My World: Sparks

Sparks

A Short Story
(Well, a collection of moments.)

By Elizabeth Morgan

(Sparks is a free read, offered unedited & as-is. It contains adult content, including strong language, violence and scenes of a sexual nature.)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Blurb-type-thing
(According to Christoper)

Mankind kept advancing. Science and technology pushed the boundaries. One man pushed to far . . . . blah, blah, blah!

Look, it's 2125 and where has society gotten in the last sixty odd years? No where. Everyone is still stuck in the shit-hole they've always been in. Jobs are hard to come by, meaning people turn to other resources and activities to bring in the cash. So as you can imagine crime rate is high. Most cops - depending on your city - are bent and under the thumb of the top dogs, which naturally means people go missing, wind up dead, and no one gets results. So it ain't surprising that some civilians take the law in to their own hands now, is it?

Public transport is still rubbish. Cars don't fly, though they did figure out a new form of petrol. We don't live in metal buildings, wear silver spandex suits or have robot butlers. The world is pretty much the same as it was during the 21st century. I know, what a disappointment, right?

The only advancements that were made were within science and technology - surprise, surprise. You can buy yourself a new set of organs or limbs if the ole' ones are failing you, and a couple of years ago you could have got yourself a nifty little top up on your genes if you wanted, but then you would be in my boat.

Trust me, it ain't a boat you want to be takin' a sail in.

I'm what they call a Gene-Breed. If they stopped long enough to ask they would find out I'm actually a third generation Gene-Leopard. Yeah, my grandfather was the one who decided to pay some fuck-wit scientist to piss about with his genes. I'm sure he regretted it when they gunned him down and put him out like a rabid dog; then again, he did murder eight people. Side effect; eventually the genes will fuck up our sanity and anything human about us.

Told you it wasn't a boat you wanted to be in.

The experimentation's originally started on Newland, a small island off the coast of Boston. People went there had their operations, came back in to the states. They had kids, their kids had kids . . . . I'm sure you get where I am going with this? We're parasites to the average human. The minority, and we're bombarded with prejudice - mainly because others of my kind play up to it and become the murderers and crooks society paints us to be.

Then again, we're the biggest advancement of the last couple of decades, so I guess there's a silver lining to each cloud.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

September 2125

I didn't stop to take in the interior of the dingy underground lounge, or its occupants. I didn’t care what the place looked like or what type of customers it brought in, I was just there to collect my money.

I made my way through the smoke filled bar, walking straight over to the dim lit corner that wreaked of over-used cologne. I briefly registered the stray whispers at my appearance. The pop from the pressure of the drinking taps, followed by the rush of liquid, and the clink of glasses being placed on the bar across the club. The husky sound of a female voice, to strong to be simple background noise. A brief glance towards the stage to see zed female standing there in an orb of white light proved that she wasn‘t there to be ignored.

Grabbing hold of the closest, vacant chair, I swung it around, straddling the padded wood. My shaded eyes fixed on the man sitting opposite me.

"Well?" Franco said, not bothering to even look at me despite the fact I was sat directly in front of him.

Typical. He hires me to do his dirty work for him despite his obvious disgust in what I do, or rather, what I am. The laughable thing is he’s the drug launderer.

"All done," I replied.

With a nod to the male seated next to him, I watched as a brown packet was slid across the surface of the table. I took hold of it, my jaw tensed as I registered the weight. "That's not the price I requested." I placed the packet in to my inner jacket pocket.

"Well I thought your price was a little extortionate for such a job.” He lifted his wine glass to his lips. “So I cut forty percent."

I nodded, a grin forming to the left of my mouth as I bit down on the cocktail stick resting between my teeth. "Funny, I thought ten grand was ideal for torching a mans competition."

The expression on his tanned face didn’t change. His dark eyes remained fixed to the female singing on stage. "Ten grand is to much for lighting a match and starting a simple fire.”

“Simple fire?“ Rolling the pick around my mouth, I reached in to my trouser pocket and took out a box of matches. I slid the tray open, removing one and struck it against the side, flicking the lit splinter of wood in to his drink, which was still resting casually in his bony hands.

I watched with satisfaction as the cool man before me flinched and dropped his glass on the wooden table. He scrambled out of his padded seating as the flames enveloped the entire surface and rose upwards.

"I see what you mean." I shoved the box back in my pocket. "But now I feel I should remind you that ten grand is my hourly rate, not a price set upon a specific job."

"You maniac," was the snarled reply as he moved a little further away, allowing his second idiot companion to put the flames out.

"So if you haven't got the rest of my money on you, then I guess I'm going to have to figure out another way to collect.” I rested my left arm on my chair, and tilted my head upwards. I ignored the idiot who was feeding his jacket to the hungry flames that were already starting to make me hot, and gave my chin a playful scratch as I pretended to think. “You know, I did notice all the lovely jewelry your wife had in that fancy dark wood box of hers." I pushed myself up and stepped away from the table. "Perhaps I will go for that red diamond necklace she was wearing two nights ago when you went to the theatre. It looked lovely on her by the way, good choice."

"You fucking animal."

The distinct click of metal sounded next to me.

I gave him a tooth filled smile, while aiming my right fist in to his companions face before he lifted his gun at me. "Give me the rest of my money and I will be on my way. Otherwise I will keep you here until the police arrive in about… oh, ten minutes."

“There are no fucking police, this guy is full of shit boss." his companion grumbled, his hand wrapped around his now broken, and bloody nose.

I arched my left eyebrow at him. "The alarm was triggered the moment flames erupted, and it was hit once more at the sight of your gun, and me punching you. I’m guessing the folks here don’t want any trouble.” I turned my attention back to Franco. “The police are praying you will slip up, you know? And they don't give a shit which way you fall Franco, or what it’s for. They are just damn determined to be there when you do.”

His face fell into a grimace, eyes narrowing. “How the fuck would you know?”

“Rule one of any job, know everything about the stupid prick you’re working for. If they get you now, it means hiring me and paying me the small amount of ten grand will have be a complete waste of both our time.” I folded my arms across my chest. “And you really don't want to miss Jamie's birthday again, do you?"

His body tensed, eyes flashing red as he reached in to his jacket pocket and subtracted a tight roll of money, contained perfectly by a thick golden clip. His gaze remained fixed on me, teeth grinding as he counted out the money and threw it down on the nearest empty table. "If you ever do anything to my family-"

"Don't ever give me a reason to." I grabbed the money and shoving it in my inner pocket along with the packet. "Pleasure doing business with you." Before he could say another word, I turned and left.

Job done. Payment received. Now for a drink, but somewhere else.

The warm nights breeze hit me in the face as I exited. Despite the noises of downtown Boston being as loud and ongoing as up central, they didn't drowned out the distinct sound of tires fighting to grip the tarmac as the police car turned the corner up ahead. Not that anyone would miss the sound of the piercing sirens, or the sight of familiar blue lights dancing down the street.

I slipped down the first alleyway I came to, ignoring the smells rising from scattered trash cans and whatever the hell else had been done down the slither of darkness. If Franco wanted to send his men after me it was best I injured them in private, because if there was one thing the police wanted more than sending down a rich crook, it was to find one of my kind almost killing a human. Though something told me the crack head would be running in the opposite direction, happy to be out of trouble. I guess it’s a good thing I borrowed his watch and lost it at the den then.

Since when had arson been classed as a simple fire? Fucking idiot.

As I walked further down the alley, a grunt snagged my attention. I stopped and listened. The sound of a hard whack on flesh rang in my ears, followed by a muffled curse.

"Stupid bitch.” A gruff male growled.

A whoosh of breath after a hit was delivered to the abdomen.

"Pin her against the wall and let's see if her ass is as nice without these jeans."

Realisation clicked. My fists clenched. I felt my stomach turn, the familiar bile coating my tongue. At a sprint I hopped up on to the nearest pipe, my nails extending and cutting in to brick as I began climbing up the side of the closest building. My concentration completely fixed on the sound of shuffling footsteps… male chuckling… metal slicing through thick material.

"She's a quiet thing isn't she?" The tone was slightly higher than the first mans.

Two guys.

"I wonder if she will scream for us?" A timbre tone, dripping with a little hope.

A growl caught in the back of my throat. Another guy.

"She'll scream. I'll make her scream," the first male promised.

Three men against one... girl? Woman? Whoever they had she wasn't making a sound, and I had no idea if it meant she was unconscious, or dead. I would soon find out. At the moment I was just to heated over the idea of making all three men scream.

Fucking scum, ganging up on a helpless woman. Not on my watch.

I pulled myself on to the roof, and quickly ran along the edge, my gaze wandering over the dim strip sandwiched between the two neighbouring buildings.

"What the fuck is this?" The first male asked. "Rubber panties?”

Where were they?

“Fucking hell, it's an entire suite.” He laughed sharply. “What kind of kinky shit are you actually in to?"

"Maybe she's being quiet because she wants us to fuck her?" A vulgar amount of hope continued to tint the third mans voice.

In fact every time he spoke I could feel my body tensing. Him, I would break.

"Maybe we should fuck her all at once, see how much cock the bitch can take."

Finally I noticed them, huddled together in the corner or a wide alcove behind some store, not that far from the actual mouth of the alleyway.

A hint of panic flavoured the air, mingling with the large amount of arousal that had already flooded the compact space. The females body was ridged as two of the men had an arm each, locked against the dirty brick wall. The front of her body was flat against it as the third man began sliding his knife down the apparent rubber covering her backside.

Time to spoil their fun.

I jumped, swallowed by the darkness. I watched as the ground rose to meet me; The impact only caused a slight lick of pain to shoot through my calves, but the landing was gentle, quiet. The alley didn’t smell as bad as the last one, though there was a distinct smell of fish, and sea salt within the surround space. The ground was a little sticky and there was pink and yellow graffiti scattered decoratively along both the darkened walls as if someone had tried to brighten the place up.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," I said, straightening and leaning my back against the wall, taking the moment to calm myself.

Hurt, not kill. The line between the two was such a small one.

The first jumped, dropping his knife to the ground. His head whipped towards me, droopy dark eyes squinting to see me. His skin was sagging, yet his clothes were tight against his round frame. The outfit completed by the knitted hat pulled tightly on to his fat head. "Where the fuck did he come from?" he asked the others. Though his mouth was hard to see through the thick black beard covering the lower half of his face.

"Piss off you pervert.” Mr Hopeful sneered. He was tall, lanky even, with scruffy ginger hair and a sickly shade of green for his eyes. His skin appeared a little sun burnt and he looked a little younger than the fatty.

"I'm the pervert?" I laughed, removing my shades and pushing them in to my pocket. “You obviously have no idea what that word means.”

I tensed as the first man stumbled towards me, amusement quickly spreading over his face. "It’s a pussy.” He laughed. “An inbreed. Fucking. Pussy.”

“Come to watch how a real man fucks?” The second male snickered. Short, average build, youngest of all three. His face was hidden thanks to the black cap on his head. Not that his appearance mattered, nothing would stop me from making all three bleed.

“Can they even fuck?” The third laughed.

I just stared at him. Hurt, hurt a lot, but no killing. They aren’t worth the trouble.

“Uh oh, cats got his tongue.” The first keeled over. “Ha. Get it?”

“Never heard that one.” I pushed off the wall and aimed my right foot in to his head. I watched as he stumbled backwards. “Fucking hilarious.”

“You fucking-”

“Sweetheart, back kick," I said, surprised to see the woman’s leg actually smashing into the guys ribs.

Mister hopeful let go of her arm, and came at me, snarling like a rabid dog. My gaze briefly slipped to the woman who was suddenly moving, but my attention went straight to the idiot who was trying take a swing at me.

“I was hoping you would want to play,” I told him with a grin.

He aimed. I dodged; my fist met his stomach. The breath left him in a chocked whoosh, but he recovered and tried again. I dodged again; this time my fist met his nose. A distinct crack, a strangled sob. Blood began to pour, man fell down. With a smile I aimed my foot right in to his groin. He screamed.

Ah, music to the ears.

I crouched over him, my left hand fisting in his top, pulling him up to me. “Believe me, if I wasn’t so repulsed by the idea of touching your dick, I would fucking rip it off,” I stated, raising my right hand so he could see my claws. “One thing I can tell you, after that kick, you wont be fucking using it for a while, and that’s a promise.”

I looked up in time to see the second guy falling in a heap on the floor by the woman’s feet, her left hand held out before her. A slight smell of singed skin met my nose, and was gone in an instant. Delivering a punch to mister hopeful, watching as his head lulled to the side, I let go of him.

“You okay sweetheart?” I asked, walking over to her.

“Fine.” She quickly pulled a glove on to her hand, and turned to face me.

I blinked at the sight of neon blue eyes studying me against a fan of long black lashes. My gaze quickly fell to the dark red mark of a beefy hand imprinted on her right cheek.

“And I’m not your sweetheart." Strands of short, platinum blonde hair moved frantically as her head snapped to her right. A scowl emerged on her face as the first man started grunting and attempting to stand up. Within an instant she was stood next to the him, her boot clad foot meeting his stomach; once, twice, the third time was at his groin.

Two more shots and I walked over to her, my hands landing on her shoulders. "Congratulation's he ain't ever having kids," I stated yanking her away. “Or if he does have some, they wont be having siblings.”

With a shrug of her shoulders she pulled away from me, walking back over to the wall she had been pinned against. Bending down she retrieved her bag from the floor, a slight hiss passing her lips, her hand landing on her stomach for a moment. My focus shifted to the slit in her jeans. My eyebrows rose at the sight of marked black rubber. Okay, she really was wearing a rubber suit. Odd. Very odd. Not to mention the fact that she seemed to be able to actually handle herself to some degree. I mean hell, she had no problem knocking a man out, or kicking him when he was down. So why the hell hadn’t she done that in the first place?

"Thanks.”

My attention snapped back in to place at the sound of her voice. "No problem."

I watched as she reached around her back to see how much damage had been done to her jeans. Her spine straightened. Turning around, her gaze fell back to the first male. Her jaw tensed.

"You okay?" I asked, yet again, stepping in front of him before she murdered the bastard. I wouldn’t blame her if she wanted to, she had every right with what they were planning on doing to her, but they weren’t worth going to jail for. No one was.

"Yeah..." she looked back at me, "but I've had better nights."

I gave her a grin, and shrugged my jacket off. "So have I." Removing my parcel, and wad of money, I offered it to her.

She cocked her eyebrow as if I was doing something weird. "I'll be fine.”

"You have a giant hole where your ass is," I stated, mirroring her expression.

She flung her bag around her neck, shoving it to rest behind her, covering zed hole. "Problem solved."

I rolled the cocktail stick around my mouth for a moment, before saying, “You know, for a woman who almost got gang raped, you’re very calm.”

“I didn’t though, did I?” She replied, making her way over to the entrance of the alley.

"Yeah, thanks to me.”

“I would have been fine.”

“Really? Because it sure as hell didn’t look that way to me.” I followed, leaving a small distance between us.

“I would have been fine,” she repeated.

Part of me knew I should just let her go on her way, she probably didn’t want to be hassled by a guy who had just found her in such a position. She was probably embarrassed and in shock, understandable, but then something wasn't right. Plus, I had always been a fool when it came to attractive women, and something was a little off with this one. I was suddenly very curious, and curiosity, for a cat, was never a good thing.

So when she didn’t answer, I continued. “Well, since I saved your ass, literally, you can repay me with a drink." Because I was definitely in need of one tonight.

"I don’t think so."

I pulled my jacket on. "I think you could do with a drink.”

“I don’t drink.”

“Well, if there is no drink, how are you planning on repaying me?"

She walked out on to the lamp lit street, stopping at the mouth of the alley and turning to face me. "By letting you go on your way, unharmed."

"That a threat?" I asked, showing her the edge of my teeth as I popped my shades back on.

"Does that usually work?"

"What?"

"Showing off your feline eyes?” She cocked her head to the left. “Does it make all the homosapiens run in the opposite direction?"

My head dropped slightly, and I nodded, a grin on my lips. "Usually, but then some are to stupid, and most are to prejudice."

"Well I'm not stupid or prejudice," she stated, folding her arms across her chest. "And I'm especially not playing cat and mouse with you."

I looked at her over the top of my shades. My gaze wandered the length of her body, stopping when I reached her face. "Spoil sport."

She rolled her eyes. "Well. Thanks for giving me a hand back there."

A hand? Who the hell was she kidding? I saved her ass.

"At least let me walk you home."

"Let a stranger walk me home?" She raised her right eyebrow. "Didn't I just mention how I wasn't stupid?"

I lent my back against the wall, pushing my hands in to my trouser pockets. "Fine, but at least tell me your name."

"Nope." With that she turned around and began walking.

“Why?"

"Because."

"That ain't even a reason."

She lifted her hand up over her head, and gave one flick of her wrist in a half-assed backwards wave.

My grin morphed in to a smile. "I guess I'll see you around then, smart-ass."

"I highly doubt it,” she called.

"I don't," I replied quietly. My gaze remained fixed on her.

Oh yeah, she was definitely an odd one alright, and damn did that get my interest rockin'.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

October 2125

I didn't know miss rubber suit, and technically I had done my part during our brief meeting. I'd saved her ass a few weeks ago whether she wanted to recognize it or not. Surprise side job done. So what did I care about what she did? Or where she lived?

I didn’t. Or at least I hadn’t until I saw her in the open market I was cutting through. I could have simply passed her by, but the black-blue tint of skin around her eye had caught my attention, even though the obvious bruises were hidden with a pair of sunglasses.

Perhaps she had an abusive partner. Perhaps she had been mugged and beaten up. Both have happened for hundreds of years, and to a lot of people. Yet for some reason I didn’t like the idea of it happening to her.

So, despite the fact it wasn't my business, I followed her home.

Home for her was a three story building situated on the docks. I waited until she had gone through the entrance and locked the door, before going in for a closer look.

The building was lifeless, and dull. The only sound coming from her gentle footfalls as she made her way up an inside staircase. I couldn't pick up any scent or other voices, which meant she lived alone. Obviously.

Before I could question what I was doing, I had my claws embedded into the brick. I was already beside one of the second story windows when a faint glow crept out. Moving carefully, I peaked through the glass to see . . . Tinted windows? Interesting? I could just about make out shapes of furniture, and a blur, which kept moving around. Tinted windows sure took privacy to another level. It could almost make one wonder what exactly was hiding inside . . . .

My brow furrowed. I moved my gaze to the red bricks before me. “What the hell am I doing?”

I wasn’t being paid to do this, and, well, it was also a little creepy if I thought about it from an outsiders prospective.

I quickly made my way down to the ground, before I ended up doing something stupid. Well, more stupid than what I was currently doing.

I scanned the area, making sure there was no one about to see me climbing up and down buildings. People really didn't look upon such things with understanding. Seeing that the place was practically deserted, I made my way around the building. My ears still listening to miss rubbers footsteps as she silently walked around the large space.

Something was really off with the female. She was petite with delicate features; yet there was a strong amount of pain in her striking eyes. She had been calm about her near rape; yet she had kicked the crap out of the creeps without a second thought. She owned an art gallery, and lived on her own; yet she had bruises. Who had given them to her? Had she fallen and hit her face on a sculpture? It was possible, but wouldn't her eye have been knocked in to the back of her skull? At the very least there would be a bandage. The bruises were pretty fresh. She hadn't gone to the hospital to had them removed - weird in itself. So who had taken a successful swing at her?

Most importantly, what was the deal with the rubber suit? Why did she wear it, especially under her clothes? It had to be irritating, not to mention hot and sweaty and... I really didn't need to go down that thought path.

Moving towards the entrance, I looked around for a fancy little name plate. Nothing. Except... My gaze moved to the large sign fixed above the doorway.

"Gallery opening."

So, her business was new? She seemed to be about my age, so the idea of her owning her own business wasn't completely insane, but where had the money come from? Normal jobs were scarce - especially for someone like me - to many people turned to crime. Was that her deal? Was she mixed up with something? Had she borrowed money to get this place? Was she late with payments and the person who had loaned it to her decide to slap her about a little in order to scare her? Why was I even bothered?

Pulling the plastic vile from my pocket I popped the lid and removed a cocktail stick. I placed the splinter of wood in my mouth and began rolling it between my teeth with my tongue.

I'd never been to a gallery opening before.

~~~

A week later . . .

I've done a fair share of what some might consider as "spying" over the last couple of years. Me, I personally call it surveillance. I like to know everything about the idiots who hire me, because nine out of ten times they will try to double cross me. So I do my homework. I check out their home life, social life, and anything else that might be of some use or interest, because it is always useful to have something to hold over their heads. But, it's all business.

What I was doing right now . . . I really had no idea what I was doing.

Perhaps when I had debated about attending the gallery opening, it was more the idea that with such an event taking place it gave me the opportunity to check out the apartment above.

I had to admit, it felt wrong being here. When I get hired, my "employer" doesn't know I am snooping around in his/her private business, but that doesn't bother me. They are usually trash and I feel it is my civic duty to make appropriate checks on them, and everything they own. This female - despite the fact that something wasn't clicking about her - seemed to be a decent person, or at least I thought that until I found the DWGB leaflets resting on her coffee table.

Usually when I find out that someone is mixed up in the "vermin exterminating" category, I head in the opposite direction. (I might be a fool, but I ain't a fuckin' idiot.) Yet finding out that this female was looking into teaming up with the haters . . . just confused me further.

Firstly, I - the vermin - save her from one of the top five worst situations a human could be in. Secondly, she doesn't attack me for doing so, or hurl abuse at me. In fact she - thirdly - thanks me.

Was she a cop? I highly doubted that because I still wouldn't have received a thank you from her. So what was her deal? She didn't act like a cop, or a hater, and she certainly didn't live like either. Her apartment was pretty damn empty. The living room area contained a sofa, and a table, and that was it. The rest of the room was filled with drying clay sculptures, and blank or drying canvas'. The kitchen and bathroom held the basics. The bedroom contained only a double bed and a wardrobe full of neatly hung cotton clothing, and less then most women usually had. The weirdest thing was that there was no electrical equipment of any kind in the entire place. Nothing at all.

I was in the middle of trying to figure out one of the unfinished paintings, when I heard the gentle echo of footsteps. My usual reaction to the tenant(s) returning home would naturally have been to get out of there, but for some reason my feet and legs had stopped working.

I had one of three choices; I either forced myself to leave, and then continue to snoop around her building every time I got a chance to. (There had to be something that would clue me in to who she was, somewhere around this joint, right?) Though I could hardly see what I would find in an art gallery, particularly one owned by someone who was a technophobe.

I could stay right where I was and try and get the information out of her. Or I could leave and forget about her, which naturally made the most sense. She was a stranger. I had "broken" in to her apartment, which she wasn't paying me to unknowingly do. I shouldn't be snooping through her life . . . .

I sat myself down on her sofa, and made myself comfortable.

What can I say? I'm a cat and though I hate to admit it, I guess the motto‘s right. I was no doubt going to regret this.

I listened as the key slid in the lock. I watched as the door opened, and she stepped in to the large room. Her short hair was slicked back and she wore a white fitted suit. She obviously took herself seriously.

She flicked the light switch and turned. She blinked as if she needed a moment to adjust. I watched, half amused, as her eyes widened and she stared at me.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice surprisingly calm.

I gave her a half-assed wave. "Hey there, Sweetheart. How you been?"

She shut and locked the door behind her. "What the hell are you doing in my apartment?"

"I was just in the neighbourhood, heard some commotion, thought I would come and see what the fuss was all about."

"You do realise the commotion is downstairs?"

I clicked my fingers and shook my head. "It is? I thought it seemed a bit lifeless up here."

She walked towards me; her pace was unhurried, and steady. She pulled the gloves from her hands. Her gaze slid to the leaflets on the table. Her jaw tensed. "Is it a coincidence that you just so happen to stumble upon my gallery? Climb through my window?"

"I don't believe in coincidences." She was also the only person who owned a gallery on this side of town, which really would have narrowed things down if I had been searching for her, and had found that little fact out.

The bruise she had been sporting last week, had faded. It was still there; she had just put on a good amount of makeup to hide it. My gaze moved to her hand, no wedding ring. I could have guessed as much since there was no photos to indicate a partner of some kind. There were actually no photos within the entire place that indicated she had any ties to another human being. Perhaps she was an orphan?

"So you're stalking me, is that it?" She threw her gloves down on the leaflets as if to hide them.

"Well when you meet a woman who likes to wear rubber"-I gave her my winning smile-"I think she's worth a little interest."

She folded her arms across her chest and stared at me. "Who are you working for?"

A grin curled to the right of my mouth at the question. So, miss rubber was possibly mixed up with something bad, but what? Was she expecting someone to hunt her down for . . . well whatever reason. Had she stolen something, and now thought someone was on her tail? Was someone expecting payment? A trade? Was she?

I shifted in my seat, pressing my elbows to my knees. "What makes you think I'm working for someone?"

Her eyebrow arched. "Do you usually follow all the women you "rescue" back to their houses?"

I shrugged. "Only if they refuse to have a "thank you" drink with me."

"Were you following me that night?"

"Why would I want to follow you?"

"Were you paid to?"

"Why would anyone pay me to follow you?"

Her jaw popped to the side. "I don't like to play cat and mouse vocally or literally."

"I remember."

"Then do us both a favour and answer the damn question."

I could feel the words "which one?" dancing on my tongue, but somehow I managed to restrain myself. "Well, let's put it this way, if I was paid to follow you, and had been following you . . . . I'm kinda breaking the cardinal rule of spying right now, don't you think?"

She studied me. "Yeah. I guess you would be."

I waited, half expecting her to ask me what I was doing in her apartment again, but she remained quite. I don't know how long we stayed that way, simply starring at each other. It was probably only a minute, even though it felt like ten. I was waiting for her to throw something at me, run, or just make empty threats in an attempt to get me to leave. She did nothing. Just stood there. Watching me. She was calm, and appeared to be in no hurry to get back to her guest.

I growled lightly. "I just can't figure you out."

Her eyebrow arched. "Why should you figure me out? I'm a stranger that you helped out."

I shook my head. "No, you're an independent female. Young. Alone-"

"Stating the obvious, don't you think?"

"You paint"-I indicated to the half finished works around the apartment-"and you own a gallery. Hardly exciting, or dangerous work. Yet you walk around - unashamed - with bruises. Your eyes are filled with to many things to pick out, but none of them are happy emotions. You're fine with kicking a man when he's down. You're not in shock after you're almost attacked, and now a Gene-Breed is sitting across the way from you. He has got in to your apartment without an invitation-"

She shrugged. "You haven't stolen anything."

I decided not to point out that there was nothing in there worth stealing. "Beside the point. You're just standing there. Calm."

"That's because I'm trying to figure out why you're in my apartment. There isn't anything of value in here, so you're not a petty thief-"

I cocked my head to the side. "Aren't you scared I will attack you?"

"You would have done so already."

"And you would have defended yourself, right?"

"Right."

And I believed her. I didn't see how she managed to knock the second guy out that night. All I could remember was seeing him passed out at her feet . . . and then there was the smell of singed flesh. Had she tasered him? Where had she hid the taser?

"I could be toying with you."

She arched her eyebrow. "This is you toying with me?"

Unable to stop myself, I grinned. So she did have some form of a sense of humour at least. "What are you mixed up in, Sweetheart?"

"What makes you think I'm mixed up with something?"

"Light reading?" I asked, nodding towards the leaflets.

The small spark of amusement that had been growing in her eyes, died. "Something like that."

I went into my pocket and grabbed my vile of cocktail sticks. "You do realise that DWGB are a bunch of-"

"I'm fully aware of what type of organisation it is, and who goes there."

Okay, now I was even more confused. Not to mention so damn curious that I was two seconds away from bouncing around like an excited kitten who was being teased with a mystery packet. "I didn't take you for a hater."

"You don't know me," she said firmly.

Well, she was right about that. And something told me I wasn't going to get any information out of her by annoying her to death. Pity, that approach usually worked quite well.

"Now, as fun as this has been, if you have no reason to be here-"

"My name is Christopher, but all the rubber wearing females call me Chris." I popped the pick between my teeth, and shoved the vile back in my pocket.

"You need to leave. The chief of police is downstairs, and-"

"Easy girl." I held my hands up. "Don't go throwing the C.P. term around. I'll go, but there was one thing I did actually want to ask you."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "What?"

I stood up. "What's your name?"

Confusion danced across her face. "You broke into my apartment to ask me my name?"

I rolled the pick between my teeth "Honestly?" I tilted my head to the side, and shrugged. "I was trying to figure out the rubber-"

"As much as I would love to kill your curiosity"-she indicated to the floor-"I have an opening to get on with."

"Well, give me your name and I will go."

She placed her hands on her hips. "How about you leave, and then I will tell you my name?"

"Do I need to point out that that makes no sense?"

She quirked her eyebrow. A "no duh" look on her face.

"You know, a name as a way of a thank you is not much to ask."

"I agree, but it's also a little pointless; not to mention weird."

"Not to me it isn't." I flicked the pick with my tongue. "Anyway, how is asking someone there name, weird?"

"You broke in to my apartment."

I looked around. "This is as normal as it gets for me."

Her brow furrowed. "Are you like this with all strangers?"

"Only the attractive ones." I smiled widely. "Come on. Tell me. I really don't want to see you in the street and have to shout Miss Rubber. I get folks looking at me anyway, I don't need to add to the drama."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. Her jaw popped to the side as she gritted out . . . "Delaney."

Score! "Delaney? And that's your real name?

"Yes. Now get lost, and don't ever break in to my apartment again, or I will make you regret it."

I waggled my eyebrows at her. "Is that a promise."

"You bet your crazy ass it is." Her expression was deadly serious.

"I look forward to it, sweetheart." I walked towards the window, my steps faltering as I reached fr the frame. "Oh, Dee"-I turned and looked at her-"just know DWGB aren't all they appear to be."

She gave a small nod. "I know."

Now what the hell was that supposed to mean?

©ElizabethMorgan2011