Sake Bomb Read Free

floor.
    Grunting, he peeled away from the wall. His
hold loosened and Kizzie dropped her feet, pivoted so her back was
to the clown at the end of the hall.
    Zio wobbled, shaking his head slightly. He
frowned down at his hand like he’d never seen it before; up to
Kizzie; down at his hand.
    “Jaa-net…? Whaa—”
    Kizzie backed down the hall. He stumbled
toward her, squeezed his lids shut then opened his glazed eyes
wide, studying his palms again. Inched closer and closer as Kizzie
moved away.
    The surface beneath her feet changed. The
runner. Not far enough. A dozen more steps to the door and she
needed him in bed; had to keep him upright long enough to get him
there. But his movements were too slow, and time was short.
    “Jan…”
    Another step back—the rug slid a little—and
she motioned with her hands to urge Zio along. “Come on, Bozo,”
Kizzie mumbled. “Let’s go get in the niiiice warm bed.”
    Zio took a step closer and then lunged,
hands two vice grips around her neck. The energy surge caught
Kizzie off guard, but nothing like a closing windpipe to focus
one’s attention. She rammed her forearms up and out at the same
time she stabbed her knee into his groin, only partially
connecting, but enough to throw off his hold without doubling him
over. The heel of her hand shot up, a sharp strike to his chin that
clicked his teeth together.
    His arms went wide, bearing down on her, and
she drove a foot into his shin, locking his knee. Zio slumped
forward. The toe of his shoe hooked the edge of the slippery runner
and his forehead crashed into her face on his way down.
    Kizzie lost her footing, forearms flailing
like a T-Rex. Her back slammed to the floor and her head followed
the leader. Zio pancaked her, as driven as the hydraulic plate of a
car compactor, forcing the air from her lungs in a burning
whoosh.
    That, ladies and gentlemen, was not
part of the plan.
    Pain like Kizzie hadn’t known for months
exploded in her side. If this bastard re-injured her ribs….
    She lay there, grousing and heaving while
Zio mumbled stupidly against her breasts. “Pal… Pal…”
    They were so not pals. Her skin
crawled. She wanted this guy off of her post-haste. Planting her
feet, she drove her hips skyward but he had her pinned. Her cheek
stung, eye streamed water and she wriggled a hand free to dab at
it; winced at every gentle probe. Yep, that might swell a bit.
    “‘Thirty minutes,’ they said,” she muttered.
“Thirty minutes max and you’d conk out. Not you though. You ,
sir, are an overachiever. Eleven extra minutes in ya’, you clumsy,
drunk…”
    A deep exhale and she tipped her head back
until everything in her vision was upside down. Three feet to the
door—a distance she’d now have to drag Zio’s 230-pound frame. Add
to that the distance from the door to the bed and getting
him up on the mattress, and this whole op just got better.
    The butler’s stupid smile mocked her new
predicament, solidifying her hatred of clowns. Always laughing when
there wasn’t a damn thing funny. Honestly, did it get worse than
clowns?
    Ready to give it another go, she bent her
knees so his chest rested against the cradle of her pelvis. She
worked the sandals off her feet, bare soles on either side of the
runner to give her traction on the hardwood. Then she used the red
fabric like a mechanic’s creeper, sliding out and pushing up at the
same time. Zio’s face raked down every inch of her as she went, a
minor price to pay for liberation.
    She sat up, legs spread wide and Zio
facedown between them. The hard part was over. The rest was cake.
But just as she tucked into a moist and fluffy slice of freedom
frosted with sweet success, a hammer cocked and cold metal dug into
the back of her head.
    Oh yeah. Guns trumped clowns any day.

Hiroshima, Japan
     
     
    T en thousand miles
away, a handful of women were at different locations in the most
peaceful park on Earth. All were of Japanese descent—all, save one,
had