Sake Bomb (33 page)

“Don’t you?”

“To the moon and back,” Kizzie said dully.
In spite of the tickle in her belly, the words were just as empty
as they sounded, and she tried for a smile but failed with flying
colors.

The lie seemed to rip Sumi apart. Quiet
tears slipped down her cheeks and she wiped at them with the
oversized terry sleeves. “So then you know how it feels to become
so absorbed with your Dom. Tell me, Gigi. How do you not lose
yourself?”

The question hung in the air, the sharp
blade of a guillotine over an exposed neck, inexorably falling.
While she couldn’t claim to be “absorbed” with Xander—or in love,
that was absolutely out of the question—clearly Kizzie had been out
of her brain since leaving Brazil. She was
here,
wasn’t she?
Had crawled across this floor, been bound on that bed… The “good”
agent conveniently overlooked Xander’s past, Xander’s purchasing a
salted bomb.

Xander’s wife.

And all to chase a “sticky” she could get
with her own two fingers.

Not lose herself? Yeah. Right.

“You’re a good submissive, Gigi. That’s all
I wanted to be for her. I’m hoping I can now be that for our
Master.” Sniffling, Sumi flipped open the magazine and carefully
ripped a page from the center. She folded the bottom edge,
sharpened the crease with a nail.

Kizzie lost interest in the woman’s
fidgeting, let the silence settle. The deafening roar brought more
thoughts of Xander and the supreme Charlie Foxtrot that came after
Sumi showed up.

He’d pushed her into a corner. He didn’t
know that, but he’d done it all the same, and Kizzie fought to
protect herself with the only weapon available. The problem? The
enemy was in her head. A phantom. A ghost. But when you’ve guarded
something for so long, the line between necessity and habit got
fuzzy.

She needed to apologize—a normal person
would apologize. A damaged person?

Kizzie muttered an f-bomb, thumbed the
knuckle of each finger, one by one, pressing until she heard a
crack.

The trick would be making amends without
inviting more of Xander’s prodding. And he would prod. There was
already one asshole using her past against her, didn’t need to add
Xander to the list. She could see it now, her apologizing and
Xander with the shovel at the ready, digging and digging until he
found those old bones. The green ribbon…the sea of red.

Found out the truth behind Kizzie Baldwin,
the fraud. The cow–

“Do you like flowers?” Sumi asked, voice
puppy fur soft. Kizzie latched on to the distraction. “I used to
love cherry blossoms—sakura, we call them here.” Sumi meticulously
folded and unfolded the page, creased it here, made another one
there, as though the action was the only thing keeping her tethered
to the present.

She climbed off the bed, bringing the bent
page with her as she crossed the room. Kizzie tensed, readying for
any move Sumi tried to make, but the woman dropped to her knees at
Kizzie’s feet close enough to strangle. Zero concept of self
preservation. Don’t stroll into the lion’s den, stick your head
between its jaws and then poke the damn lion.

The dreamy look Sumi wore at Sacha
Sokoviev’s
Chateau de Crazy
was plastered on her face. To
prevent having to explain a dead body, Kizzie inched the chair back
until she was out of the doorway and fully in the common area. Sumi
followed on her knees.

“Did you know,” she made another fold and
then tucked it in on itself, “in the year nineteen hundred and
twelve the mayor of Tokyo gave your country a gift of Japanese
cherry trees? 3,020 of them, all different varieties, as a sign of
friendship. Later, we went to war against each other, but now we’re
great friends again.

“The trees bloom every year, and there’s a
big festival in your country’s capital.” She made two more bends in
the paper. Tucked a corner, folded it and tucked again. “I’ve seen
pictures on the internet. They’re so pretty there around the water,
almost as pretty as the sakura that blooms here.”

Sumi went silent once more, concentrating on
her work.

“And now?”

She raised bright eyes to Kizzie’s, cocked
her head.

“You said you used to love sakura.
Now…?”

“Too delicate.” Sumi scrunched up her nose.
“Pretty has its uses, but most often it’s not strong enough.” She
paused a beat, made a final bend in the paper. Coming up on her
knees, she cradled the origami in both palms and bowed her
head.

Kizzie tentatively took the offering. A
five-petalled flower, the center bits curled, the outer part
connecting to form a perfect star. “What is it?”

“An oleander.” Sumi rested her butt on her
heels. “After our countries fought, these were the first to bloom
at the bomb site at Hiroshima. This is like
our
friendship,
Gigi, or how I’d like our friendship to be. Resilient. Hopefully,
as we serve Master together, something beautiful will grow of our
previous troubles. Something strong. We can’t live in the past.
Could we try again to be friends?”

Kizzie didn’t answer. Sumi nodded firmly,
reached over and patted Kizzie’s boot. “With time.”

Kizzie jerked her foot away.

“Where’s your collar?”

“You stole it.”

“Oh.” Sumi worried her lip as though
realizing she’d opened a fresh wound. “Was…was Master angry? Did he
hit you?”

She leaned forward, anticipation etched into
her features. She was so near Kizzie’s knee a slight shift would
catch her chin. Kizzie fought the urge and lied. “He hit me. His
collar was mine to protect and I didn’t protect it. How would you
feel if someone took your collar?”

“Naked,” Sumi whispered, trailing her
fingers over her bare neck.

Kizzie nodded. “On top of that, I took the
beating you deserved for stealing it. I won’t get a new collar
since I was so…
careless
with my first one. Not until I can
prove I won’t lose it again.”

“Yes. A good sub must prove herself…” Sumi
mumbled absently. She rolled to sit on her bottom, drew her knees
up until the naked bends pushed through the slit in the robe,
dropping the white plackets open to either side. Beneath the robe
Sumi was just as nude as her knees. She wrapped her arms around
bent legs, giving Kizzie a front row seat to her nether bits. Sumi
licked her lips, trailed her gaze from Kizzie’s face to her boots
and back again. “Is there some way I can make it up to you?”

Kizzie chuckled, turning her head away from
the overt suggestion. Sex as atonement
definitely
wasn’t in
the cards.

“Are…are you a switch, Gigi? Do you ever
top, I mean?” Sumi asked, sounding hopeful. “Have you ever hit
another sub? ‘Cause…you could hit me. You could tie me and hit me,
if that would make us even.”

That was the last thing Sumi wanted. Good
Doms had a seemingly limitless reserve of patience and a capacity
for control, knew when to stop. An opportunity to bash Sumi’s head
in didn’t come with a pause button where Kizzie was concerned. And
then where would they be?

“You
really
don’t want me to do
that.”

Sumi’s optimism faded to a pout. “Master
won’t hit me. I’ve asked, I’ve begged, I’ve tried to be a good sub
in this short time. But he won’t punish me.”

“Misbehave,” Kizzie said, making it sound
like “duh.”

Sumi frowned. “But he said he does not like
brats.”

“Or don’t.” Kizzie shrugged. She didn’t
really care either way, although knowing Xander hadn’t laid a
finger on Sumi did seem to ease a tightness in her chest that she
wasn’t previously aware of. That discomfort gone, a new one came
rushing to the fore. Her bladder.

Dammit, Phil, where are you?

“Misbehave,” Sumi repeated, going inward. “I
behaved for my Mistress and she still didn’t love me. The others,
yes, but not me. She sent me to Sacha, didn’t she…?”

“How many subs does she have?”

“One for each element,” Sumi replied, as
though that made all the sense in the world.

Kizzie’s eyes bulged. There were over a
hundred of them? How many were dead that they didn’t know
about?

“We were each a part of her, like the petals
of a flower,” she motioned to the origami, “seconds in a minute.
The rope made us sacred…”

What in hell was Sumi yammering on
about?

Sumi’s head snapped up and her eyes cleared.
“I can take you to her.”

Kizzie frowned.

“To make it up to you. I can—” Sumi’s gaze
flicked away, came back quick as her words. She wet her lips. “I
know who has your collar, Gigi. I can take you and get your collar
and Master—”

The
thunk
of the lock disengaging
drew Sumi’s gaze and cut off her plan. The door pushed open, and
the crinkle of plastic mixed with heavy footsteps.

“Hello, Sir.” Sumi scrambled to get into
position and Kizzie turned her head.

Xander came in, bulging plastic bag in one
hand, a paper bag in the other. He looked past Kizzie as though she
weren’t there; dropped the bag filled with clothes beside Sumi.

“Get dressed.” He pivoted and went to the
table, set the paper bag down.

Sumi lifted her head. “No,” she said, so
softly it was barely audible. Then, with more determination and
volume, “No, Sir.”

Xander settled into the chair and pulled out
a container. “Then sit there naked. I really don’t care. But if you
intend to eat, you’ll do so with clothes on.”

Sumi shot a disheartened glance at Kizzie
and then pushed herself from the floor. “Thank you for the
clothing, Sir.” Bag in hand, she disappeared into the bedroom and
shut the bathroom door.

“I thought Phil was my replacement.” The
words were stupid and Kizzie cleared her throat. She wasn’t used to
beating around the bush, but also wasn’t in the habit of
apologizing. As a rule, she didn’t keep people around that she
might end up having to apologize to.

Xander stared at her blankly. His eyes were
red, the corners pinched. Probably another headache. Made sense
since he wasn’t sleeping much.

Sighing, Kizzie pushed from her seat and
went to the table. “How long are we gonna keep at this, X?”

“Depends entirely on what you mean by
‘this,’ agent.” He cocked his scarred brow. “Please clarify. I’d
sincerely hate to be misunderstood.”

He wasn’t going to make this easy for her.
And why should he? She was the one who screwed up.

“This… With Sumi.” Nowhere near what she’d
wanted to say, and by the look on Xander’s face, nowhere near what
he wanted to hear.

Xander dug his plastic spoon into the bowl
of
kenchinjiru
and then brought it to his mouth.

“She’s playing us. She knows where Fay
is.”

“Of course she is and of course she does,”
he said calmly.

“So maybe she just needs a couple hard
smacks to jog her memory? Move this along?”

“You asked for my help, I’m giving it to
you. My way. I won’t lay a hand on Sumi and you suggesting she
misbehave is a waste of her time.”

Kizzie frowned. “What makes you think–”

“Sumi’s submissive through and through;
wouldn’t dream of disobeying a Master. You on the other hand…” A
pointed glance. “Whatever hair-brained scheme she’s running will
just have to play out.”

“What has she told you? What aren’t you
telling
me
?”

Another spoonful of stew. Slow, deliberate
chewing.

Sumi came out of the bedroom dressed in
jeans and a sweater nearly the same color as Xander’s. Clutching
the hem, she smiled down at the soft cream material and giggled.
“It’s like we’re twins, Sir.”

“Mm.” He pulled another container from the
bag and opened it, steam wafted up from the stew. A box of rice
appeared beside the bowl, along with a plastic spoon and a napkin.
“Have a seat.”

“In…the chair?”

Xander twisted his head, a small frown
marring his brow. “Yes, Sumi. The chair.”

“Oh…” Sumi daintily dropped onto the other
seat and smiled brightly at Kizzie. “Will you be joining us, Gigi?
We can sha—”

“Did I give it to you or did I give it to
her?”

Sumi’s eyes widened at her error and she
ducked her head. “Sorry, Sir.”

“
Sorry
, Sir,” Xander echoed. He
turned a look on Kizzie chock full of sarcastic surprise. “You were
just leaving, weren’t you, Gigi? Unless you had something else to
say…”

The subversive chiding had her eyes
narrowing. Yeah, she owed him an apology, but she had a
reason,
dammit. A reason Xander wouldn’t understand. All
he’d ever known was control. Kizzie knew a life without it.

Cold steel seeped through her veins,
blocking out the pity. The guilt. She didn’t allow it then, she
wouldn’t allow it now.

Enough of this bullshit—enough of
his
bullshit. She didn’t owe Xander a damn thing. He meant as much to
her as she did to him, so screw it. And screw doing things
his
way. She didn’t have time for that.

Kizzie glanced at Sumi, who nibbled on a
potato in her soup, looking uncomfortable with the obvious tension
in the room. She flicked her gaze back to Xander, his tired browns
reserved. Then she spun on her heel and stalked to the door,
crushing the paper flower in her grip.

Sumi wanted to be a spider.

Kizzie would give her a fly.

August 5
^th

Langley, VA

F
letcher headed up
the hall, coffee cup in hand, footsteps heavy, jitters in his gut.
Between his usual caseload and two hours until the Ellerson Op went
live, sleep was at a premium lately. This was an extraction
utilizing an 8-man team—two-to-four hours from head to tail, in and
out quick—and it was Fletcher’s job to make sure they all made it
home safely. A dangerous mission, but a larger problem had his gut
in a knot.