Page 15 of Throwing Fire

I catch her with one hand under her ass, the other spanning the middle of her back, so I can dip her backwards. Then I reverse the arc and throw her up over my head. Half the fun of dancing with Kez is throwing her around. When she clasps her arms around my neck, Ilet her slide down my body, slow and controlled, and get to the other half of the fun: grinding with her. Kez wiggles her hips, which is about all she can do given my grip. I run my hand up her back, coax one arm over my head and fold my fingers over hers as a pivot to spin her in front of me. She turns without any urging: she knows this maneuver. I clasp my hand over her groin and pull her back tight against me. She also knows bumping and grinding are the extent of my moves. I press her hips to mine and work them around in tight circles. Bend forward so I cover her slender body, then lean back so she’s stretched across my thighs and chest. She reaches up and puts her arms around my neck. Writhes like we’re fucking. That gets the little monster’s attention. Nice.

We grind our way through the song, which has a strong, steady beat. It’s a long song, over five minutes by the chrono in my eye, and I figure that’s enough for an appetizer. When the song finally ends on another long, held note, which seems to be a Flaming Pink Flamingos’ closing trademark, I drag Kez away. She pouts but doesn’t resist as I lead her back to where Acker and Tiancha are waiting.

CHAPTER 7

Before we reach our hosts, three men step into our path.

Two rat-men and ... something that ain’t a rat. He’s a Mod, no question. He’s a male, no question. Obvious since he’s only wearing a loincloth, which I hope he’s stuffing, since the bulge he’s sporting there couldn’t fit into any woman, Mod or no. And since it’s an easy guess that he’s the Domni Fox Acker’s mentioned, I’d guess that he’s aiming for something canid in fucking with his genes. But it looks to me like he missed the mark.

He’s an albino. Red eyes, patchy white fur with pink skin showing through. Where the rats have the claws and ears and whiskers, but not the tails, of their namesakes, Domni Fox has a tail. It doesn’t look like a fox-tail, though. It’s a wide, white flap of skin that hangs to his knees. Looks more like a beaver than a fox.

However unaesthetic his physical combination, it pales against the ugliness of his expression.

I sweep Kez behind me.

“Lightfoot,” the fox-man sneers, and it’s the first time I’ve heard Kez’s street name used as an insult.

“Dom,” Kez says over my shoulder.

“Word’s out on you, b. Foxes don’t need to bother with you.” He draws a long, black claw across his throat. “You already dead.”

I punch him in the snout.

It’s a good punch. I hit him with my left hand, so he doesn’t see it coming. I can’t hear the crunch of bone over the Flaming Pink Flamingos’ pounding beat, but I feel it in my knuckles.

He drops to his knees. Cups his bleeding snout. “Bitch!” he screams.

I’m not one to kick a man when he’s down, but if he calls me a bitch again, he’s getting a boot to the head.

I tilt my head to look at his rat-backup. Show them the knife in my right hand. “Want some?”

One of the rats holds up his paws. The other glances at the man on his knees and backs away without a sound.

I lead Kez around the bleeding Mod. Lean over as I pass him. “You’re right,” I tell him. “You’n yours don’t need to bother with Kez. She’s my problem. Anyone who fucks with her is dead.”

The albino leans forward, scrabbles one hand in the sand of the cavern floor and clutches a handful.

He’d better not be thinking about throwing sand in my eyes.

I pin his hand to the floor with my boot. “Bad dog,” I say. I twist my heel, grinding down until I feel bone snap. “You do not want to fuck with me, pooch. I’m not a dog person.”

I leave him cradling his broken bones and escort Kez to dinner.

Acker pushes off the wall of the tunnel from where he’s been watching us. “I appreciate the lack of bloodshed.”

I nod. I appreciated his heads-up. One thing I don’t want to do while in the Deeps is piss off our host.

We follow Acker down the tunnel, which has been floored with permacrete, but still retains its natural walls, including a fabulous curtain of grey flowstone running from the three-meter ceiling into a crevice in the floor. It looks oozy and butter-soft, but when I touch it, it’s hard, damp rock. At a branch in the tunnel, Acker turns south, through another airlock door, this one standing open, and into aroom that may have started a cavern but has been shaped into a living area. The floor is level and softened with a deep, maroon rug. The walls are holopainted. Clusters of furniture define a lounge, bar, dining room, and a curtained bedroom. A whisper of dry air kisses my cheek. Climate control. It’s all more advanced, and more comfortable, than I expected.

Two people rise off the couches when we enter. One is a small, unModified girl. The other is Captain Match. Kez warned me about him when I told her Acker had invited us to the Deeps. He’s a rat-man: grey and brown fur mostly hidden under military-style fatigues. He sports a full mane, the same way Acker does, and the fur around his cheeks and chin hangs into what I’d guess passes for a beard among the rats. His fur is grizzled and frosted; he’s not a young rat. However he looks, he’s easily recognizable by the metal apparatus he has in place of a left hand. Kez tells me it’s a flamethrower, his weapon of choice, and that he uses it exclusively on the unModified.

Since I’m a Mod myself, although my modifications are not as obvious as the Whites’, I don’t think I have much to fear from Captain Match. Kez isn’t modified, though, so she’s unlikely to be Captain Match’s favorite person.

Acker introduces Captain Match first, who nods at me, but offers his right hand to Kez and when she takes it, raises her knuckles to his lips and gives her a gallant bow with a murmur of her street-name, “Lightfoot.”

Guess respect counts for more than genes in Captain Match’s book.

Acker introduces the girl next, and although I should have expected it, given that we’re in what is pretty obviously Acker’s inner sanctum, her name takes me by surprise. “This is Grace.”

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