Live Wire

by Bijou Hunter

  He returns with two beers dangling from one hand. His free hand takes mine, and we walk outside to the warm and still dark morning. Brad sits in a patio chair and hands me a beer. I don't drink it or sit down.

  Watching him, I wish I could make the tears stop. Brad takes my beer and sets it on the patio table before cupping my face.

  "You look so tired."

  "I am," I whisper.

  Brad leans down to kiss my forehead. His touch both soothes and stings. I don't know where I lost my way, but I can't seem to exist without his approval.

  "This isn't me," I say.

  "Maybe you've just never had a chance to let this Saskia out."

  Wiping my cheeks, I exhale a shaky breath. "How do I make this stop?"

  "I don't know," he says, taking my hand and guiding me to the chair. Once I sit, he pulls his chair closer and joins me. "Maybe if you stop trying to stop, the tears will stop on their own. If your tears are as stubborn as you, fighting them is likely a lost cause."

  I smile faintly at his words, but the crying scares me. "If I can't stop, I won't be able to do my job."

  "Then have Minka take over while you go on vacation here at the house."

  "How long could that last?"

  "Do you mean the Minka thing or us?"

  I only watch him, too tired to say the words. Brad takes a swig of beer and stares at where the dogs run around in the dark.

  "I'm planning to keep you, Saskia. I don't know how you feel about that, but I suspect you want to stay. If you're not ready to stay yet, I'm sure I can convince you."

  "I don't know what to say to that."

  Brad holds my gaze, daring me to deny him. "Say you want to stay."

  "I do."

  "Say what you feel isn't lust. Say it's more so we won't pretend otherwise."

  "It's not lust," I say in a shaky voice. "I don't know if I'm capable of love though."

  "Why wouldn't you be?"

  "I don't think I've ever loved anyone before."

  "What about Sela?"

  My mind barely remembers Sela's face, but my heart refuses to forget. "She could never love me."

  "I'm sure you're wrong. She raised you."

  "You can't understand because you grew up in a warm house. Everything in my life was cold. Sela's heart was too. She lost her family, and it killed her inside."

  "Maybe you're right," he says, taking my hand. "Or maybe you want to believe she didn't love you because losing her was less painful with the lies."

  "Sela was the closest thing I had to a mother. She might have loved me, but she never said the words."

  "Some people can't, but why wouldn't she love you if she raised you?"

  "My mother killed her family," I say after downing half of my beer. "Sela couldn't prove it, but she always suspected. This suspicion kept her from truly loving me. I was the reason her husband and children died."

  Still crying, I hate feeling so helpless. Vulnerability leads to misery, my mother often said.

  "Sela had two boys and a baby girl," I nearly whisper. "Her husband worked odd jobs, and they were very poor. Before Sela, Elena went through many wet nurses. My mother was always harsh with women. She said they were inherently weak and disposable. Not her, of course, but all other women."

  Focusing on Brad, I struggle to find the strength to force out the words. "When the time came for Elena to travel with me, she wanted Sela to come with us. Of course, she couldn't because she had small children. I don't know what Elena offered her, but Sela said no. Years later, Elena still remarked on how stubborn Sela could be. I often wondered if she only wanted Sela to work for her because she dared tell her no."

  Looking at my hands, I notice that my fingers are long and thin like my mother's. I see too much of her in me. Most days, I write off those similarities as simple genetics. Now they bother me.

  "Sela's family died of carbon monoxide poisoning from a faulty heater. Elena's murders weren't normally subtle, but their deaths felt like her anyway. Even when I was a child and heard how they died, I always suspected. My mother told me the secret to success was a willingness to do anything necessary. Elena wanted Sela to work for us, and her family conveniently died during one of her overnight stays at our house."

  I don't dare look at Brad, as if he might hate me for Elena's sins. "Sela used to cry in her room a lot. For years, I heard her crying, and I told myself how love made her weak. I didn't want to feel such pain, so I wouldn't love anyone. Not even her. When she died, I realized maybe I'd loved her anyway."

  "How did she die?"

  "Elena killed her as a way to hurt me. She was jealous of me. I was young, and people spoke of me as the new Maven. Elena wanted me to take a nothing assignment, and I refused. We argued, and she said, 'disagreeing with me never leads to happy results. Just ask Sela.' Then she stabbed Sela and killed a woman she'd known for nearly two decades. I held Sela while she took her last breath. Watching her die, I didn't say anything, and she didn't say anything either. Even to the end, our relationship remained undefined."

  Hugging my body, I feel cold even in the warm Texas morning. "Elena told me to clean up Sela's body and get ready for the job she wanted me to do. If she didn't underestimate women, I think she might have worried about turning her back on me."

  I remember how my mother didn't die quickly. I shot her in the stomach and let her bleed out while I watched. She called me every nasty name in the book, but none of them changed her fate. The one thing she said that I remember most was, "I always knew it would end this way." A part of me had always known too.

  "Even after Sela died and I killed Elena, I never thought to leave that life," I say, wiping tears from my cheek. "I didn't know what else there was for me to do. That's all I knew how to be."

  Brad stands and walks to where I weep for all of the lost opportunities I passed up over the years. Decades of bottled up emotion overwhelms me.

  I wish I'd told Sela what she meant to me. If I could return to the moment when Elena died and I was free, I might do so much differently. Why hadn't I considered walking away from being Little Maven?

  Brad lifts me into his arms as effortlessly as if I'm a rag doll. I rest my cheek against his shoulder and let him be in charge. The world makes more sense when Brad holds me. With him, I'm grounded in a world full of possibilities rather than regrets.

  "I love you," he says. "All of you, even the parts that scare me."

  His words break me open, and I weep against his chest. I've never felt so alone even in the arms of the only person who truly accepts me. I want to be worthy of his love and trust. I need to become more, but I don't know how. All my life, I've been an extension of my mother. Even retired from that life, I'm not sure I can ever truly break free.

  For Brad, I'll try to find my way though. For Brad, I'll do anything.

  27

  ~ Saskia ~

  Breaking Wide Open

  Brad sleeps sprawled on his stomach, taking up most of the bed. I watch him for nearly an hour. Our size difference seems wrong most times, but I'm perfectly petite when sharing a bed with such a large bed-hog. Curled up next to him, I wonder if I can really keep this man and the sense of belonging he provides.

  My fingers gently trace one of his scars. The skin long ago healed and hardened into thick white lines. I think of Dennis carving these bizarre markings into Brad's flesh. The world is ugly, and I've seen more than my share of horrors. In reality, I've done more twisted things than what Dennis did to Brad. Yet I wish to wipe away these scars and leave him as flawless as when he was born.

  In this house with this man, I've become sentimental. Idealistic even. I crave soft and safe. How can I hold a gun on someone and pull the trigger now? My stomach hurts when I think of hunting down people and forcing them to talk. I'd rather remain here with Brad, watching silly horror shows and learning how to cook. My dreams are small yet feel impossible.

  I'm a killer. I take lives. It's all I am and do. Brad makes me hope for more though.
>
  "Hey," he mumbles, rolling over in bed.

  Without knowing how long I've watched him sleep, I only smile. He rubs his eyes, looking like a very large, sexy, tired baby.

  "You've been awake for a while," he says, pulling me against him until I'm wrapped into his arms. "Couldn't sleep?"

  "I like how quiet early morning is."

  Brad studies me for a long time. His blue-eyed gaze searches my face for the real answer to his question. He finally sighs and kisses my forehead.

  "I'll be right back," he says, rolling out of bed.

  I watch him stalk away and admire all his muscles flexing as he stretches on his way to the bathroom. Sitting up in bed, I glance around the room and imagine living here with him. Was my dream even possible? Can Saskia Koval be domesticated?

  Brad struts back to bed, wearing a big smile. "Brushed away my morning breath."

  Before I can speak, he slides into bed and kisses away my worries. Once, twice, and then a third time, he pulls away his lips, only to have them return to mine. Finally, he relents and rests his head on the pillow next to where I sit.

  His gaze finds the purple and blue bruises on my inner thighs. When he looks at me, I smile.

  "With our size difference, I'm fortunate not to end up impaled like the poor woman in Cannibal Holocaust."

  Brad's gaze softens, and a smile warms his face. "Did you research horror movies for me?"

  Nodding, I giggle like a stupid schoolgirl under his gaze. "I want to enjoy what you enjoy."

  Caressing the bruised skin, Brad looks genuinely touched by my effort. I think to remind him about the ease of researching with Google, but I decide to enjoy his approval instead.

  "I'll be more careful," he murmurs, leaning over to kiss my stomach.

  "No, don't change a winning technique."

  Brad gives me an uncertain look that I choose to ignore.

  "Ruth is warming up to me," I say, approaching a subject bound to cause issues. "She even hinted about grandkids."

  Brad doesn't hesitate before replying, "I think she wants a granddaughter to dress up."

  "Do you want kids?" I ask, pushing him to really consider what a future with me might look like.

  "Of course. Little redheaded babies. Well maybe not so little. I was a big baby. Eleven pounds, I think."

  I look at my hands and try to imagine holding a child. "I don't know that I'd be a good mother. I've never even held a baby before."

  "I have, and the little guy cried like I was the devil. The mom wouldn't take him back either," Brad says, looking horrified by the memory. "She kept saying I needed to soothe her baby. I tried bouncing, humming, and even patting the kid on the back to make him burp, but nothing worked. He was miserable but stopped crying the minute Nell took him."

  Brad pushes out his lower lip as if pouting. "Kids don't like me. One even kicked me in the leg once."

  "Maybe we shouldn't have kids then."

  Frowning, Brad takes my hand. "Our kids will be ours. Apparently, parents understand their kids babbling and think they're cute even when they cry. I think the parent-child connection makes it work. I know Nell thinks I'm considerably less adorable than Mom does."

  Even grinning, I ask the important question. "Do you really want a killer as the mother of your children?"

  "No. I want you to be the mother of my children."

  "Love doesn't wash away the past."

  "Really?" he mutters.

  I share his frown. "You have a good life here."

  "I have a cult of freaks trying to kill me."

  "They'll be dealt with, and you'll be free to live your life quietly the way you want."

  "And you'll be free to live your life quietly with me. You're not Little Maven anymore."

  Caressing his face, I say, "These hands have committed violence you can't imagine. Yet you want them holding your children."

  "Our children," he insists.

  "What if I become my mother?"

  "That'll never happen. You're a smart and capable woman who took over your mother's business when you were seventeen. You handled that all alone, but you won't be alone when we have children. You'll have me fumbling around to help you. Oh, and Mom and Nell."

  "Would we live here?" I ask, brushing hair from his sleepy eyes.

  "That'd be up to you."

  "I like it here. The location feels secure."

  Brad smiles. "Talking like this is nice. I was scared shitless to tell you how I felt, but I don't want to waste time. Not with you."

  "I guess it's premature to talk about kids."

  "Don't backtrack," he says, tugging me down until I'm pinned under him. "We're making babies, woman. Just accept that and allow me to practice my technique."

  I giggle when his teeth nip at my earlobe. "Practice away"

  We roll around in bed as our bodies discover new ways to find pleasure. After he claims to have worn me out, we dress before stumbling into the kitchen for an early lunch. Ruth sees us and only gives a friendly hello. I feel strange, as if I need to apologize to her for keeping Brad busy through breakfast. Is this what happens when someone falls in love? Do they feel too much about everything? After a lifetime of feeling only enough to survive, I'm learning I can no longer hide. My heart is broken wide open, and no pain or pleasure remains off limits.

  28

  ~ Saskia ~

  Selling My Heart for the Man I Love

  The next few days, I remain glued to Brad. We watch his ghost shows and a few paranormal movies. I tend to laugh at the scared reactions of the characters while he really gets spooked by the plots. We eat popcorn a lot once he realizes how much I enjoy it. Brad gets me anything that makes me happy.

  If I like the brisket sandwiches at Firehouse Subs, he buys me one every day. I help him too. Like when we run to the local strip mall to pick up food, I convince him to watch a horror movie in the theater. He worries about crowds while I'm more worried about cult freaks. We both find no one bothers us.

  The stalker's activities around the property stop as soon as we install the cameras. No more drones fly by at night. No one creeps around the property leaving gruesome gifts. I almost wonder if the guy from New York was the last cult member, and the threat is over.

  Despite the feeling of safety, I do everything I can to avoid a girls' night request by Minka. Well everything except saying a flat out "no." As usual, she gets her way, and I grudgingly leave Brad's side.

  We don't go to a bar to drink and scare men. Instead, we visit Rafael's apartment while he stays with Brad. Harlow and Troy's girlfriend Darla join us for booze and Chinese food. We talk about our hair first. Then we try to care about current events. When this conversation goes nowhere, and hints about babies makes everyone uncomfortable, we talk work.

  "I've been thinking of the chicken and the egg question with the cult," Minka mumbles with a lemon slice in her mouth. "What came first? Was there a cult that just happened to worship a demon the show used or did a cult form after they watched the show?"

  "I doubt people are going to form a cult based on a show," Harlow says. "When a show is popular, people obsess over the sexy characters, and the bad boys who might be redeemed. I saw that show a few times, and the demon was barely mentioned in any of those episodes. It was all about Brad's character being conflicted about being part demon and trying to use his powers for good while crazy people tried to kill him and raise his demon father."

  "So the cult came first, and they focused on Brad because of the show," I say, sitting next to Minka who spits out the lemon slice so she can try a lime one.

  Darla wrings her hands while pretending to be comfortable with the talk of cults. "Writers use names of angels and demons that are supposed to be real. So the writers on the show used the name of a demon these weirdoes worshipped."

  "Good, so we figured out that part," Harlow says, standing up and walking out of the room.

  "I can't believe she's ditching us already. That woman just ain't much of a host," Minka s
ays to Darla who smiles.

  A few minutes later, Harlow pushes a rolling dry erase board into the living room. "We can use this to work on the case. Rafael did it on his last one."

  "Look at Nancy Drew over here," Minka says, crawling onto the floor. "Okay, so we know the cult existed before the show. What next?"

  Darla rests a pillow on her lap as if for protection before asking, "How did they grab Brad?"

  "Someone roofied him at a party," Minka says.

  Harlow frowns. "Didn't the cops try to figure out who it was?"

  "Yeah. They thought the chick he went to he party with did it. Don't be jealous, Saskia. She's dead and not even that hot. You know for a blonde bombshell model type."

  We all look at Darla who used to model swimsuits. She lowers her gaze and ignores us.

  Minka spits out the lime slice and looks over the files Rafael left conspicuously nearby before leaving.

  "They had security video from the party. The SUV the cops found when Brad escaped was at the party too. The camera caught a hooded figure but no face shot. Based on the guy's size, we can assume he was probably Dennis Stein."

  I listen to Harlow and Minka talk and try to imagine the scenario playing out in my head.

  "So the girl drugged him and handed him over to Stein. What happened to her?"

  "Suicide apparently," Minka says.

  "She likely wasn't part of the cult and was only paid to drug him. Once she realized what she did, she killed herself."

  Tapping my beer bottle, I mutter, "Or someone helped. Faking suicide is pretty easy."

  Harlow frowns, but Minka nods at my comment. "Unbelievably easy. My first kill was a fake suicide."

  "Fun job," Darla mutters.

  "Oh, you know it," Minka teases, tossing a lemon slice at Darla.

  I stand up and look at the board where Harlow jots down different names from the files Minka hands her.

  "When Ruth was cooking last night," I mumble, "she mentioned how Brad got the job on Dark Reign. He was modeling and doing local commercials when the show's director found his pictures and contacted his agent."