Page 61 of Kiss of Wrath

She came abruptly out of her carnal reverie and turned on her heels, going outside. Just as she was handing the bottles to Cnut and Harek, the cell phone rang in her pocket. She pulled it out and checked the caller ID. “Do you mind if I take this?” she asked the two men.

They shook their heads and she walked across the backyard toward the fence that divided her property from a neighbor’s.

“Darla?”

“Hey, sweetie, how’s it going?”

“You wouldn’t believe!”

“Uh-oh! Did Mordr prove to be inept or dangerous or something?”

“Nope. He’s perfect. The kids actually listen to him and might even learn how to behave.”

“And the problem is . . . ?”

“Well, not a problem, really. Darla, I have not one, but three Viking hunks here at the moment. Mordr’s two brothers. Oh my God! You’ve got to come over and see this.”

“Oh, damn! I’m working. This is my dinner break. Can you maybe hold them hostage or something until I can get there tomorrow?”

“Sorry. They’re leaving after dinner.”

“Dinner? What did you pick up?”

“Nothing. Mordr prepared the whole thing, with a little, or a lot, of help from Mrs. Delgado.”

“You mean, Mrs. I-Don’t-Do-Nothing-Except-Clean?”

“The same.”

“A man who looks like Mordr and cooks, too. You must be in heaven. But tell me about the brothers.”

Miranda surprised herself by giving a vivid description. She hadn’t realized that she noticed so many details, including the slightly longer vampire-type incisors. “And they all claim to be Vikings. I mean, really, Viking vampires in Vegas.”

“Oh, oh, oh! I bet I know where they’ve come from. There’s a new revue at the Golden Nugget this month. They’re called the Dracudales. A play on the Chippendales, or that Thunder From Down Under that was so popular. There’s creepy music and coffins and lightning flashing before the vampiredales pop out in cloaks and fangs and then strip-dance down to just about nothing.”

“Strippers?” Miranda tried to picture Mordr dancing naked. She just couldn’t see it.

Darla said that she had to get back to work, promising to call the next day. Miranda went back indoors where everywhere was seated at the kitchen table, waiting for her. Mordr sat at one end of the table, and she at the other, the two brothers and five kids on either side.

To her surprise, the three men bowed their heads before eating, and supposedly said silent prayers. Then, they all dug in, enjoying the fabulous home-cooked meal, the first this house had seen in a long time. Not that Miranda couldn’t cook. She was just too tired after work most days. By the time they got to the dessert, apple pie with ice cream, Mordr was about fed up with his brothers’ teasing about his cooking skills. “It’s just a friggin’ frozen pie.”

“Swear jar, swear jar,” the children chanted.

Mordr stopped eating and glanced around with surprise. “Friggin’ is not a swearword.”

“It isn’t?” Ben and Sam exclaimed as one, then turned to her for an opinion.

“Friggin’ is definitely a swearword in this house.”

To her surprise, Mordr got up and went over to drop a quarter in the jar, which was only several feet away from her. He winked at her before returning to the table.

A wink? From Mordr, who was always so morbidly serious?

She felt that wink like a caress along every inch of exposed skin on her body, which he seemed to be admiring. That was the only excuse she could come up with—momentary madness—for what she blurted out then.

“Are you guys strippers?”

Her question came in an instant of silence in the midst of all the talking and eating so that eight sets of eyes stared at her as if she’d lost her mind, even though Larry and Linda probably didn’t know what a stripper was.