Mr. Real (Code of Shadows #1) (18 page)

“Yes, I do,” she’d snapped, heart pounding against her ribs. She was a new person now, a woman who took responsibility for what she did. And the people she brought to life.

She’d been mortified when he burst in. Of all the situations for Paul to come upon, it was beyond her wildest nightmares. She couldn’t even think about it. Anyway, tomorrow he’d see that the magic was real and that she wasn’t crazy. That would be a relief. Even though he’d just laugh some more at the idiotic stuff she’d ordered.

It didn’t matter. Her actions toward Sir Kendall were the important thing.

Anyway, if Paul was good for his word—and she felt confident that he would be—he’d leave tomorrow, as promised.

Good riddance,
she said to herself…feeling entirely depressed.

Paul had cleaned the blood off his face and commandeered the good ice pack for his eye and the nasty gashes on his eyebrow and cheek.

Sir Kendall’s injuries were far worse—his horribly split lip had stopped bleeding, but she was sure it needed stitches. Yet he’d had to settle for ice in a Ziploc bag. And, of course, his nice white shirt was covered in blood. Paul seemed to take perverse enjoyment in Sir Kendall having a ruined lip and a shirt covered with a shocking amount of blood.

He’d fixed the door he’d busted—not perfectly, but it opened and closed and locked at least. And now he sat watching football.

Of course he’d watch football, all sprawled out on the couch with his beer and his popcorn. Correction:
her
beer and
her
popcorn. Lindy perched on the other side of him, and Paul massaged Lindy’s neck in a way that made her doggie face go slack with pleasure. Now and then he ruffled the fur on her head.

He still had Sir Kendall’s gun, and every time he left the room he brought Lindy on her leash with him, like Lindy was his hostage. Right. And Paul acted angry whenever she and Sir Kendall spoke to one another, yet he didn’t separate them. Maybe he felt conflicted about his assholeness. Well, he
should
feel conflicted!

She felt conflicted, too.

Paul
had
rushed in when he thought she was in danger, intending to save her. A standup thing to do, even though he’d misinterpreted things.

Or half misinterpreted.

She’d always wanted to have sex while wearing handcuffs. Hell, that was part of what she’d ordered when she ordered Sir Kendall—the masterful, commandeering super spy. But not the tickling thing. It was okay at first, but it had gone a bit too far. They should’ve established a safe word—that was partly on her. She’d read enough books where people did that beforehand if they were being responsible. Still, Sir Kendall should’ve listened to her. It bothered her that he hadn’t. Should she be worried about it? Or did Sir Kendall feel like it was part of the game they’d agreed to? Or was it a cultural thing? Something normal for his home world? It bugged her that she couldn’t tell.

Anyway, it didn’t call for him getting beaten up.

And it had seemed like Paul had wanted to do more than that. His reactions to Sir Kendall were nothing short of psycho, going from choking him to almost shooting him in the head to practically kissing him.

Alix had noticed that the shape of Paul’s jaw would change a little every time Sir Kendall spoke, as if Paul was gritting his teeth because he couldn’t bear even the sound of the man’s voice. Why was he so reactive to a man he’d played in a few commercials? She wanted to ask him. And how was it that he’d arrived? Had the magic called him?

But she’d made a vow to do right by Sir Kendall. She wasn’t sure what exactly that meant, but she definitely had to get him away from this place.

Ugh! Being responsible was so hard.

Even if Paul didn’t freak out on Sir Kendall again, she couldn’t let Sir Kendall see Paul’s stuff appearing out of thin air. That would lead to questions, and she wasn’t ready to tell him the awful truth about himself: that he was a man created for a TV commercial, a man with an imaginary mission and a big zero for a life.

Inwardly, she shuddered. She didn’t want him to feel
less than
, to be laughed at and disrespected. Crazy Alix the cocktail waitress. Sir Kendall the Denali man.

She’d decided she’d break it to him carefully and help him see that he was more than his origins, that he was a worthwhile person who deserved respect. She’d fight for him the best she could. That included teaching him how to behave in the world. That was her mission in life now.

At halftime, Paul muted the TV. “You guys hungry?”

“Hungry for you to clear out,” Alix said.

Paul grunted. “Not gonna happen.”

Sir Kendall smiled at Paul. God! Could he stop goading Paul? She shoved an elbow into his ribs, and he winced in pain. Oops. Was he more injured than she realized?

“Maybe we could have some burgers,” Paul said to Alix. “You have all the stuff. I saw it in there before.”

“Knock yourself out,” she said.

“Come on,” Paul said. “It’s your kitchen. Your stuff. I know you’re hungry.”

“I’m supposed to make you a meal?”

“I think a little cooperation could go a long way to making the upcoming hours more pleasant.”

Alix smiled sweetly. “Sure, Paul. How much spit do you like in your burger?”

“Fine. Burger for one. Or actually, two. Come on, puppy.” He grabbed Lindy’s leash, and walked backwards out of the room, brandishing the gun. “One move and somebody will be very sorry.”

Alix watched him disappear, then she turned to Sir Kendall. “If I got you a paperclip, could you escape from those handcuffs?”

“Would you want me to?”

“Could you?”

“I’d hardly need a paperclip, my dear. If I had wanted to be free, I would be free now.”

A swell of pride. Her super spy.

“It rather suits me to stay for the moment, though. No better way to study a man than when he thinks he’s in the driver’s seat,” Sir Kendall said. “Or one’s clone, as it were.”

Clone?

Alix fought the urge to snort as she imagined Paul’s reaction to this bit of news. She could just hear him—
He thinks I’m the clone?
Paul had that angry streak, but that sense of humor inside it. Sardonic. Such a guy’s guy.
Me? The fucking clone of HIM?
Really, it would be fun to walk in there and tease him with that tidbit. Probably not so funny if he heard it from Sir Kendall.

A pan banged onto the stove. Cupboards were opened and shut.

She addressed Sir Kendall under her breath. “We have to get out of here. A certain something is going to happen, and it’s best if we’re gone.”

Sir Kendall narrowed his eyes. “How many? When?”

“Hey!” Paul was back with Lindy. “If I catch you whispering again, I’m separating you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She rearranged the bangles on her arm in the order she liked, feeling Paul’s eyes on her, then smiled up at him. “You don’t mind if I keep these on, do you?”

The moment heated. Sizzled. She’d meant only to distract him from the whispering but…god, she liked him.

“Where’s your oregano?” he asked.

“Why do you need oregano?”

“I blend it into the patty.”

“Next to the sink. Upper right.”

He grabbed his beer bottle. With the two fingers, he pointed to his eyes, then at them. “I mean it.”

“Ten-four, Wolfman Puck.”

He smirked and walked off.

She would love to be there when Paul’s stuff appeared. He’d be so shocked. And she’d say something hilarious and just revel in his reaction. What fun it would be!

But she had to put Sir Kendall first now; he was counting on her.

“We have to get out of here,” she said to him. “Where are your car keys?”

“I can handle a group, as long as I have the element of surprise, which I do.”

“Trust me, it won’t matter. You can’t be here.”

“Why?” Sir Kendall watched her face. “Who are they?”

“All I can tell you is that it is in our best interest to get the hell out.”

He peppered her with more questions.

“Look,” she finally said, exasperated. “I cannot tell you more. Are you going to make me sorry I’ve divulged this much?” A spy thing to say. Much to her surprise, he accepted that. As if he expected it.

A few quick movements and his hand was free.

“Oh! Wow. Okay.” A sizzling sound from in the kitchen. Chopping. Alix got up and crept over to the front door, opening it carefully. She grabbed her purse off the foyer table. Sir Kendall rose, brushed off his pants, and simply walked out the door, all man of leisure. She slipped out after him, into the sunshine, and hurried toward the Alfa Romeo.

Sir Kendall sauntered in the other direction, toward Paul’s car. Something flashed in his hand. A blade. He stabbed the tire. Just as quickly, the knife was gone.

A knife. Slashing Paul’s tires. Well, why should it surprise her that Sir Kendall was a bit of a junkyard dog?

And then he strolled back toward her so casually, you’d think he was boarding a yacht.

“Come on, Houdini!” she whispered loudly. “Step it up!”

He squatted next to the driver’s door, reached under the body of the car, and stood back up with a metal box from which he extracted keys and a gun. He strolled around to her side.

“What are you doing? Just get in—”

“My dear,” He unlocked her door and opened it. “I’ll go against my grain and run from a fight at the insistence of a lady with inside information, but don’t expect me to abandon my sense of chivalry.”

“Jesus.” She lowered herself into the very molded bucket seat. He closed the door, got in his side, and gunned the motor, making it sound like an explosion.

Yup. Paul would hear that.

They roared off down the driveway. Sir Kendall took a pair of aviator sunglasses out of a compartment between their seats. The sunglasses were very cool and spy-like.

She sat back and directed him left at the bottom of the driveway. “He’s going to be so pissed you slashed his tires.”

Sir Kendall smiled that mysterious smile of his. “Apoplectic, I’d wager. Seems the art of cloning has a ways to go.”

It was just like him to take meeting his own clone all in stride, like it was just another day at the office. It made him seem a bit…unreal. Insubstantial.

“Well, he needs to be less reactive, that’s for sure,” she said. She thought of Paul’s face when he’d really looked at Sir Kendall for the first time after he’d bounced to his feet during the fight. Horrified. Disbelieving.

Real.

She felt bad for slipping out.

Sir Kendall took a curve fast, working the controls like an Indy 500 driver. He was back in his element, all suave in a fast car with its strange bubbly roar. “Have you ever been in a car chase?”

“Oh yes. Bangkok. The Alps. Moroccan Sahara once, though that ended when my pursuer ran out of gas.”

“Wow,” she said. Surely none of that had really happened, yet here he was driving a car rather expertly. A man who’d only
thought
he’d driven a car wouldn’t be able to handle this strange, complex car with such precision, would he?

He gave her a sly look. “Penny for your thoughts.” Like he’d noted her change in mood.

“My thoughts are that you pretty much left your chivalry behind during our tickling episode. You should’ve stopped when I told you to stop. When I was like,
don’t.
“

“But we were about to have so very much fun. A sense of chivalry has no place in foreplay. I should think you’d agree with me there.”

“Look, I’m just telling you that it’s an obvious, important rule that you need to keep in mind going forward in this place. You always stop what you’re doing when a woman says don’t, or
No
. Even if it’s just tickling.”

He shifted the car into a new gear. Said nothing.

She pointed to the road. “Go east here. We want to pick up I-35 North.” He put on his blinker. “So, did you not get that I was pretty serious about wanting you to stop?”

He smiled merrily.

“I was serious.” She straightened up. “You can’t tickle me like that ever again, got it? And FYI, the
No
thing is just one of those rules. No in all its forms, got it? No means no.”

“Yes, I heard your pathetic and bourgeois little rule the first time.”

“What?”

“Of course one doesn’t want to be a cad, but
please
.” He searched her face, like he was analyzing something about her, then looked back at the road. “
No
belongs to all the people who spend their days like domesticated animals, consuming, procreating, earning a living so that more consumption might occur, but you and I, we’ve signed on for the extremes. We test boundaries. We seek thrills. We shove our hands into the bloody beating heart of horror, we swim in the shimmering waters. The basest of urges, the most secret of plans, those are the things that are ours. If
No
meant
No
, I wouldn’t have unlocked those cuffs. We wouldn’t be racing down this highway, you in that seat, wondering what the devil you’ve gotten yourself into.” The sun bathed his face, making the brown stubble on his cheeks shimmer. “Do you know what sagebrush smells like after you’ve been locked in an airtight railcar for ten days?” he suddenly asked.

She gazed at him, baffled.

“I know exactly what it smells like. What it is to fill your lungs with it. That is
mine
. And I know exactly how electric blue the sky can appear to be, after they take off the blindfold and let you walk away from the wall you were to be shot to death against moments before. That is
mine
.” He turned to her. “I used a dull serrated knife to cut off the thumbs of my worst enemy, did you know that?”

“What?”

“I did. And I fed both thumbs to crows, just outside his prison bars, and made him watch. Do you know what a man’s face looks like as he watches crows fight over his severed thumbs? I do. That is mine. You don’t like the tickling. Well, I recall a pause in our tickling session where you rather ensnared my tongue. You were sucking so hard, I daresay, I may have lost a few taste buds in the exchange. You wanted a man who had just been tickling you to the excruciating limit to fuck you, not because you liked the tickling—you hated it—but because every nerve ending stood taut and alive. You wanted to experience the other end of it. The deep end. Don’t disown it now. We’ve traveled a good way beyond
No
, my dear. And I say, good riddance. Give us
Yes
. Give us what is ours.”