The Liberator

26 Dinner Is Served

Blue, Charlie, and I return to training for the next two days. I can tell Kraven is trying to be more empathetic, but we still call him Cyborg behind his back. Every night, though we return to our rooms broken and bruised, I’m the first to admit that it’s damn fun learning defense. And that I can’t wait to move on to something new.

Valery has been good about checking in on us. She explained that she’s continuing her training in other parts of the estate, and that she’d already passed the self-defense sector. Guess that’s where she was when she was supposed to be on her honeymoon. Knowing she’s training elsewhere also tells me there are other liberators up in this joint, because all I’ve actually seen is Kraven and the two mute chicks who deliver our food.

Speaking of food, where are those broads? They’re usually here by now.

Annabelle kicks her legs up onto a busted-up coffee table in our small lounge area. “I just don’t understand why Cyborg hates me so much.”

“Because you threaten him,” Aspen says. “Because he’s afraid of strong women.”

Blue shakes his head. “No, that guy isn’t afraid of anything. He doesn’t pack that gene.”

“Bet he’s afraid of this.” Charlie raises a bicep into the air and flexes. Beneath her fair skin, a muscle the size of a golf ball pops up.

We all laugh at this.

Charlie acts offended.

She’s been in better spirits lately. Part of it is being distracted. The other relates to something she told me two nights ago after our first day of training. She said that her Grams was with Big Guy now, and that the money she left behind will help Charlie take Hands Helping Hands to a new level. Maybe He took her for a reason, she whispered in the dark. Maybe it’s time for the charity to grow, and He needed to guide these resources into place. She melted into me. Besides, who wouldn’t want my Grams at home with them?

I remember her words and try to believe the smile on her face now. It doesn’t appear as forced as it did three days ago, but it still looks strained. The couch squeaks beneath us as I wrap my arm around her waist and tug her against me. She nuzzles her face into my neck.

“Get a room,” Annabelle says.

“Yes, ma’am.” I jump to my feet and swoop Charlie into my arms, then I carry her toward our room like a caveman. She laughs and slaps at my chest.

I’m about to set her back down when the main door swings open.

It’s Red, Max at her side.

“Kraven has invited you to join him for dinner,” Valery announces.

I put Charlie down. “Miami wants to eat with us? What’s he serving—human hearts?”

Aspen barks out a laugh as Valery rolls her eyes.

For the first time, I notice what Max is wearing. “What’s up with the penguin suit?”

“I look damn good, son.” Max brushes his lapels. “Better than you’re going to look.”

My eyes jerk toward Valery. “What? It’s, like, black tie?”

In response, Red moves out of the way and the Mute Chicks shuffle in. Their arms overflow with gowns and suits and bags full of Big Guy only knows what. I decide I have two choices: fight the wardrobe requirement using my mad self-defense skills, or suit up like the hustler I am.

I choose the latter.

Blue heads toward one of the women to dig through the choices, but I block his path before he can get there.

“Nah, man, I get first dibs,” I say.

“You think so?”

As Blue and I wrestle to the floor, the girls step forward and gracefully accept the dresses. Then they make a beeline for one of the rooms, the Mute Chicks following after them. Not sure why a pretty dress makes even the fiercest girl get all squeal-y. When Blue and I finally glance up, we realize we’re alone with two suits and some fresh toiletry stuff.

I shove Blue off me. “You’re a barbarian.”

Blue and I get ready in about ten minutes. We wait for a lifetime for the three girls to emerge. We bitch and we moan, and we sound like a pair of old women at bingo night.

But when the girls finally appear, it’s all worth it.

My gaze goes immediately to Charlie. Her slight body is accented by a black bodice that makes the blood burn against my skin. Beneath the bodice is a pink layered skirt that looks like something a ballerina would wear. Black heels wrap around her calves and lace up all the way up to her knees. When my eyes travel back up, I notice soft pink makeup shimmers above her eyes and along her cheeks, and the remaining ivory pendant my father gave me lies against her chest. She really does look like an angel…avant-garde.

“Charlie,” I breathe.

She smiles and points to Aspen, who’s standing beside her. “What about her?”

Aspen is also killing it in a navy thigh-length dress with sleeves that billow out toward her glove-covered hands. With nude pumps and a diamond-encrusted band around her head, she looks half hippie, half high fashion. When I notice Blue’s mouth hanging open, I elbow him in the ribs.

“What?” he says, acting innocent, but he’s already back to ogling Aspen.

“Where’s Annabelle?” I ask.

Aspen inspects a bracelet around her wrist. “She won’t come out, keeps saying she looks like a tomato.”

“Annabelle,” Blue shouts, “get out here so we can make fun of you.”

With my empty stomach speaking in tongues, I brush past Aspen, press a lingering kiss against Charlie’s temple, and enter the room.

“Let’s move it, girl. I’ve starv—”

Annabelle turns and faces me.

And I forget what I was saying.

Charlie will always be the love of my life. No one else could ever make me feel the way she does. But tonight Annabelle has stolen the show.

She’s dressed in a fire-engine red gown that hugs all the right parts of her body. An emerald necklace lies against her chest, and a matching ring hugs her finger. Her hair is styled in its usual manner, a dark bob with hard bangs across her forehead. But her eyes are different. They’re shadowed in charcoals and blacks, and they’re lined with a heavy hand. At the corner of each hazel eye, the eyeliner sweeps up.

Annabelle looks like an Egyptian princess.

No, a queen.

I place a hand on her arm, but she won’t meet my eyes. “Annabelle, you look incredible.”

“I look enormous.” She jerks her chin toward Charlie and Aspen, who are busy talking to a bumbling Blue. “And they’re so perfect.”

“Stop,” I tell her. “Don’t do that. You’re one of the most badass chicks I’ve ever met, and you’re going to be afraid of a dress that puts you on display? Girl, you were born to be on display. Look at you!”

Annabelle smiles with one side of her mouth. “I don’t look like a tomato?”

“You look like a beauty.” I take her arm and guide her toward the lounge area. “Now rock that shit.”

Ten minutes later, Valery returns to collect us. She’s wearing a silver gown, and as we head toward the great room, she has to slap Max’s hand away every few seconds. Though it doesn’t escape me that each time she lets his touch linger before batting it away.

As we walk like cattle to the slaughter, Charlie twists her ankle, Blue stutters trying to talk to Aspen, I make fun of Blue’s stuttering, and Annabelle loses an earring. Aspen is the only one who acts like a refined adult, which both surprises me, and doesn’t.

When we spill into the great room, Kraven is there waiting. He stands from the end chair and waves an arm toward the table. “Please, take a seat.”

The Mute Chicks pull out our chairs as Kraven instructs them to serve the first course.

“Why don’t those chicks talk?” I ask when they’re out of earshot.

“Dante,” Charlie chastises, but I catch the hint of a smile.

Kraven pushes his hair behind his ears, something he does way too often. “They’ve taken a vow of silence.”

“Why?” I ask.

He unfolds a black napkin and lays it over his lap. “Where is the other human?”

I narrow my eyes at him. He avoided my question, but that’s not what has my attention. Kraven—he’s nervous. But what about?

“Dropped an earring,” Blue answers. “She’s coming.”

Kraven studies Blue, and then his eyes widen at something different. I follow his gaze and spot Annabelle standing in the doorway.

Seeing her there alone, my stomach clenches. We should have waited for her. She was nervous about being around Kraven after their exchange the first day of training. But it turns out I have nothing to worry about. Annabelle raises her chin, drops her hands to her side, and strides toward the table like Cleopatra herself.

Kraven is suddenly on his feet, watching every step she takes. Only when she’s seated herself at the opposite end of the table does he lower himself back down into his chair.

“That dress you’re wearing…” Kraven says to Annabelle. Her eyes rise, meeting his stare. “It’s quite expensive.”

Annabelle makes a face. “Don’t worry, I’ll give it back. You’re the one who wanted to have this ridiculous dinner.”

We all turn and look at Kraven because this here is entertainment at its finest.

He opens his mouth to respond, but just then three girls close to our age enter the room with silver trays. They lay down white dishes filled with lobster bisque that looks so good, my stomach aches. Next comes a spinach salad with raspberry-walnut vinaigrette. And then the main course: stuffed prawns, garlic rice pilaf, and roasted asparagus sprinkled with goat cheese and sautéed grape tomatoes.

As we eat, Valery forces conversation. We do our best to join in, but mostly we watch Kraven and Annabelle to see if they’ll talk some more trash. Every once in a while, someone brings something up that’s an obvious attempt to make them argue. It’s sad, really, because we like Annabelle, but we’re stir-crazy, and this is the most fun we’ve had all day. Plus, Kraven seems to be on better behavior tonight, so no harm done.

A man who’s dressed like an old-fashioned butler clears our dinner plates and chauffeurs in miniature dishes that look like dessert. What I want to know is where they’re hiding the cooks. Because I’d like to human traffic them to Peachville, assuming we ever make it back there.

As an older woman sets a fresh plate in front of me, something catches my eye. It’s Kraven, rising from his seat like if he moves too suddenly, his chair will explode. At first I assume Annabelle has done something heinous, like used the wrong utensil for her spiced-chocolate tart.

But it’s not that at all.

It’s men—three of them—snaking into the room with blades in their hands.