Xenofreak Nation (19 page)

“No, but-”

He rolled off the bed and pulled the covers aside, saying, “Would a cop do this?” He slid in next to her, very close.

“Um, I don’t know. Maybe-”

He kissed her, ignoring the quills that poked his forehead. Her mouth opened in surprise under his, lips soft and pliable. He reached for her, finding that the sweater had worked its way up, giving him easy access to snake a hand under it. Her waist was firm and narrow, the skin silky even against his touch-dulled finger-pads. Her bra was lying on the bathroom floor with the other dirty clothes. The urge to touch her breast almost overwhelmed him. He barely managed to stop and rest his hand against her ribcage, which expanded against his fingers with her sharply indrawn breath.

He knew she liked him, knew he was taking advantage, but couldn’t help himself. If she told him to stop, he would kill himself doing so, but she didn’t. Instead, she pulled away briefly to take another quick, gasping breath and then found his mouth again, deepening the kiss. Her leg lifted, giving him ample opportunity to pull her closer and slip his knee between her thighs. She moaned in her throat and her hand found its way under his shirt. That moan, combined with the warm touch of her fingers, sparked a surge of intense pleasure; if this kept up, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

There were innumerable reasons not to allow this to go any further, not the least of which was: no condom. He broke away from her mouth but almost gave in again at her little mew of protest.

With a monumental effort, he said, “We can’t.”

She rolled partially away, chest rising and falling. “I know.”

“I want to…but…”

Her glistening green eyes looked huge, like the innocent anime characters his sister used to love. It occurred to him that Bryn was probably a virgin, and he was an enormous jerk for almost taking it from her like that. But she said, “We don’t have to. I mean, we can just…”

She trailed off and his imagination vividly filled in the blanks and fired him up all over again. He let out a regretful groan and disentangled himself from her, trying not to linger with his hand on her thigh.

“Now I know you’re a cop,” she said.

She was trying to be funny, which made it that much harder to disabuse her. “Jesus. Stop saying shit like that unless you want to get us both killed, okay?”

“I would never tell.” She sounded crushed, and painfully young.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

She nodded and said softly, “Okay.”

He’d wanted to withdraw from the situation tactfully, but it seemed more prudent to feign an anger he just didn’t feel. He grabbed his pillow and muttered, “I’m sleeping on the couch.”

He felt her eyes follow him out of the room, hating himself for hurting her, but nursing a justification that couldn’t be denied.

Chapter Thirty-five

Bryn had experienced a myriad of new emotions in her life lately; terror, horror, betrayal, despair—now shame added itself to the list. She wondered how many synonyms there were for the word ‘shame.’ She felt them all.

Tears leaked out of her eyes and trickled into her underfur. She didn’t want to remember the last night she’d gone to sleep without crying, because it was the last night of her old life, before she’d been plunged into xenofreak hell. Maybe her dad was right; maybe she was suicidal. At least, after the humiliating scene that just occurred, she thought she understood why someone might resort to it.

She didn’t know why she’d insisted Scott was a cop when it obviously pissed him off. Her observations of his character, his baffling willingness to help her, this convenient house…the solution to the equation was nothing if solving it pushed him away. And she was certain she had solved it. He’d just proved it to her by not taking what she was so eager to give.

Still, she’d never been so embarrassed. Facing him in the morning would be exquisite torture. For a while, she considered sneaking out and running away again, but she’d just be exchanging one uncertain future for another. If Scott was a cop, it meant he was undercover fighting against Fournier and the XBestias. It meant he was one of the good guys, and the thought put torch to the first flare of hope she’d felt in a long time.

Sleep eluded her. She’d never slept next to someone in her whole life, yet the empty spot where he’d lain left her bereft in ways she couldn’t explain. She knew she was placing too much trust in him, but it was more than that. She couldn’t help but compare the clumsy fumblings of her ex-boyfriend Paul with Scott’s assured touch and…ah, his kiss. Every time her thoughts strayed into that territory, her body responded so forcefully she squirmed with the frustration of it. Her quills would tighten, a sensation she was quickly beginning to equate with lust, and when they finally relaxed it reminded her of what she was trying not to think of and off they’d go tightening up again.

She did fall asleep eventually. In the morning, she woke to the sound of the toilet flushing. She had a brief fantasy of him coming out of the bathroom, sitting on the side of the bed, kissing her with that scarred mouth of his and saying, “I’m sorry.”

Instead, he flipped the overhead exhaust fan on and said, “Don’t go in there for awhile.”

She tried to go back to sleep, but kept recalling bits from the night before and reliving her mortification. Reluctantly, she dragged herself out of bed. Scott was sitting at the kitchen table, looking at something on his holophone.

“Laundry’s almost done,” he said matter-of-factly. “Where on Trill Street do you need to go?”

“It’s West Trill. Provincial Mutual.”

He typed something. “Yeah, okay, here it is. We’ll have to take…three buses.”

She bit her lip, nibbling at a bit of loose skin, halfway hoping he’d acknowledge the elephant in the room and halfway hoping he wouldn’t.

He didn’t.

The dryer buzzed and he disappeared through a door in the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a basket of clothes.

“Found this in the garage.” He handed her a battered old fishing hat. “Probably won’t get stuck on your quills.”

She was happy to put her own clothes on, but a little disturbed that he’d handled her undergarments in the course of washing them. The elastic in her old panties was stretched out and her bra was dingy and frayed around the edges. There’d been no one at home to ensure she had more than the barest of girly necessities, and since she didn’t have a boyfriend and money was tight, she gave lingerie low priority.

She’d set her boots over the heating vent the night before and draped her jacket nearby so they would dry. The leather on both was stiff and damaged from salt water. Standing in front of the mirror, she put the jacket on, set the faded green fishing hat over her quills and draped the scarf over the top. Crossing the ends under her chin to hang down her back effectively hid the quills poking out of the bottom of the hat, but the end result tromped all over any number of fashion laws.

“You look stupid,” she told her reflection. But it didn’t matter. So what if she looked ready to go ice fishing when the sun was shining outside in what would likely be another warm summer day? If she left her head uncovered, she’d get even more stares than this ridiculous get-up and would certainly be recognized.

She giggled to herself. “Now you’ve got a porcupine and a price on your head.” Predictably, the mirth didn’t last.

Scott had conjured himself a pair of Levi’s that hung from his hips in such a way that she found it hard not to gawk at him in admiration. He also had on a pair of lightweight boots that looked like they fit him better than the last pair. Add to that a grey zip-up hoodie with a white t-shirt and some sunglasses, and he looked too normal to be in her company—when his hands were in his pockets anyway.

He was unusually talkative on the bus, asking probing questions about her father’s motivation for having her mutilated. She didn’t tell him much—talking about it would only depress her further. Scott also showed a sudden interest in Carla and seemed disappointed when Bryn told him, “I hadn’t seen her in years before yesterday. She’s a virtual stranger.”

They picked up fast food for breakfast and ate while walking up West Trill, past a car dealership, a Walmart and a bicycle store. The Prudential Mutual building was a sprawling, one-story brick structure that looked like it had once housed a bank.

Scott leaned against the wall by the front doors and said, “I’ll wait outside.”

The receptionist raised her over-plucked eyebrows at Bryn and asked, “Can I help you?”

Bryn’s heart fluttered, but she tried to appear calm. “M—my mother passed away several years ago. She had a life insurance policy with this company and I was the beneficiary. I just turned eighteen and would like to know how to go about collecting.”

The receptionist’s long red fingernails hovered over her keyboard. “Name?”

Bryn’s nervousness ratcheted up a notch. “Her name was Miranda Vega.”

Tap tap tappity tap. “Her date of birth?”

Bryn told her, and answered several more questions after that. The receptionist remained expressionless throughout. She finally picked up a telephone handset and told Bryn to have a seat in the waiting area. Bryn sat on the edge of one of the chairs, wringing her hands, ready to bolt out the door if she got the slightest hint that she’d been recognized.

After about ten minutes, a man in a rumpled suit appeared from a side door. He had a chubby round face and a pleased smile. “Ms. Vega?” He held out his hand. “Stan Berry.”

Bryn stood, relieved. So far, so good.

Berry’s office was small, neat and smelled like vanilla air-freshener. The blinds were open on a large window spanning the west wall, revealing a patch of landscaping shaded with giant ferns. Beyond that was the parking lot. She saw Scott wandering around, but doubted he could see in; the exterior glass on the building had been coated with a reflective surface.

Berry plunked himself down behind his desk and invited her to sit. She declined, choosing instead to stand behind one of two chrome side chairs, gripping the pleather backrest. His smile really did look pleased, almost smugly so, as if he lived to give out large insurance payments to clients. Bryn shrugged off a niggle of doubt.

“I’m so glad you came to see me,” he said with a little chuckle. “I can really use the ten thousand.”

For a brief, deluded moment, she thought he meant he would get a commission on the payment. Then she remembered the amount of the reward for information leading to her ‘safe’ return.

She swallowed and stiffened her spine. “I’ll pay you twenty thousand once the insurance check clears.”

“Ooo, tempting, but too late. Your father thought you might stop by, so he left his personal holo number with me. He’s already on his way.”

Bryn turned to the door and saw through the side glass that a security guard had come to stand outside it. There was no way to get a message to Scott—she’d have to get herself out of this one.

She unwrapped the scarf and removed the hat, setting it on Berry’s desk. His brows rose as she felt her quills puff up like they had when she’d been in the tunnel of spiders. Perhaps that was a trace of fear she saw in his eyes?

“Ya got me, Stan,” she said. Three steps took her to the door, where she reached out and twisted the lock.

“Uh, you know you just locked yourself in, right?” Something glinted in his hand; it was a thin metal letter opener. He ran the tip nonchalantly under a thumbnail.

“Yep,” she said, moving to stand behind the side chair again. With no warning, and in one fluid movement, she hefted the chair and flung it through the plate glass window. The crash was deafening.

“What the hell are you doing?” Berry yelled. Outside, she saw Scott run in her direction.

Glass shards stuck up from the window frame, preventing her from making an easy exit. And Berry wasn’t about to let his ten thousand dollars escape that easily. He came around the desk brandishing the letter opener. The security guard rattled the door handle. Bryn grabbed the other chair and swung it. Berry ducked, but she used it to knock the remaining glass from the frame before setting it under the window. Scott arrived, reaching in for her as she stepped up on the seat.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Berry said through gritted teeth. He wasn’t smiling now. He attempted to jab her with the letter opener, but it struck her thigh on the thick seam of her jeans and bent under the pressure. Scott grasped one of her arms and Berry clutched at the other. Bryn kicked out, but the chubby insurance man clawed at her leg, hollering, “Get in here, Martinez!”

She heard the sound of more glass shattering and caught a glimpse of a blue-sleeved arm fumbling blindly for the door handle. Scott yanked so hard it felt like her shoulder was about to dislocate, but it dislodged the clinging Berry and pulled her hips onto the sill. She felt a sharp sting in her backside just as Berry got desperate, jumped up on the chair and threw an arm around her neck.

With a shrill scream, he let go and fell back, quills protruding from his face, shoulder and arm.

Chapter Thirty-six

As soon as Bryn’s feet hit the dirt, Scott took her hand and said, “Run!” They tore through the parking lot into the neighboring lot. It was the bicycle shop they’d passed earlier, and Scott had already scoped it out. While he was waiting for Bryn, a man had ridden his bike alongside the shop and dismounted, propping it up against the wall before entering a side door.