The Blood That Bonds Read Online Free PDF Page B

if he wasn’t going to, that she would feel
odd. Normally, that would be the truth. Tonight she was hungry, and
felt at ease, as if she could do or say anything with Theroen.
Around him, she felt both as odd and as completely natural as
possible.
    She ordered chicken with angel-hair pasta in
a red-wine sauce. The waiter took their menus and left them alone.
Theroen sipped again at his wine, his eyes glinting above the
glass, never leaving Two.
    They were quiet for nearly fifteen minutes.
Looking, drinking, enjoying the air, the wine, each other’s
presence. Theroen did not prompt her for conversation, and Two did
not volunteer. The silence was oddly comfortable, nearly intimate.
She seemed to fall into Theroen’s eyes, as if they need not talk,
as if he knew what she would have said. Finally, Theroen broke the
silence.
    “ Where are your
parents?”
    The question should have upset her, sudden
and personal as it was, but Theroen had delivered it in a tone
which belied any judgment. It was nothing but a simple question,
and Two answered it as such.
    “ One’s dead. The other
might as well be.”
    “ And this man who … employs
you? What of him?” a slight sneer, not directed at her. Two laughed
slightly, turned her eyes down momentarily, not from embarrassment
so much as because it seemed she should.
    “ I hate him.”
    “ Have you any
friends?”
    At this, Two looked momentarily pained. “A
few. They’re … We’re …”
    “ Estranged?”
    “ Something like
that.”
    Theroen nodded, regarded her again with
inscrutable calm.
    “ Why do you ask?” Two
couldn’t help it. She wanted to hear it out loud, wanted to know if
the intentions he seemed to be so clearly communicating were true.
Theroen shook his head slightly, looked away for a moment, smiled
his maddening smile.
    “ The food is here,” he
said, glancing over her shoulder.
    So it was, and it was very good. Theroen
watched her eat, sipping at his wine. Two had subsisted for years
on instant noodles, microwave burritos, and fast-food value meals.
She relished the pasta, with its dark wine sauce, full of tomato
and garlic, herbs and oil, tiny bites of chicken.
    This was the best meal she had ever eaten,
but she didn’t eat a lot, ever mindful of the fact that this
evening had a predetermined end. Sex on a full stomach had never
been something she enjoyed, and for once Two wanted to enjoy the
act. She felt a connection with Theroen, too strong to ignore, and
found herself looking forward to the rest of the night, whatever it
might bring.
    Dessert, a light pastry with exquisite dark
chocolate hidden away inside, came all too quickly and with few
words spoken, dinner was over. Two noticed that Theroen paid for
his dinner in cash, and that the tip he left appeared
extraordinarily large. Ferraris, fancy restaurants, gigantic tips.
A life unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was
fascinating.
    “ What do you do for a
living?” she asked as they left.
    Theroen smiled, said nothing, held the door
open for her. Two sat down.
    “ Come on. I’m curious. Are
you mafia or something? I won’t mind.”
    Theroen laughed. “No, not that.”
    “ Then what?”
    “ Let’s just say that I’ve
had a lot of good training on how to invest, from someone who’s
done it for an awfully long time.”
    Theroen backed the car out. Two mused for a
moment, then laughed. “Will I get any straight answers from you
tonight?”
    Theroen’s eyes gleamed. “Anything’s
possible.”
    Whatever response Two might have had was
swallowed by the rush of wind as the car roared into motion.
     
    * * *
     
    The road, again, and that same feeling of
complete control emanating from Theroen. They moved west on
Flatbush Avenue, crossing over the Manhattan bridge and into
Chinatown. Theroen cut a haphazard course across the island,
avoiding heavy traffic and eventually joining with the fast-moving,
late-evening traffic on the island’s western side. They passed
Trinity Cemetery, and