Snowburn

by Frost, E J

  She shakes her head. “I’m not suicidal. I could never hope to get close enough to Tyng to kill him.”

  That’s not much of an obstacle. Not with Baby Tyng on side. “You don’t think Chiara would take you home to meet Daddy? I’m bettin’ she could get you close enough.”

  Kez snuffles. “I couldn’t do it. Kill someone like that. I’ve only ever . . . defended myself. I’m not a killer.”

  I am. And she knows it. “Yeah, you’d need someone t’do it for you.”

  She lifts her head from my neck. Her wet, red eyes flick over my face. No dilation now. I can’t tell what she’s thinking. Not at this moment. But there’s no question that she thought of it before. That this is what she’s wanted from me all along.

  “How much d’you think I should charge for that, kitten?” I ask softly.

  “Wait a minute, I would never ask you to—”

  “You don’t need to, do you? All you hadda do was get me to this point, where it’s him or you. You know where I’ll come down.”

  “No.” She squeezes her eyes closed. “No, it’s not like that.”

  “Seems to me it’s all about protectin’ your brother,” I say slowly. “Too bad you had to pay flesh after all—”

  “No.” Her face crumples. “I came to you because I was afraid that this might be my last chance. If Tyng does something to me like what he was threatening to do to Ape . . . if he scars my face . . . I was afraid you wouldn’t want me.” A tear streaks down her pale cheek. Followed by another. “I was afraid . . . I’m so afraid . . .”

  “Kez—”

  All the fear and frustration inside her suddenly hits critical mass. I see it in the way the blood rises to her face, the way tears sheet down her cheeks. I have a moment, the calm before the storm, in which I reach for her, and then she explodes.

  “I never, ever thought of asking you to kill Tyng! How could you think I would do that? I’ve been more honest with you than anyone I’ve ever been with. I’ve told you everything! And you think, what, what do you think? That I’m just using you? That everything has been an act to get you to protect Ape?!”

  Maybe not everything. She wasn’t faking when she came. At least not the second time. I’m still not sure about the time in the alley. “Kez—”

  She pushes away from me and stands, hands clenched at her sides. “You do! You think I let you fuck me just so you’d protect my brother!”

  I know she did. What I’m trying to figure out is how much it bothers me. The cold knot in my gut says quite a lot. But not enough to walk away from her, not when I know what Tyng will do to her.

  She hiccups on her tears. “Do you know – do you know the one thing I’ve been afraid of? More than anything else? Not that Tyng would kill me or ruin my face or whatever, but that he’d find out about you. I was afraid the thing he’d take away from me is you! That’s why I didn’t want you to come with me to get the money from Kincaid! I didn’t want him to get a shot at you. I am such an idiot!”

  She’s winding up, getting increasingly hysterical, until she’s either going to storm out or say something I’ll have trouble forgiving. I harden my expression and point at the spot next to me she’s just vacated. Time to end the emotional maelstrom. Time to lay down the law. She responds best when I give her rules. “Sit down.”

  “Fuck you!”

  “Sit down, Kezra.”

  She wipes her face furiously. Remains standing.

  “Sit down or you’re gonna end up face down on this bed while I tan your ass, and this time you won’t enjoy it.”

  “You fucker,” she hisses. But she sits down on the futon, a careful distance from me.

  “It’s not bedtime yet,” I say slowly, giving her time to cool down and start listening. “But I’m gonna tell you a story.”

  “I don’t want to hear—”

  “Interruptin’ me will get you that ass-whipping,” I warn. “Blow your nose and listen.” I look around for something for her to blow her nose on. Two of the rabbits have cautiously nosed through the membrane and are sitting near the door, watching us. They’d do, but then she’d probably have to wash them. I offer her a corner of the bedcover. She shakes her head, reaches across me into the drawer of her nightstand, and pulls a wipe out of a small container. She rubs her face, then blows her nose, loud and wet. Real snot. Real tears.

  When she looks up at me, more than a little resentment coiling in those big eyes, I begin. “This is the story of a man who’s only ever been good at one thing. He killed his first man at thirteen standard. Killed so many since he’s lost count. Company taught him to be a better killer, praised him for it, paid him for it, and locked him up when he got too good at it. It’s the one thing he knows, and it’s the one thing people value him for.”

  She shakes her head. “No.”

  I raise a finger. “What’d I say?”

  She presses her lips together, snuffles and shuts up.

  “If you saw this killer on the street, he’d look like everyone else. Maybe a little bigger, a little meaner. But inside—” I shrug. “Inside’s a different story. He knows what he is. Women know it, too. They can sense it. And they’re scared of him. Except when the shit hits the fan. Then women come to him. Lookin’ for protection. And they offer him the one thing he can’t get for himself. But they don’t offer it because they want him. They just want him to kill for them.”

  She’s listening now. Her eyes, bloodshot and wet, have dilated.

  “Our killer, he knows why they come. He takes what they offer. Or he pays for it, when he has to. But he knows that they’d rather be somewhere else. With someone else. And when he touches them, he sees them close their eyes. He knows what they’re thinking. It’s not his face they’re seeing behind their eyelids.”

  I reach out and take one of Kez’s dreadlocks. Roll it between my fingers as I remember how she came to me. “Then along comes this girl. She’s beautiful. Smart. Fearless. Everything he admires in a woman. He wants her from the very first moment he sees her. And when he touches her, she doesn’t close her eyes. But it’s all an act. It has to be. ‘Cause what woman could really wanna be with a killer?”

  She shakes her head, but doesn’t interrupt.

  “So when he finds out she does need someone killin’, he finally understands. And he figures she’s just like all the rest. Only she’s a better actor.”

  When I pause, she whispers, “Can I say something?”

  I nod. “Sure, storytime’s over.”

  “What if she’s a lousy actor?” She scoots closer to me on the futon. Puts her palm flat on my chest. “What if she comes to him because she sees something no one has before?”

  She’s missing the point. “People are drawn to the killer, make no mistake. It’s just for the wrong reasons.”

  She bites her lip, then plows on. “Maybe she’s drawn to him for the right reasons. Maybe she thinks he’s beautiful. Maybe . . . she sees how he moves . . . every motion so controlled. She knows that he’d never hurt her, never give her too much of what she needs to feel good. Maybe she dreams about him every night. Maybe she falls asleep whispering her secrets to the pillow and pretending it’s him because she knows he’d never betray her . . .” Her voice catches, breaks. Pain contracts her pupils. “Can’t you see I’m different?”

  She is different. I’m just not sure how different. “Our killer’s seen lots of kinds of different. In the end, they’ve all turned out to be the same.” Even Marin. She didn’t come to me because she wanted me. She just needed me to protect her.

  “Well, I’m not.” Her eyes fill again.

  “Kez—”

  “I’m not!” she flares. Tears slip down her cheeks. “I’m real! I’ve told you everything. No matter how bad it was. I didn’t hold anything back. I just wanted you to be real with me!”

  “This is me bein’ real, Kez.”

  She shakes her head. “This is you hurting me.” She strokes her fingertips down my breastbone. Follows the motion with her ey
es. Her lower lip trembles. “When I was so sure you wouldn’t.”

  I touch her shoulder. “I’m not angry, Kez. I got no problem killin’ him. All you have to do is ask.”

  She pushes against my chest. “I am not asking.”

  I gather her to me. Maybe it wasn’t an act. Maybe I was wrong. Experience is a fine teacher, but maybe the bitch’s lessons don’t apply here. Maybe my one percent is something else. One in a billion. A woman who doesn’t care what I’ve done, or what I can do for her. “What d’you want from me, kitten?”

  “I just want to be with you.” She stops resisting and slowly, slowly, lays her head on my shoulder.

  I hold her in silence while I reflect on this strange, new beauty. The novelty of a woman who doesn’t want anything from me. I was telling her the truth when I said I wasn’t angry. The thought that it was all a set-up just left me . . . cold. Acid-hollowed. I would have been angry once. Maybe if Marin hadn’t died, and Mouse before her, I still would be. Whatever I felt, I still would have killed Tyng for her. And I kill best when I’m cold.

  But I’m not cold anymore. Her tears have filled that empty place. I’m not sure what to think. What to feel. But her reaction leaves me in no doubt. It wasn’t an act. I draw her legs across mine, then pull her completely into my lap. She slides her arms around my neck. I hold her close for a long, quiet time.

  “You told Ape or Chiara any of this?” I ask finally.

  “No.” She wipes her face. Is she still crying? I tip her face up with my finger under her chin. Her eyes are wet and red but her cheeks are dry. She’s got herself under control. “Tyng told me not to. I was afraid . . . Ape doesn’t keep any secrets from Chiara and, well, I don’t know if we can trust her. She’s still in contact with her sisters.”

  “So you were plannin’ on sacrificing yourself without even lettin’ ‘em know? That’s a strange kinda martyrdom, kitten.”

  Her chin crumples. “I don’t know what else to do.”

  I cup the nape of her neck. Give her the gentle kiss the moment calls for. “I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do.”

  She lifts her head and looks at me. Her eyes narrow. “It doesn’t involve killing anyone, does it?”

  “Nope. It involves finishing that rendang before it goes stone cold.”

  Chapter 13

  We finish our food – which has cooled to lukewarm but is still pretty fucking tasty – on the floor of Kez’s bedroom. Kez sits cross-legged while I prop my back against her bed and stretch my legs out across the polished pseudowood floor. I keep the conversation light. No point ruining what’s left of the meal.

  Once we’re eating and the tension begins to dissipate, the two rabbits that have been watching from near the door begin inching towards us. A black and white one, who could be Ronnie, comes in low across the floor, his head down, his back feet splayed behind him, looking like he’s crawling on his tip-toes. I point this out to Kez, who smiles through her curry.

  “They do that when they’re uncertain. C’mere, Ronnie.” She taps her fingers against the floor and the rabbit bounds over to her. It sniffs her fingers and then flops down next to her knee so heavily I feel the vibration through the floor.

  The black one that I evicted from her bed earlier hops past me in a more stately manner, jumps up on the bed, and nudges my shoulder several times.

  “Do not feed him,” Kez warns. “Spicy food gives rabbits diarrhea.”

  That is definitely too messy for me. I keep my food away from King Bunny. He abandons the attempt after a few more head-butts and stretches out across the bed, his long, furry hind paws kicked out to one side. When I tip my chin at the rabbit’s posture, Kez grins.

  “Glamor feet,” she says.

  That gets me chuckling. It fits. Her rabbits are, oddly for prey animals, quite the little divas.

  A third rabbit noses through the door flap, crosses the floor without reservation, and hunkers down near my feet.

  “The third amigo,” Kez says. “Wherever Tigger and Ronnie are, Bunker’s not far behind.”

  Bunker looks a lot like King Bunny, only it’s the tips of his ears, his face and his paws that are black, while the rest of his coat is a deep chocolate brown. His fur is just a little shorter than Alpha Bunny’s and looks very fine and very soft. Without knowing anything about rabbits, I’d say he’s a handsome specimen and I tell Kez so.

  She rolls her eyes. “He’ll want you to admire him now.”

  “You’re telling me he understands what I’m sayin’?”

  “They understand more than you’d give them credit for. They know a lot of words, but they go off tone of voice even more. Did you see his ears prick when you called him handsome? Start admiring him or he’ll think you’re insulting him.”

  I tilt my head and regard the rabbit. “You’d make a fine pair of earmuffs,” I tell him.

  “Hale!” Kez elbows me.

  I chuckle. “You’re a very pretty bunny.”

  “Now you’re insulting his masculinity.” The rabbit’s nose begins wiggling faster as he stares at me. “And you’re staring too hard. You’re challenging his dominance.”

  “Get used to it, Earmuffs,” I tell the rabbit, but I blink a couple of times. Beaten in a staring contest by a giant fuzz ball. Kez is finishing what Marin’s ghost started. “You spend a lot of time with them?” I ask her.

  She nods. “They’re good company.”

  Better than her brother, at any rate. “Funny how it’s just the males who’ve made their way into your bedroom.”

  Kez smiles around a mouthful of vegetables. “You’ll be disappointed to know that all three are neutered.”

  I draw up one knee at the thought. “At least they’re not serious rivals.” Having won the staring contest, the rabbit near my feet gives a satisfied-sounding sigh and flops onto its side in much the same position as Ronnie. Unlike a dog, there are no bits on display. Just furry tummy. “Why d’you neuter them?”

  “We’d be overrun. Helas had twenty kits in one season, when we were still farming them. And the unneutered males mark their territory. With pee.”

  I wrinkle my nose at the bunny at my feet. It wriggles its nose back lazily, evidently satisfied with its dominance. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Kez reaches down and rubs Ronnie’s nose while she finishes her rendang. “They’ll still scent-mark you. But it’s just with their chin-glands. We can’t smell it. Tigger used to pee in my shoes. That got old, fast.”

  I bet. “How many d’you have?”

  “Um, with Chalk’s current litter, eighteen.”

  “Eighteen?” I can’t have seen more than half that. “Where’re the rest?”

  “Chalk and her kits are still in their nest box. Helas doesn’t like it when the other females breed, so I keep them separate.” She gives Ronnie a scratch behind his floppy ear. “The rest are around. Not all of them are as friendly as Ronnie. I’d be surprised if you see Rooster. He’s the shyest. He hides under Gig’s bed a lot.”

  I nudge Earmuffs with my boot. “You’re not shy, are you?”

  The rabbit rolls over, gives me an extremely disgruntled glare, and shuffles around until its back is to me. It hunkers down, furry butt squarely pointed at me.

  Kez laughs. “You’ve done it now. Bunker will only be pacified with offerings of awril.”

  The sweet native fruit would finish off our meals nicely. Whether I’m sharing any with a conceited fuzz ball is another question.

  “Tell me where it is.”

  Kez wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’ll get it. I should check on Nevie anyway. Here.” She holds out her hand and I pass her my empty food tray.

  She rises smoothly, giving me a nice view of her backside. The rabbits watch her, too. Hopefully not for the same reason. As she crosses the floor, the black rabbit bounds off the bed and follows her. As soon as she’s through the door, Ronnie switches his brown gaze to me, and after a moment, tip toes across the short distance to flop down by my thi
gh. He looks up at me with one eye.

  “Lookin’ pathetic so I’ll pet you don’t work on me,” I tell him. But it does, and after a minute of enduring the brown-eyed begging, I give in and begin scratching him around the ears. He responds with that vibrating purr they make, and a squint-eyed expression of bliss.

  “I can see why she likes you,” I tell him. He continues to purr, and squint. I expand the scratch-radius to include his nose and forehead. “She surprised me just then. She do that to you?” His continuing purr and adoring glare say yes, yes, she surprises him all the time. “What d’you make of her?”

  Ronnie tilts his head as if to say she’s a complete mystery to him. I scratch his furry cheek. “I think she needs some groomin’.” The rabbit blinks languidly in agreement. “Make sure she knows she’s still Queen Bunny.”

  Ronnie rolls over suddenly and attacks my hand with his pink tongue. It’s soft and wholesome, not like a cat’s tongue. It’s like being licked by a wet flower petal. “I didn’t mean me,” I tell him. He takes no notice and washes the entire back of my hand before going back into the head down, butt up, pet me position. I scratch him around the ears. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doin’. Ten seconds of lickin’ does not get you five minutes of petting.”

  But it does, evidently, and I’m still petting the rabbit when Kez returns balancing three bowls of green awril slices. She sits cross-legged next to me, hands me one bowl, sets the other between her knees and puts the third on the floor.

  The rabbits hit the third bowl like orclas.

  I watch them eat the green fruit with grunts of delight. The brown and black one keeps grabbing slices with his teeth, shaking his head like he’s tearing the fruit off the vine, then jerking his head back to chomp each piece down. Ronnie and Tigger just bury their heads deeper and deeper into the bowl. “It’s a feeding frenzy,” I remark to Kez.