Sake Bomb (30 page)

Xander snapped to attention. “Tell Sumi…
never mind.” Spinning on his heel, he stalked back toward the
rooms, spared a glance at the one he shared with Kizzie as he
passed. “What do we have on hand?”

“Not what you need.”

“Then call Stix and get it.”

“Stix is in Thailand.”

Xander stopped again. “Why the fuck is Stix
in Thailand?”

Phil shrugged. “Because we pay him too
much?”

Xander was dangerously close to cracking
Phil’s skull, and the skull of anyone else who happened to wander
into the hallway at this moment. He grit back his anger.

“Call Stix and tell him to get his ass back
to Tokyo yesterday. Then restock. Sedatives, benzos, barbs. Get
whatever the hell else you need. If that man tells you he’s got two
shaved monkey nuts for sale, you buy ‘em, okay? ‘Cause I don’t ever
want to be unprepared like this again.” Phil snorted at the joke
and Xander narrowed his gaze. “I want this shit over with,
Phil.”

“Then end it.”

He walked away, a move Phil must have
understood meant shut the hell up because he stopped talking.

Xander wasn’t sure exactly when he’d made up
his mind to bring her to the “dark” side—at CosKink? Watching her
crawl? Helsinki?—but it had been hovering there. Not without
considering all the outcomes, though, and there were many variables
he couldn’t control. As melodramatic as it sounded, it was a
dangerous move. Xander had people he was responsible for and
exposing them wasn’t something he took lightly. But to bring Kizzie
on she had to trust him completely, and before she trusted him
she’d have to believe him. And to believe him she’d have to be
willing to listen. After what just happened? Yeah. Any chance of
that went skydiving sans parachute.

The security latch extended into the door
frame of Phil’s room, keeping the door ajar. Xander moved it when
he shoved his way inside, let the door swing shut, leaving Phil on
the outs.

This room wasn’t a suite. Just a king-size
bed and a chaise in the main area. Neither of which had Sumi on
them. Xander checked the bathroom—no Sumi—went back into the main
room and approached the window.

Sumi was on the floor, wedged in the space
between the bed and the lounge. Stripped naked and curled into an
obedience bow—knees and forehead touching the floor, arms stretched
out in front of her, palms facing the ceiling.

“Get up.”

She lifted her torso, a smile on her face.
She immediately parted her knees and clasped her hands behind her
neck. Presenting herself to him, as though he were her Master.

Xander felt sick.

“Get up. Put your clothes on.”

Sumi looked up at him with wide, innocent
eyes Xander didn’t trust for one minute. “I-Is Master not pleased
with me?” She cocked her head, but otherwise maintained position.
Submissive.

Exactly what he was looking for.

Just not from her.

Xander went to the bathroom, snatched a
towel from the rack and stalked back to her, tossed it over her
body. “I’m not your Master. Cover up, go in the bathroom and get
dressed. When you’re done, come out.”

She let the towel slide off, exposing
herself once more. “Will…will you punish me?”

Fifteen minutes ago he was a heartbeat from
taking her life, and now she wanted him to punish her? Xander took
two steps closer. Her skin was pale and thin, breasts were small,
thighs and belly slim but loose, as though she’d recently lost
weight. When was the last time she’d eaten a decent meal?

God, he didn’t want this right now, this new
responsibility. Lord knows he had enough to last seven lifetimes.
Couldn’t she go away, give him a second to think?

“Why would I punish you, Sumi? Were you
bad?”

“Yes, Sir. Very bad. A very bad pet.”

He ignored the title, ignored the thoughts
in his head and focused on getting her to talk. “What did you
do?”

Sumi made a little mewling noise in her
throat, and then chewed her lip. “I didn’t listen,” she whispered.
“I failed her. I’m not a good sub.”

“How’d you fail?”

“With…” she shook her head, “Sacha. I was to
kill Sacha but I didn’t.”

“What happened when you failed, Sumi?”

“
Please
, Sir.” Tears crowded her
eyes, her voice became a whisper. “I…please, hit me. I need the
pain—”

He stood right in front of her, tone
darkening. “Answer.”

“She took my collar, cut my leash—the first
death. ‘Die twice’ she said. Four years in Her service, and She let
me go like I was nothing. No money, nowhere decent to live. No
food…”

Sumi was rightfully out of sorts. The
physical and emotional aspects of a D/s relationship were
intrinsically linked. To abruptly sever a connection with a
submissive could leave the sub spiraling out of control.

Xander knew what she needed; knew, in order
to get his nuke, he’d have to diffuse the bomb ticking at his feet.
But his mind was still with Kizzie.

The weight of ten worlds on his shoulders,
he sat on the edge of the bed.

Kizzie’s moans sounded in his ears. Should
be a crime for lips so soft to taste like sin, and he hadn’t had
nearly enough. Would’ve kissed her until she flew apart from that
alone and then kissed her some more. His cock jerked, body aching
for her, palms scalded from her delicious punishment.

And then, the steely hard look in her
eyes.

The wall.

“
If being your whore means saving the
world, done.”

Sumi whimpered, rubbing her cheek against
his knee.

Temples pounding and chest tight, Xander
stroked his hand over her head.

August 3
^rd

Eagleville, Missouri

N
ews of the pileup
on IA-1 forced Harold Maddigan to point his rig southeast, dropping
into Missouri instead of going from Nebraska through Iowa, as he’d
originally planned. It added an hour to his trip—not much of a
change on this long haul, but in the cross-country trucking
business, time really did mean money. The faster you moved cargo
from point A to point B, the more green you earned. And with his
cab
Green Lightning
being the fastest on the road, he was
sitting on a pretty penny.

Cocaine Carolina
filtered through the
speakers and he whistled along, truck bouncing as he slowed in
preparation for the exit. Up ahead the beam of his headlights
caught the rectangular sign hiding out there in the dark, the
reflecting tape indicating he’d reached mile-marker 121. No other
vehicles on this stretch of road at this late hour, just flat grass
peppered with trees. Since he was three minutes shy of the daily
maximum allowable driving hours, Harold decided to call it a
day.

Switching from CD to radio, he turned the
dial to a local news station, hoping to catch the morning forecast
so he could be prepared in the event he had to change course
again.

“…
just ahead of the arrival of Orochi
Hisakawa in a few days,”
the disembodied, feminine voice
intoned.
“This is the first visit between the two leaders since
relations crumbled a couple years ago over Japan’s very public
criticism of US military activity in the region. Apart from the
current state of the economy, other topics to be covered on this
diplomatic visit include renewable energy and STEM education, the
latter punctuated by a trip to a very lucky group of boys and girls
showcasing their hard work at a competition hosted by the
Smithsonian. The President and the Prime Minister are scheduled to
speak to reporters in the Rose Garden, however, a slight chance of
rain may force the pair inside.

“
In sports news, the Royals play the Sox
in…”

Accompanied by talk radio, Harold whistled
Take me out to the ballgame
, downshifting as he took the
exit for the rest stop. It was little more than a slab of concrete
and a small building with bathrooms. Four lampposts surrounded it,
the light only strong enough to attract bugs. No matter. He’d
sprung for a customized sleeper complete with all the trimmings.
With some strategic placement, the raised roof and extended body
allowed for a bed, kitchenette, sitting area and modern
electronics. Cabinets held clothes and foodstuffs and other storage
items. Even had an onboard shower and toilet. Only time he had to
leave was to connect a hose to the water intake valve or empty the
sewage tanks. Other than that, he could stay on his rig until chow
or gas ran low.

Navigating
Green Lightning
into one
of the six spots available to truckers, Harold put her in PARK and
went about his ritual shutdown for the night. Daily logs complete,
he maneuvered to the head for much needed relief, double-checked
the locks and remote-started the generator, and then peeled off the
jeans and t-shirt he’d been wearing since Wyoming.

A TV-dinner and a show later, he was ready
for bed. With a storm approaching, he needed to get as many miles
in as possible before the roads became clogged by accidents like
the one earlier today. Leaving the tube on for noise—sometimes it
just got plain lonely on the road—he climbed into bed and dropped
his head on the pillow.

Just as he reached sleep, a loud knocking
brought him back from the edge. Generator? It was only a couple
months old. Couldn’t be a problem already. He ignored it and
drifted again, and then two hard thuds bolted him upright.

What in the world?

Harold pushed out of bed and dragged on his
jeans, reached for where he kept his weapon. Louisville slugger.
The meaty wooden bat didn’t need a license like a gun would. And he
could still swing it like he did in college. It’d crack a head just
as loud and far as it would a ball over the center-field fence.

Baseball. American as apple-pie and the best
time of his life. The majors never came calling, but it didn’t make
him love the game any less. When he was done with this drop he’d
find some batting cages, get the blood pumping. Maybe he’d double
back and catch that Royals game over in Kansas City.

Another series of bangs sounded against his
door. From his post between the two captain’s chairs, he peered
cautiously out the passenger window. A check to each side-view
mirror revealed no immediate threats and he finally glanced out the
glass on the driver’s side.

Well, what do we have here? And what was she
doing out here this late? Had to be near 3
AM
. A woman as beautiful and young as her? No way she
would be traveling alone.

She huddled into her coat; he tightened his
grip on the bat. She could be running a con. Her buddies might be
waiting out there to rob him. Wouldn’t be the first time someone
tried something stupid.

“What?” he asked, knowing his mother
wouldn’t approve of him barking at a lady in such a manner. But
then, his mother had never been a long-hauler.

The woman pantomimed through the glass. What
he could see of her face was distraught, her arms turning in a
circular motion as he read her lips.
“…a flat….help?
”

He didn’t see a car. Then again, he wasn’t
in the general parking area. She couldn’t have just materialized
from nowhere, and his mother wouldn’t approve of him leaving a lady
stranded. So Harold did the only thing he could.

“How ‘bout it, Jackrabbit,” he said into his
CB radio, eyes still on the lady outside. “Gotcha ears on?”

A handful of seconds passed before the
response came back. “Jackrabbit here, Green Lightning. Kick it
in.”

Trucker lingo. Gotta love it.

Harold depressed the button again and
started in with a man whose path he’d crossed many times before.
Apart from his bat, his second line of defense was often another
trucker.

“Any chance your ninety-nine brings you
through Mizzou? Checked my eyelids for pinholes and got a bogie at
my door.”:
Your final destination come through Missouri? Was
headed for bed, now facing a possible threat.

“What kind of bogie? Lot lizard?”

He peered out the window again. Apart from
her shivering, the woman hadn’t moved. She didn’t
look
like
a prostitute, but if she were she was at the wrong stop.

“Maybe a Bubblegummer, says she got trouble
with a doughnut. But if she ain’t flyin’ solo and this turns into a
10-33, wanted you to know.”:
Teenager, maybe, problem with her
tire. But if she’s not alone and this turns into an
emergency…

Harold relayed his location, held up his
palm to the woman who, now that he thought about it, really didn’t
look like a threat at all. Probably not a teenager but in her early
twenties. Sort of short and thin. Pretty face, from what he could
see.

“Flip-flopping in Nebraska going back toward
Ohio. Fleabag had a drop in Mizzou this afternoon and no other
prospects. Want me to check his 20?”

Outside, the woman tucked her chin a little
deeper into her coat and Harold felt ridiculous for thinking she
could possibly do him any harm. “Negatory, Jackrabbit.”

Between his size and his bat, he could
handle her, and any of her friends too.

“Hit me when you’re through, Green
Lightning. I’m gone.”

The transmission ended and Harold dragged on
a coat, jammed his feet into a pair of boots before he opened the
door to his rig. She stood there alone, and a quick sweep revealed
her SUV in the standard lot.

“Got a flat you say?”

She nodded quickly and flashed a smile. “I
must have picked up a nail or something. I’m so lucky it didn’t
blow out.”

Her gaze went to the bat and she backed up,
eyes going wide.

Harold grimaced. “Sorry. Can never be too
sure on the road.” He hopped down and locked the door, sliding the
keys into his pocket. Then he motioned with the bat. “After
you.”

She went by him with the same caution that
he approached the SUV. Once they’d crossed the lot, he checked out
the vehicle to better assess the situation, the grip on his bat
unwavering. On the passenger side he peeked through the rear
windows. The slight tint made it even harder to see through them in
the dark, but there were no silhouettes to indicate people. In
fact, it appeared the woman was moving. Boxes were stored in the
cargo hold and on the back bench, and he groaned at the thought of
having to unload everything to access the spare.