were just an annoyance, and she tried to knock him off, jerking under him, breathing hard, and watched his eyes change, grow darker and hot as she moved.

Oh, right,
she thought,
goddamn men,
and then she felt the weight of him on top of her, felt all that rage fuse in her body in a need for hard contact, and all her frustrated fantasies about him hit her, all the lust she’d buried because she’d been
engaged,
damn it, and suddenly she wanted payback, wanted to cheat on Taylor, wanted to pound somebody, wanted
to fuck
somebody, and her anger kicked into something lower and sharper and a lot more focused.

Physical exercise is a good way of defusing anger, Agnes.

Way ahead of you, Dr. Garvin.

Shane let go of her wrists and straightened away from her, and she reached up and grabbed a handful of his T-shirt and yanked him back down, rolling so that he was under her.

He didn’t fight her much.

She straddled him, holding wads of his T-shirt in her fists. “I’m
really mad,”
she said, gritting her teeth, her breath coming hard as she smacked his chest on every word.
“Really, really
FURIOUS.”

“Yeah,” he said cautiously.

She leaned down on her fists, practically growling at him, her teeth clenched. “My court-appointed psychiatrist says I should vent my anger in
nonviolent physical exercise.”
She smacked him in the chest again, and he winced and caught her wrists.

“You know, Agnes, that’s not the hottest thing any woman has ever said to me.”

She yanked her wrists free and pounded her fists into his chest again, then let go of his shirt to strip off her dress and throw it on the floor.

He stopped frowning. “Course, it’s not the worst thing any woman has ever said to me, either.” He ran his hands up her sides to cup her breasts.

“Don’t take this personally,” she spat. “This is rage, not lust.”

“This would be better if you didn’t talk.” Agnes rolled off the bed to shove off her underpants. “Never mind.” Shane sat up to strip off his shirt. “Say anything you want.”

“No, I’ll be quiet,” Agnes said, breathing hard as he stood up to take off his jeans. “I mean,
I’m mad as fucking hell
—” She kicked the bed as she thought of that
incredible dickhead
Taylor getting
engaged
to her to
swindle
her,
lying to her,
the
rat bastard.
“—but I realize you’re doing me a
favor
here. I can be
accommodating.”
She glared at him.
“What do you like?”

“Women.” Shane kicked his jeans away and reached for her. “I can do that.” Agnes shoved him back on the bed. “I was thinking more along the lines of special requests, style,
execution
—” She straddled him again, naked this time, nestling herself against him and watching him shudder at the contact. “—any particular act or
function
you’re partial to—” She ran her fingernails down his torso, trying not to rake too deeply and making him wince anyway. “—anything that especially turns you on or makes your eyes roll back in your head—” Thinking of how he’d feel hard in her, wanting to pound on him, wanting him pounding in her, wanting to just pound the hell out of the goddamn world and smacking her fists into him because of it. “—because, and I know you’ll think less of me for this, especially since you just watched me spit my ex-fiancé on a toasting fork like the limp bagel he is—” His eyes were closed now, maybe because she was rocking, but she really couldn’t help it, he was so damn hard against her. “—but basically all I want is
my brains fucked out.”

“Right,”
Shane said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “If you could just wait a minute.”

“Condom. Not a problem. Hold on.” She leaned over him to reach the bedside table, and he curled up and took her breast in his mouth, and she shuddered at shock of him, feeling the pull in her groin, the suck deep inside her. She gritted her teeth and ran her fingernails through his hair, pressing his head to her harder, rocking harder with the rhythm of his mouth, and his hand shot out and fumbled for the drawer, and she remembered what she’d been doing and let go, yanking the drawer open and finding the condom, while his hand took her other breast. She grabbed onto the headboard and thought,
I
should have gotten mad last night,
and then just went with his rhythm, sliding against him, feeling how broad his body was between her legs, how hot his mouth was on her, using the headboard to pull herself up over him until he flipped her over on her back and took the condom from her.

He began to move down her stomach, licking and kissing, and she grabbed his hair and yanked up.
“Later,”
she said, needing full body contact, none of that passive lying around, getting serviced, “fuck me
now,”
and he said, “Right. Now,” and put the condom on, shaking his head, but the hell with him, she knew what she needed, she needed to pound somebody, somebody was going to
pay,
goddammit. When he reached for her, she moved over him, straddling him again, and he guided himself into her as she sank down, shivering at the shock of penetration, grabbing on to the headboard and jerking against him because he felt so damn good, thinking
damn it damn it damn it damn it damn it,
banging hard into him with each curse, working off all that frustration and rage while he gripped her hips and held on. She ground into him, not even realizing she’d let go of the headboard and was pounding his shoulders with her fists until he grabbed her wrists and rolled her over, pinning her down while she writhed under him. He rocked inside her and the heat built, but it wasn’t enough, she wanted to move, wanted to be the one punishing, and she smacked her head against his shoulder, writhing and biting hard in frustration until he said,
“Damn
it!” and slid out of her.
“No,”
she said, clawing at him, but he flipped her over, and before she could swing on him, he’d pulled her up and slid into her from behind, his hand stroking down her stomach and into her, and she sucked in her breath as he pushed farther up into her, trapping her against him as he rocked.
“Harder,”
she said, pounding on the mattress, and he slammed into her, and she gasped as lust finally wiped out rage, and the full impact of what she was doing with a semi-complete stranger hit her.