Pike (The Pawn Duet #1) - T.M. Frazier Page 0,53

monster to jump out at me. “What’s going on?”

Pike crouches in front of me. “Did I kill you yesterday?”

I cock my head and take a deep breath. Still alive. “No.”

Pike grins. “The way I see it, you and me need to come to an understanding. You won’t try and run off again, and I won’t hurt you while I’m trying to figure shit out. There’s no need for us to be down each other’s throats all the fucking time. I got enough shit to worry about.”

I’m hesitant to accept his offer of a truce, but my thought is interrupted when a pretty blonde girl not much older than myself walks through the door. She’s wearing a pink shirt that reads, “Okay, Karen.” Without greeting Pike, she begins removing tools from a blue tote bag she sets down at my feet.

Thorne steps into the room. “Pike, I need you,” she says.

Pike rises to his feet. “Be right back.”

He leaves me alone with the blonde girl who's humming to herself as she works.

“Who are you?” I ask.

She removes a small black box from her bag and presses a screwdriver into one of the holes until a black band connecting it is released on one side. “I’m Rage. I’ll be your friendly house arrest bracelet installer today.” She removes a pair of latex gloves from her back pocket and snaps them on. “Tell me, have you had any sneezing, coughing or fever in the last forty-eight hours?”

House arrest bracelet installer? He said he wasn’t following the guidelines! “Uh, no.”

“Good. Have you eaten anything from the bar next door or touched anything from said bar including, but not limited to: door handles, bar stools, restroom stall handles, etcetera?” She kneels at my feet and fixes the strap around my ankle. Again, she uses the screwdriver, but this time to click the band back into place.

I point to the device. “No, but what does any of that have to do with whatever it is that you’re doing?”

Rage shakes her head, whipping her blond ponytail into and out of her face. “Nothing. I just don’t want to catch the plague while installing this beautiful work of art, and the bar next door looks like a fucking cesspool.” She cringes.

“What exactly does this thing do?” I ask, having never had to wear a house arrest bracelet. Rage twists the screwdriver once more and stands to admire her handiwork.

“It’s a bomb,” she says, casually, confirming my suspicions. “There. All done.”

“I’m sorry, it’s a what?” I ask, white knuckling the chair.

Rage looks up at me and tilts her head. “You know…a bomb? Bombs go boom?” She makes an exploding motion with her hands. “Why do people never seem to understand what a bomb is? What are they teaching in school these days?”

“Not how to install bombs on people!” I learned all my bomb knowledge long after I was done with school.

She shrugs. “Shame.”

I try to collect my thoughts. “I know what a bomb is. I just want to know why this one is strapped to my ankle.”

She rolls her eyes. “Because it would look tacky on your wrist.”

“She giving you trouble?” Pike asks. He moves from behind me to stand next to Rage.

“No, but she doesn’t know what a bomb is,” Rage mutters. “You sure know how to pick them, Pike.”

He doesn’t argue with her. Doesn’t tell her that he didn’t pick me and that I’m being held against my will, but I don’t think Rage would be surprised…or care since she just strapped an explosive to my fucking body.

I glare at Pike. “Everything’s honkey-dory here, Pike. Just us girls having a mani-pedi bomb installation session.”

“Ugh, as if,” Rage says, her nose wrinkles in disgust. “Do you know what kind of bacteria can be found on the tools of nail salons?” She tucks her screwdriver into a blue tote bag with a megaphone on the side. “Okay, that’s it for me. Pike, I’ll send you my bill. If you don’t pay, I’ll send you in pieces to your friends in the mail.”

“How’s Nolan these days?” Pike asks.

She sighs dreamily. “A model of the perfect non-murdering civilian as always,” she replies. She picks up her tote bag and spares me one last glance, then looks to Pike, jerking her chin in my direction. “Teach the girl what a bomb is, will ya?”

The bell above the door rings, announcing her exit.

“I know what a bomb is,” I mutter. Through the glass, I see Rage ride away on a baby blue Vespa.