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His thighs shook, the muscles straining against the hold he'd clamped down on his body. His mind and his physical needs had declared war, had marched onto the battlefield with swords drawn. And he knew which one was going to win if she didn't get away from him.
"Beth, please. It hurts. And I don't know how long I can hold myself back."
She hesitated. And then yanked her clothes on. She went to the door and looked back at him. "Go." And she did.
Chapter Twenty
It was a little after nine when Mr. X hit the drive-through at McDonald's. "I'm glad you both liked the movie. And I have in mind something else tonight, although we'll have to be quick about it. One of you needs to be home by eleven."
Billy cursed under his breath as they pulled up in front of the lit menu. He ordered twice as much as Loser did. Loser offered to pay for his share.
"That's all right. My treat," Mr. X said. "Just don't spill anything."
While Billy ate and Loser played with his food, Mr. X drove them over to the War Zone. The laser-tag place was pickup central for the under-eighteen crowd, its dim interior perfect for obscuring both acne as well as pathetic adolescent yearning. The sprawling one-story was hopping tonight, filled with twitchy teenage boys and the bored, overdressed girls they were trying to impress.
Mr. X got three guns and target halters, passing one to each of the guys. Billy was ready to go in under a minute, his weapon resting in his hands easily as if it were an extension of his arms.
Mr. X eyed Loser, who was still trying to get the halter straps to fit his shoulders. The guy looked miserable, his lower lip slack as his fingers worked the plastic catches. Billy watched him, too. As if Loser were food.
"So I thought we'd have a little friendly competition," Mr. X said when they finally stepped through the turnstiles. "See which one of you can hit the other the most."
As they entered the fighting arena, Mr. X's eyes quickly adjusted to the velvet blackness and the neon flashes from other players. The space was large enough for the thirty or so who were dancing around the obstacles, laughing and shouting as they fired beams of light.
"Let's split up," Mr. X said.
While Loser blinked myopically, Billy took off, moving with the swiftness of an animal. A moment later the sensor in the middle of Loser's chest went off. The guy looked down at it as if he didn't know what had happened.
Billy retreated into the darkness.
"Better take cover, son," Mr. X murmured.
Mr. X stayed out of their way while watching everything they did. Billy hit Loser over and over again from countless angles, shifting in and out of the obstacles, coming fast, now slow, then shooting from far away. Loser's confusion and anxiety ratcheted up every time the light on his chest flashed, and desperation made him move with childlike un-coordination. He dropped his gun. Tripped over his own feet. Knocked his shoulder into a barrier.
Billy was resplendent. Though his target was failing, weakening, he showed no mercy. Even when Loser dropped his gun to his side and leaned up against a wall with exhaustion, Billy hit him again.
And then took off into the shadows.
This time Mr. X followed Billy, tracking the guy's movements with a purpose other than measuring performance. Riddle was fast, shifting around the foam obstacles, doubling back to where Loser was so he could ambush from behind.
Mr. X anticipated where Billy was headed. With a quick shift to the right, he put himself in Riddle's path.
And shot Billy at point-blank range.
Billy looked down in shock at his chest. It was the first time his receptor had gone off.
"Pretty good job tonight, " Mr. X said. "You played the game well, son. Until just now."
Billy's eyes lifted, his hand coming to rest over the blinking target. Over his heart.
"Sensei." The word was spoken like a lover, with a lover's awe and adoration.
Beth wasn't about to ask the butler for a ride, because she was too shaken to carry on a polite conversation with anyone. As she walked down to the street, she took out her cell phone to call a cab. She was dialing when the purr of a car engine brought her head up.
The butler got out of the Mercedes and bowed his head. "Master called me. He would like me to take you home, mistress. And I... I would like to drive you."
He was so earnest, almost hopeful, as if she'd be doing him a favor if she let him take care of her. But she needed some space. After everything that had happened, she was rattling around in her own head.
"Thank you, but no." She forced a smile. "I'm just going to..."
The man's face fell. He looked like a dog who'd been whipped.
Where good manners failed her, guilt stepped up to the plate.
"Ah, okay."
Before he could come around the car, she opened the passenger-side door and slid into the front seat. The butler seemed flustered at her initiative, but recovered quickly, that beaming smile back on his wrinkled face.
As he got behind the wheel and put the engine in gear, she said, "I live at - "
"Oh, I know where you live. We've always known where you were. First at St. Francis Hospital in the neonatal intensive-care unit. Then you went home with the nurse. We had hoped she would keep you, but the hospital made her give you back. Then you went into the system. We didn't like that. First you were assigned to the McWilliamses on Elmwood Avenue, but you became ill and went back into the hospital with pneumonia."
He put the blinker on and turned left at a stop sign.
She could barely breathe, she was listening so hard.
"After that you were sent to the Ryans, but there were too many children. And then you went to the Goldrichs, who lived in that split-level off Raleigh Street. We thought the Goldrichs were going to keep you, but then she got pregnant. Finally to that orphanage. We hated when you were there, because they didn't let you out to play enough."
"You keep saying 'we'," she whispered, afraid to believe. Wanting to.
"Yes. Your father and I."
Beth covered her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes capturing the butler's profile as if it were something she could keep.
"He knew me?"
"Oh, yes, mistress. All along. Kindergarten and elementary school and high school." His eyes met hers. "We were so proud of you when you went to college on that academic scholarship. I was there when you graduated. I took pictures so your father could see."
"He knew me." She tried the words out, feeling like she must be talking about someone else's parent.
The butler looked across the seat and smiled. "We have every column you've ever written. Even the ones you wrote in high school and college. When you started at the Caldwell Courier Journal, your father refused to go to sleep in the morning until after I brought the paper to him. No matter how hard his night had been, he wouldn't rest until he read what you wrote. He was so proud of you."
She fumbled through her bag, trying to find a Kleenex.
"Here," the butler said, handing her a small package of tissues.
Beth blew her nose as delicately as she could.
"Mistress, you must understand how hard it was for him to stay away from you. It was just that he knew it would be dangerous to get too close. Families of warriors need to be guarded carefully, and you were unprotected because you were raised human. He'd also hoped you'd be spared the transition."
"Did you know my mother?"
"Not well. They weren't together long. She disappeared shortly after they started seeing each other because she found out he was not a human. She didn't tell him she was pregnant, and it wasn't until she was about to give birth that she reached out to him. I think she was scared of what she was bringing into the world. Unfortunately she went into labor and was taken to a human hospital before we could get to her. But you should know that he loved her. Very deeply."
Beth absorbed the information, her mind soaking it up, filling in holes.
"My father and Wrath, they were close?"
The butler hesitated. "Your father loved Wrath. We all do. He is our lord. Our king. That is why your father sent him to you. And you mustn't fear him. He will not hurt you."
"I know that."
When her apartment building came into view, she wished she had more time with the butler.
"And here we are," he said. "Eleven eighty-eight Redd Avenue, apartment one-B. Although I have to say, neither your father nor I approved of the fact that you're living in a ground-floor unit."
