JК
Guilty Pleasures :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 164 из 205Just get us out alive, that was the goal. Nothing else mattered. “What can Phillip and I do to make amends?”
“Oh, so polite, I like that.” She put a hand on Burchard's waist, a casual gesture like petting a dog. “Shall we show her what she has to look forward to?”
His whole body tensed as if an electric current had run through it. “If my mistress wishes.”
“I do,” she said.
Burchard knelt in front of her, face about chest level. Nikolaos looked over his head at me. “This,” she said, “is the fourth mark.” Her hands went to the small pearl buttons that decorated the front of the white dress. She spread the cloth wide, baring small breasts. They were a child's breasts, small and half-formed. She drew a fingernail beside her left breast. The skin opened like earth behind a plow, spilling blood in a red line down her chest and stomach.
I could not see Burchard's face as he leaned forward. His hands slid around her waist. His face buried between her breasts. She tensed, back arching. Soft, sucking sounds filled the room's stillness.
I looked away, staring at anything but them, as if I had found them having sex but couldn't leave. Valentine was staring at me. I stared back. He tipped an imaginary hat at me and flashed fangs. I ignored him.
Burchard was sitting beside the chair, half-leaning against it. His face was slack and flushed, his chest rising and falling in deep gasps. He wiped blood from his mouth with a shaking hand. Nikolaos sat very still, head back, eyes closed. Perhaps sex wasn't such a bad analogy after all.
Nikolaos spoke with her eyes closed, head thrown back, voice thick. “Your friend, Willie, is back in a coffin. He felt sorry for Phillip. We will have to cure him of such instincts.”
She raised her head abruptly, eyes bright, almost glittering, as if they had a light all their own. “Can you see my scar today?”
I shook my head. She was the beautiful child, complete and whole. No imperfections. “You look perfect again, why?”
“Because I am expending energy to make it so. I am having to work at it.” Her voice was low and warm, a building heat like thunderstorms in the distance.
The hair at the back of my neck crawled. Something bad was about to happen.
“Jean-Claude has his followers, Anita. If I kill him, they will make him a martyr. But if I prove him weak, powerless, they just fall away and follow me, or follow no one.”
She stood, dress buttoned to her neck once more. Her cottonwhite hair seemed to move as if a wind stirred it, but there was no wind.
“Oh, so polite, I like that.” She put a hand on Burchard's waist, a casual gesture like petting a dog. “Shall we show her what she has to look forward to?”
His whole body tensed as if an electric current had run through it. “If my mistress wishes.”
“I do,” she said.
Burchard knelt in front of her, face about chest level. Nikolaos looked over his head at me. “This,” she said, “is the fourth mark.” Her hands went to the small pearl buttons that decorated the front of the white dress. She spread the cloth wide, baring small breasts. They were a child's breasts, small and half-formed. She drew a fingernail beside her left breast. The skin opened like earth behind a plow, spilling blood in a red line down her chest and stomach.
I could not see Burchard's face as he leaned forward. His hands slid around her waist. His face buried between her breasts. She tensed, back arching. Soft, sucking sounds filled the room's stillness.
I looked away, staring at anything but them, as if I had found them having sex but couldn't leave. Valentine was staring at me. I stared back. He tipped an imaginary hat at me and flashed fangs. I ignored him.
Burchard was sitting beside the chair, half-leaning against it. His face was slack and flushed, his chest rising and falling in deep gasps. He wiped blood from his mouth with a shaking hand. Nikolaos sat very still, head back, eyes closed. Perhaps sex wasn't such a bad analogy after all.
Nikolaos spoke with her eyes closed, head thrown back, voice thick. “Your friend, Willie, is back in a coffin. He felt sorry for Phillip. We will have to cure him of such instincts.”
She raised her head abruptly, eyes bright, almost glittering, as if they had a light all their own. “Can you see my scar today?”
I shook my head. She was the beautiful child, complete and whole. No imperfections. “You look perfect again, why?”
“Because I am expending energy to make it so. I am having to work at it.” Her voice was low and warm, a building heat like thunderstorms in the distance.
The hair at the back of my neck crawled. Something bad was about to happen.
“Jean-Claude has his followers, Anita. If I kill him, they will make him a martyr. But if I prove him weak, powerless, they just fall away and follow me, or follow no one.”
She stood, dress buttoned to her neck once more. Her cottonwhite hair seemed to move as if a wind stirred it, but there was no wind.