Sake Bomb (22 page)

Even before her granny’s death Kizzie had
learned to be self-reliant, was a dominating figure in her own
right. Given her past, and her present, she had to be. Depending on
someone, having decisions made for her, taking orders from someone
else just to
please
them…? Ranked up there with String
Theory. She understood the concept but the details didn’t mesh. How
did she reconcile the badass, knee-to-the-balls, guns and knives
Kizzie with the bowing, kneeling, get-punished-for-misbehaving
Princess
? How could two complete opposites even be the same
person?

Suppressing a groan at her newly discovered
disorder, Kizzie carefully slipped from bed. Her silk shorts were
twisted at her waist and her roommate’s tee shirt draped from her
shoulders. It smelled of him, totally masculine. Like drowning in
Xander. She couldn’t see the shore and wasn’t entirely convinced
death by Xander was such a horrible fate. She padded over to the
window and quietly paged the curtains. Lights showered the carpet
of dark buildings below their room, newly cut diamonds winking on
black felt.

Married
. Kizzie seemed more concerned
with it than he did. Personal aversion to commitment didn’t mean
she lacked respect for the sanctity of a union. Yet, the knowledge
he was off limits, even
more
off limits, wasn’t enough to
quiet the shockingly large part of her that wanted him. Her blood
heated at every touch, casual or intentional, and errant thoughts
of all the things she wanted him to do to her owned most of the
acreage in her mind. Was that why? Good girl—okay,
semi
-good
girl—bad boy, and the temptation of forbidden fruit?

With a touch of her forehead to the cold
window, the Intel they’d gathered diverted her thoughts and she
choked back a laugh. Xander was right, too. When life got
confusing, and she never let it get
this
confusing, she had
the safety of her job to fall back on. There was always a mission
to plan, something to keep her moving. But if doing safe kept her
from doing Xander, safe got her vote, though the chad was
hanging.

Two dead bodies put the situation firmly in
the pattern category. No coincidence two women, with nearly
identical tattoos in the same location on their bodies as Sumi’s,
just so happened to wander into the afterlife only days apart from
each other. Someone murdered them. Why?

And the red string.
“Sacred,”
Xander
had said. Sacred how?

Searching the Hanabi Inc. website turned up
nothing but Akari’s job title and description. She’d worked for
Avery Hall as a senior logistics manager, ensuring shipments got
from the facility in Japan to destinations around the world. Chiho
Losu was sleeping with Hall. Did Sumi have a Hall connection too?
He’d never married, was somewhat of a playboy even in his later
years, but maybe he had a steady woman in his life. The Mistress?
Did The Mistress even have Harvey? Did the Mistress even
exist
?

It was speculation from the start, bits of
madness Kizzie had strung together from a raving Sacha hell-bent on
peeling her skin from her flesh. So maybe Kizzie was wrong, and
maybe there
was
no Mistress, and…. and…

And
why
the hell did Xander have to
be married?

Did they go traditional, with the church and
white gown and hideous bridesmaids’ dresses? Or did he marry her in
secret, running off and eloping in a manner befitting two people
cheesy enough to pull of the Parisian postcard?

A strangled grunt escaped her throat, soft
breath fogging the glass. Kizzie fisted her fingers in her loose
hair. First Xander messed with night and now he’d messed with safe.
And hamburgers. Thoroughly ruined the concept of a shaped meat
patty on a sesame seed bun. If she kept it up, there’d soon be very
little Xander didn’t permeate.

Get it together.

Kizzie inhaled a deep breath, rolled her
head to crack her neck. She was antsy, anxious. Unaccustomed to
whatever this feeling was, erratic and undefined and fluttery. Like
being drunk and teetering on the edge of vomiting, and as much as
you don’t want to lose it you’re thankful for the release because
once it’s out you’ll feel so much better. Not that she knew what
that felt like. If she imbibed good alcohol it was staying down,
dammit, but the analogy held.

Subtle movement from the bed stirred the
longing low in her belly. She dragged the inside of her cheek
between her teeth and bit down hard.

Clearly she was drunk on something, and
there was only one man who could sober her up quick and fast. One
man who could get these feelings out of her blood.

Fletcher.

Nothing like her favorite tight-ass desk
agent to kill her buzz and bring on the post-binge headache. She’d
send him Akari’s photos and get an update on the kid from the
Galletti op. Kids were the epitome of defenseless. She’d risk her
sanity and go back to Belém to find the boy herself in need be.

Turning to the clock on the nightstand, she
snagged a glimpse at the time half a second before the ambient
glare from outside lit the whites of Xander’s eyes. Her breath
caught, thoughts whirled and— What had she been planning to do?

Xander lay on his side, arm outstretched in
the space she’d abandoned. The blanket covered his lower half,
leaving the broad expanse of his chest exposed. His face mostly
bathed in shadow, she could still make out the sensual, seductive
look. Was
he
over there wondering why the hell he’d gotten
married?

He dragged back the covers on her side, and
moments passed like hours with Kizzie wedged in uncertainty.

Get the phone, send the pictures to
Fletch.

She padded to the bed and grabbed her mobile
from the side table with every intention of going out the door, but
she sank onto the edge of the mattress instead. Her thumb hovered
over the blank screen, and her mind matched it. The sequence she
needed to unlock it—the one
she’d
programmed and repeated
multiple times a day without so much as a thought—escaped her now.
Xander’s chest brushed her back; his warmth, his scent, all of him
invading her space in an instant. Her eyes closed at the sensation.
She shouldn’t feel like this; shouldn’t feel anything.

Xander eased the phone from her grip. He
angled away, a dull thump sounded somewhere on his side of the
room. Then he was behind her again, a strong arm wrapped around her
middle and sweeping her along as he moved toward the center of the
bed. Kizzie settled on her side, little spoon to his big, hearts
chatting in fluent staccato beats. His arm rested beneath hers, big
hand molded to her belly. Heat enveloped her, seeping through the
shirt and into her skin, through muscle and blood and bone and
marrow.

She shivered, inhaled a breath—
What are
you doing?

Let it out slowly—
Don’t do this.

Another breath in—
The sub has the
control, right?

And out—
You’ll never be…his
…

She shifted her hips to get comfortable and
his cock jerked against her ass.

Yep, this was going to happen.

Just as she made to face him, Xander
tightened his grip. “Just this, Princess,” he rasped.

Sweetest three words in the English
language. Something in the middle of Kizzie’s chest melted and she
smiled.

Her palm grazed down the back of his hand;
fingers filled the spaces between his. Xander squeezed his digits
closed, locking their hands together; tugged her closer still,
their bodies connected soundly from torso to hip to leg. It felt
good to be held by him; to not have to be a good agent; to forget
about bombs and nefarious plots and the fate of the world for a
night.

Cocooned in Xander’s arms, Kizzie had one
more secret for the darkness to keep. She said she’d go, but if
this was a glimpse of what she’d leave behind, well… she kind of
wanted to stay.

August 1
^st

Tokyo, Japan

T
he rush of the
train station behind her, Fay cut through the lush gardens of
Shinjuku Gyoen on her way to the mile-high glass skyscraper she
called home. This wasn’t her usual route, opting instead to go
door-to-door via private car service than to take the train. But
that cost money, money Fay had but
she
didn’t, and then the
game would come to a swift end before Fay was ready.

She hadn’t done this since she was a kid,
and at the time there wasn’t anything fun about a little girl in
the streets of Moscow playing frightened mouse to her father’s
angry cat. Vodka and gambling were a terrible combination made
worse by excess, and her father was only good at the last. So Fay
had no choice but to get good at the game. To know when she was
being followed, to trust the tingling dread in her belly, the
prickled hair on her nape really meant his eyes were on her,
watching, waiting.

Fay paused to light a cigarette, head dipped
and hand cupped as she brought the lighter up.

A soft scuff sounded behind her, barely
audible. The end of the rolled tobacco glowed red as she took a
long drag. Head tipped back, she puckered her lips and blew the
smoke out in small, perfectly formed rings.

“Aren’t you
tired
of this?” Fay asked
the silence once the last plume had cleared her mouth. “All this
skulking about…months on end…”

The path wasn’t part of the original design,
an unpaved trail carved out by years of impatience. It wended
through trees and shrubbery, completely hidden from view in most
places, like here, where she stood. The air was thick with a moist,
loamy scent, dark and rich and green, acting as another shroud.

Taking the shopping bag from the ground, she
adjusted her purse on her shoulder and spun around quickly, yanking
the leash so Baya would come from whatever dank corner she had her
nose in.

The trail was empty, darkened by long
shadows cast by the setting sun. She took another puff of her
cigarette, moving deliberately, seductively as she retraced her
steps.

“It’s an odd addiction, isn’t it? The pull,
the
need
? Nothing like these babies,” she said of her
smokes. “Can’t just buy a pack of what you’re craving.”

Baya overtook her, ambling along, studying
every bush and patch of grass. Fay crept behind her, giving her
just enough leash to walk but not enough to go too far.

“Did you see the old woman on the train?”
She snorted, sweeping her gaze from one side of the trail to the
other, scanning the dark crevice between a pair of maples. “Of
course you did. Those knobby fingers curled over the handle. Metal,
wasn’t it? Her walking stick? Did you wonder if she could lift it
high enough…deliver a good, solid strike that would rip into your
skin?”

Baya yipped, tail wagging as she dove into
the thick underbrush. A muffled gasp; the crunch of leaves
underfoot. Fay tugged the dog back, grinning at the silhouette
tucked behind the peeling bark of a plane tree.

The shopping bag went on the ground, her
purse atop it. She stepped through fallen leaves, over roots and
damp soil, closing the gap until she stood a hairsbreadth away.
Another deep pull of her cigarette, she blew out the stream in a
long gray line, directly into her would-be stalker’s face.

The woman grimaced, twisting away from the
smoke.

“I’m flattered.” Fay reached out to touch
her hair, let the tresses slide through her fingers. “You nearly
matched the color, but not quite. Maybe not so much the clothes,
but the hair was a good try… Though, I think she’s the one you
really envy.”

The shadow’s eyes lowered to the black and
white dog sitting at Fay’s feet.

“The pretty scarlet leash. The collar… Might
be big enough to fit your slender neck… Wish someone would pat your
head for being such a good girl, or,” a hard tug and Baya yelped,
“yank you back into place when you misbehave?”

She fell silent, the soft rustle of wind in
the trees and a low, keening whimper the only sounds. Closing the
space between them she placed a soft kiss to the woman’s mouth.

“I know the feeling; will know it the rest
of my life,” she whispered, then traced her tongue over the woman’s
parted lips. “Just as I know there’s a second pull, maybe greater
than the first. Eating away at you. Here you stand, an inch away
from exacting your revenge…”

Fay backed away to take another draw of
nicotine, assessing the look on the woman’s face. Her features were
soft in the waning light, gaze somewhere between catatonic and
euphoric, tiny mouth glistening with Fay’s spit.

“Do you remember the training? How many
times did I best you? How many times did I leave you bruised and
bloodied, seething…? How many times did you wish to return the
favor?

“Pain…or revenge?” Fay cocked a brow, took a
puff. “Which hunger do you feed?”

A glance back over her shoulder at the pink
shopping bag. “Bought a present for you. Wear it tonight to the
party—a ticket’s inside. And when you’re ready, come back to where
this all began. I’ll bind you, give you the pain you so desperately
need, and then give you the chance you’ve been waiting for. Either
you’ll center my knot…or I’ll center yours.” Fay grinned brazenly.
“Now, close your eyes and open your mouth. Thank me properly.”

The woman blinked rapidly before her eyes
fluttered closed, mouth opened just a bit wider. With the last pull
of her cigarette deep in her lungs, Fay sealed their mouths once
more. Then she exhaled the smoke in a slow huff, holding the woman
tight when she struggled to back away for air. Lungs emptied, Fay
released her.

The woman lurched forward, coughing and
sputtering. Her face was red, eyes welling with tears. She pressed
a hand to her chest and sank to one knee, gasping.