She rubs her thumb over each of my fingertips in turn. I don't think they feel any different than normal ones—the morsels from the bar never seem to notice—but Silvia has a strange fascination with the fact I don't have fingerprints.
She puts my hand back down like it's a porcelain ornament and then lights up another cigarette.
“Your mother might have a son before Karl drops from a heart attack,” I say, trying to get our conversation back on track before she takes to touching me again. “The oldest male gets the master bond first, then his heirs. Then the next male and his heirs, until there are no more men and heirs. Then it moves over to the women.”
“Preference to boys, I know. Don't you think that would have happened already?” She jettisons her cigarette. She is the most wasteful person I've ever met. Can't wait to see what wishes she has in store for me. “My mother took care of that problem long ago. It's about time the women get a turn with the genie.”
I glance at her from the corner of my eyes. “I don't sing or dance or juggle.”
“I'm sure we can find other things to do.” She props her head on her hand, elbow on the console, and sighs like a lovesick princess. I swear she's stuck at thirteen years old. “What do you think would happen to our first born? Genie or master?”
I fight down a shudder. “Doesn't matter, because the world would end the day we ever … ”
The shudder finds its way out.
“Unless I wish it,” she says.
I slam on the brake. “Get out.”
Her mouth twitches up like her mother's little venomous smile. “What?”
“Out.” I point at her and then the door. “You. Now.”
She leans back in the seat and blows her hair out of her face. “Oh, Dim.”
“I'm serious,” I say, because I mean it.
She looks at me, and her smile falters. “Daddy wouldn't be happy with your disrespect, Dimitri.”
“Go fuckin' tell him.” I clutch the steering wheel. “I'm sure he would love to know you plan to mix up the bloodlines.”
She flutters her eyes in that way that makes me want to smack her in the face with a ball peen hammer. “I don't see what the big deal is.”
“Get out, Silvia.”
She does, but she walks around the front of the car and comes up to the driver side window. She leans in, her arms folded over the door.
“Don't forget who's next in line for you to serve, Dimitri.”
I look at her. “If there's a God, I'll have an aneurysm first.”
Then I step on the gas.
The drive back into Phoenix is straight through the desert. I blast MP3's on the radio, speeding the whole way. There's no cops out here. No highway patrol. Just me and the cacti and a few shrubs that are probably cursing where they decided to take root.
When Nine Inch Nails comes on, I turn the radio up louder. I like him. Not sure he really knows what he's talking about, though. He fails to take in account that sometimes you can't die instead of giving up control. But it's great driving music, and I'm back in Phoenix before my eyes completely close.
Phoenix never looks so inviting as when returning from a kill. The best part of being home is the fact I'm not Ralf, I'm not Alan, and I'm not Leo. I'm me and sometimes, for a few hours, I can pretend I'm never going to bow down again.
Chapter 3
Thudding from the front of the house jerks me from sleep. I rub a hand over my eyes as I sit. More knocking. If that gorilla-pounding can be called a knock.
I grab my phone from the nightstand. I have somewhere in the ballpark of one million new text messages.
Shouts carry through the house, muffled by the front door.
“Jesus, Mary, and the Easter Bunny,” I mutter, heading toward the living room. I flip on the light and blink a few times, eyes stinging, then yank open the door. “The dead are awake, so you can stop now!”
Syd lifts an eyebrow. “I thought you were going to call me when you returned?”
“I just got home.” I step back as she pushes inside. “Some people sleep, Syd.”
She clunks her purse onto the coffee table. “I can't. Do something about it.”
I shut the door and lock it behind me as I check her out. Her skirt is basically streamers. She's wearing fishnets, ass-kicking boots, and so many layers hoisting up her cleavage, I can't even begin to guess how many wrappings I'll be undoing. Thank you, Santa Clause.
I cross the room and snag her around the waist. My hand goes to the back of the head, pulling her in for a hard, heavy kiss.
By some act of auto-navigation, we wind up on my bed. I'm on top of her, both of us still clothed because we can't seem to unlatch our mouths. She wraps her legs around my waist, and I realize just how little her skirt actually covers. My pajama pants and her panties are the only thing between us.
I reach down with one hand and fix both problems. Her kiss deepens as I slide into her. She's already primed and waiting. Good girl.
She tilts her head away just long enough to gasp my name. I could do a whole year's worth of daily positions with her tonight. Leap Day too, and a Thanksgiving bonus.