There Came a Killing Frost: Chapter 1
30 September 2123
New Houston, Sovereign Republic of Texas
Kit Frost valued his balls above most things in this world or any other. So when Maxie Corbass pressed the muzzle of her Smith and Wesson radiation pulse-pistol into his crotch and flicked off the safety, Kit stood up straight and paid attention.
"I'm sorry," Maxie said, her voice sticky with fake charm. "Is there a problem?"
He cleared his throat. "I reckon so. I'm here to collect a package for Thierry DuSourde."
He made a quick inventory of the squalid boardinghouse room. Not much here he could use to his advantage. Coming here unarmed had been a mistake. The muzzle of the pistol shifted against him, and he let his gaze return to Maxie's face. Her smirk told him she was liking this a little too much.
Fine-looking woman, Maxie--all canary-haired and creamy-skinned, with curves made for breeding champion stock. Pity it was wrapped around the personality of a black widow spider crossed with a sidewinder and cursed with an eternal case of the monthlies.
"You're in the right place, Frost. The goods are right over there, like I said." She inclined her head toward the cot in the corner. He could see the outline of a body beneath the ratty blanket, looking to be female by its shape and the spill of black hair over the edge of the thin mattress.
Maxie grinned at him. "I see you're still working that Wild West bullshit. It's getting old, man--real old."
He sighed and let his hands drop a bit. "You mind removing your pistol from my privates? Would make this negotiation go a mite smoother."
"Nothing to negotiate," she replied, but holstered the weapon just the same. "You took a cash advance, Frost."
"I don't traffic in flesh. You tell DuSourde--"
Her shrill laugh cut him off. "Is that what's got your gonads in a twist? Never fear, cowboy, nobody's asking you to make a slave drop." She stalked over to the corner, the heels of her boots leaving dents in the dirty floorboards. When she reached the cot, she grasped the shoulder of the sleeping woman and shook it hard.
"This one's been shacked up with DuSourde a long time. She was stupid enough to let herself get snatched right off the San Joaquin Valley compound last month. You'll be doing her a service by returning her to her lover." The nasty tone in Maxie's voice cut through the thick air.
"And I guess I'm gonna believe that ... why, just exactly?"
"Because if you refuse the job, it'll be my pleasure to melt that pretty face of yours right off your skull." Maxie turned back to the woman, buried one red-tipped claw in her tangled curls and pulled her upright on the cot. "Wake up, chicken. You're going home."
She yanked back on the woman's hair, lifting her face into the light. The woman opened her eyes, and Kit stared, like his momma had taught him never to do.
Not beautiful--no, not like a sunrise layin' yellow and wild rose-pink over a stretch of spring pasture. Not like a mellow August moon rising full to tempt a song from every coyote in the valley. But the woman was a stunner just the same, with those black eyes and brows that swooped above them, and that skin that seemed to glow golden in the light of the bulb hanging from the ceiling.
"Say hello to the Killing Frost, chicken," Maxie said. "The baddest hombre since Billy the Kid, and your escort for the next two days. Comprende?"
The woman blinked at him. "Sí," she said. "Killer." Her voice caught him hard in the gut. Husky and colored with a Spanish accent. All slick S's and rolling R's.
Maxie laughed and shoved the woman back down to the mattress.
Kit took half a step in the direction of the cot. "What's wrong with her?"
"Little tranq action. Keeps her quiet, out from underfoot."
"You drugged her?"
Maxie shrugged and moved to stand in front of him again. "Won't hurt her. And it gives us time to get reacquainted." She ran her hand down the length of his arm.
"What's her name?"
Maxie made an annoyed sound. "DuSourde calls her Lolly." She slid her hand over his hip. He could feel the heat of her palm through the worn denim. "Never mind her. Let's talk about you and me."
"Huh?" He dragged his gaze away from the form on the cot. Lolly? Not much of a name for a grown-up gal. He looked at Maxie. "You and me?"
"Sure," she said, her voice gone all breathy. "We were good together, once upon a time. Before you had your 'hallelujah-I've-seen-the-light' moment and turned your back on your friends." Her hand slipped over the bulge in the front of his jeans, pressing on the spot the muzzle of her pistol had only just vacated.
"And you're thinkin' we could recapture those glory days, are you, Maxie?"
"Why not? You're not a bad fuck once you loosen up a little. And I've heard rumors."
"Rumors?"
She nodded, her smile gone mean and poisonous. "They say you've been a solitary man for going on two years now--living alone, sleeping alone. Part of your little self-redemption scheme, I guess."
"What of it?"
Her grin got wider and nastier as her hand squeezed his balls. "You must be tired of playing the poor, wayfaring stranger."
"It does get wearisome." He leaned in close, pressing his cheek against hers and sending his breath down the side of her neck. He felt the hard muscles in her shoulders quiver at the distraction. It was nothing at all to reach around with his other hand and pluck her pistol from her holster. "But not near as wearisome as you, darlin'."
Quick as a rattler she struck out, talons aimed at his face. Kit caught her wrist in his hand and fought the urge to snap it in two. She looked at him, her absinthe-colored eyes almost regretful, if you let yourself see past the hate.
"Aw, Maxie," he whispered, "I ain't that lonely yet."
)
Time-traveler. Cowboy. Assassin. Kit Frost has been all three, and more, but he's never stooped to slave running, and he doesn't intend to start now. So he announces when he arrives in a brothel to collect his cargo, only to be handed the drugged body of beautiful Lourdes Carterro. But Lourdes isn't a slave. She's a trained sexual submissive in thrall to a wealthy and powerful man. Her escape attempt may have failed, but she isn't so submissive that she's ready to give up. She'll use her skills to lull Kit, to make him think she's weak and easily controlled, and then she'll find her way to freedom. Before long, Kit's worn leather belt has strapped Lourdes to the bed, and she's begging for his rough touch. But Kit finds new ways to torture her with pleasure, and soon she wonders ... can she run away if running away means leaving Kit behind?
