The Murdered World 39

Christina couldn’t say she actually liked cereal. It was just something to eat in the morning when it was too damn early to put together a proper meal. But Angel, apparently, had loved it. There were four of every kind of breakfast cereal imaginable in the walk-in pantry. Christina picked a sugary one at random and turned around to see Emma leaning into the pantry, picking up a box of something oaty from right next to the door.

Christina wore a pink sweatsuit. It felt wrong to dress up, but she didn’t want to spend the whole day in a bathrobe. That’d be too much like giving up, or at least what Emma was doing. She wondered if she could find something for Frank to wear that would similarly look like he was putting in an effort; peer-pressure Emma into putting on something nice. It would keep morale up.

“Maybe we shouldn’t open too many boxes at once,” Christina suggested, holding up the kiddie cereal she’d chosen. “You can have this once I’ve poured a bowl.”

Emma looked at her with a deadpan expression as she broke the flaps of the box open, then went after the plastic bag with her teeth. Once it was open, she reached right into the honey-roasted oats and scooped out a handful. Eating it right out of her palm like she was feeding a horse.

“We have fresh milk, you know,” Christina said snidely. “You might want to enjoy it while it lasts.”

“You a big believer in enjoying the situation, huh?”

Christina pushed past Emma. She focused on getting a bowl and milk and a spoon and a scoop of sugar to put on her already sugary cereal before she put the spoon in the milk, because she’d forgotten she was eating chocolate-frosted sugar bombs instead of Cheerios, which actually needed a sprinkle of sugar, because Emma was getting to her like she always did, even at the end of the world.

She didn’t slam anything, but she screwed the cap onto the milk carton very hard.

“Do you have something to say?” she asked Emma, with a voice so nice it was nasty.

Emma ate another handful of honey oats. She really minced them in her teeth before swallowing.

“Not much of a mourning period,” she observed, like she was pointing out the shape of a cloud.

“Angel wasn’t much of a husband,” Christina pointed out sweetly. “Or a brother-in-law.”

“Well, you’ve really traded up.”

“I’d like to think so.”

Emma dropped her box of cereal on the island where Christina was eating. Oats sprinkled out across the countertop. “You don’t have to be so smug about spreading your legs.”

“If you heard us from the bunkroom, I think I do.” Then Christina smiled wryly, eyes bright. “Or did you do a little more than listen in? I thought I smelt your perfume last night…”

“I suppose you don’t have much of a scent yourself after you’ve been in the shower for forty-five minutes.”

“Clean up your mess,” Christina told her, glancing at the oats that had sprayed across the island.

“Fuck you,” Emma said, and vindictively struck the cereal box so some more oats flew out.

Christina didn’t think she stomped her fists, but the spoon in her hand made a definite noise against the tabletop. “What are you even upset about? Don’t tell me you had your sights set on Frank.”

“Of course I had my sights set on him! He’s the only man in here!”

“You said he was a psychopath.”

“So I don’t have high standards.” Emma snorted. “Like you do.”

Christina set her spoon in her bowl just so and folded her hands together neatly. “Well, he’s made his choice. You’ll just have to live with it.”

“Yeah. How about you don’t christen the whole bunker while you’re playing prom king and prom queen? Sleeping seems to be one of the few pleasures left in the world right now, so don’t spoil mine.”

“Sleep all you want,” Christina told her. “For once, you have a perfect excuse not to get a job, go to school—anything.”

“And for once you have a perfect excuse to fuck a total animal.”

“Morning,” Frank said, strolling into the kitchen. He saw the spill on the island. “Anyone going to clean that up?”

Emma stormed off.

Christina held her head. “I swear, she is such a fucking child sometimes.”

“How old is she? Nineteen?”

“Old enough to drink, believe me.”

Frank nodded. He began sweeping up the cereal with his hands. “You want to cook the steak when it’s done thawing or should I?”

Christina shook her head. “I can’t think right now.”

Frank shoveled the cereal he’d collected into his mouth, chewed a few times, then gulped. “Pity. When that happened last night, I thought I was just good at my work.”

Christina blushed. She put her energy into mindlessly shoveling her cereal from bowl to mouth. She carefully regarded her food as she ate. When she looked at Frank, it was hard not to think of the strapping body bristling with muscles and what it had done to her.

Frank had raided some of Angel’s athleisure collection. Joggers and a bomber jacket. He either hadn’t been able to find a shirt that fit or hadn’t bothered. Christina noticed his abs. With anyone else, she might’ve thought he was showing off. Frank just didn’t seem to give a damn.

“She drives me so crazy!” Christina finally let out, when she’d run out of cereal to occupy her mouth with. “She’s young and beautiful and outgoing, but it’s like she can’t think of a thing to do with any of that. Unless I’m doing something—then she wants to be better at it than me. Until it’s too much work and she fucks off. Just so long as she leaves my self-esteem in the crapper…”

“Maybe she wants to bond with you,” Frank suggested.

“No offense,” Christina said, “but if there’s a guy out there who understands women… you’re probably not it.”

Clearly, Frank could see her point. He thought to close up the cereal box Emma had left behind. “If you want, we could do something Emma can’t.”

She wondered what he meant. Then she realized. The look in his eyes was cool, but the very fact that he was looking at her told Christina that he was sizing her up. Thinking of what else he could do with her, after he’d used her ass like a piece of meat in need of tenderizing.

“I’d better not,” Christina said finally. She coughed slightly before moving on to her rationalization. “Emma’s tee’d off enough as it is without my having fun she can’t.”

Frank shrugged. “Your call.”

He went to one of the refrigerators to take out a carton of orange juice. Christina turned to follow the sight of him.

“My call? So if I fancy a bang sometime tomorrow afternoon, you’re my guy?”

Frank regarded her evenly. “Women need a reason to have sex. Men just need a place.”

Christina gaped at him. “Why, Mr. The Punisher, was that some variety of joke?”

Frank pointed at Emma’s cereal box. “We should use up all of that before opening anymore.”