JК
The Laughing Corpse :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 135 из 213Ifyou were not so stubborn, you might find out how different."
I had to look away from his eyes. The look was too intimate. Too full of possibilities.
"There's only one thing I want from you," I said.
"And what is that, ma petite?"
"All right, two things. First, stop calling me ma petite; second, let me go. Wipe these damn marks away."
"You may have the first request, Anita."
"And the second?"
"I cannot, even if I wanted to."
"Which you don't," I said.
"Which I don't."
"Stay away from me, Jean-Claude. Stay the fuck away from me, or I'll kill you."
"Many people have tried through the years."
"How many of them had eighteen kills?"
His eyes widened just a bit. "None. There was this man in Hungary who swore he killed five."
"What happened to him?"
"I tore his throat out."
"You understand this, Jean-Claude. I would rather have my throat torn out. I would rather die trying to kill you than submit to you." I stared at him, trying to see if he understood any of what I said. "Say something."
"I have heard your words. I know you mean them." He was suddenly standing in front of me. I hadn't seen him move, hadn't felt him in my head. He was just suddenly inches in front of me. I think I gasped.
"Could you truly kill me?" His voice was like silk on a wound, gentle with an edge of pain. Like sex. It was like velvet rubbing inside my skull. It felt good, even with fear tearing through my body. Shit. He could still have me. Still take me down. No way.
I looked up into his so-blue eyes and said, "Yes."
I meant it. He blinked once, gracefully, and stepped back. "You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met," he said. There was no play in his voice this time. It was a flat statement.
"That's the nicest compliment you've ever paid me."
He stood in front of me, hands at his sides. He stood very still. Snakes or birds can stand utterly still but even a snake has a sense of aliveness, of action waiting to resume. Jean-Claude stood there with no sense of anything, as if despite what my eyes told me, he had vanished. He was not there at all. The dead make no noise.
"What happened to your face?"
I touched the swollen cheek before I could stop myself. "Nothing," I lied.
"Who hit you?"
"Why, so you can go beat him up?"
"One of the fringe benefits of being my servant is my protection."
"I don't need your protection, Jean-Claude."
"He hurt you.
I had to look away from his eyes. The look was too intimate. Too full of possibilities.
"There's only one thing I want from you," I said.
"And what is that, ma petite?"
"All right, two things. First, stop calling me ma petite; second, let me go. Wipe these damn marks away."
"You may have the first request, Anita."
"And the second?"
"I cannot, even if I wanted to."
"Which you don't," I said.
"Which I don't."
"Stay away from me, Jean-Claude. Stay the fuck away from me, or I'll kill you."
"Many people have tried through the years."
"How many of them had eighteen kills?"
His eyes widened just a bit. "None. There was this man in Hungary who swore he killed five."
"What happened to him?"
"I tore his throat out."
"You understand this, Jean-Claude. I would rather have my throat torn out. I would rather die trying to kill you than submit to you." I stared at him, trying to see if he understood any of what I said. "Say something."
"I have heard your words. I know you mean them." He was suddenly standing in front of me. I hadn't seen him move, hadn't felt him in my head. He was just suddenly inches in front of me. I think I gasped.
"Could you truly kill me?" His voice was like silk on a wound, gentle with an edge of pain. Like sex. It was like velvet rubbing inside my skull. It felt good, even with fear tearing through my body. Shit. He could still have me. Still take me down. No way.
I looked up into his so-blue eyes and said, "Yes."
I meant it. He blinked once, gracefully, and stepped back. "You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met," he said. There was no play in his voice this time. It was a flat statement.
"That's the nicest compliment you've ever paid me."
He stood in front of me, hands at his sides. He stood very still. Snakes or birds can stand utterly still but even a snake has a sense of aliveness, of action waiting to resume. Jean-Claude stood there with no sense of anything, as if despite what my eyes told me, he had vanished. He was not there at all. The dead make no noise.
"What happened to your face?"
I touched the swollen cheek before I could stop myself. "Nothing," I lied.
"Who hit you?"
"Why, so you can go beat him up?"
"One of the fringe benefits of being my servant is my protection."
"I don't need your protection, Jean-Claude."
"He hurt you.