Page 23 of The Ruler
“You think they noticed?” she asked, out of breath, and leaned her back against the inside of her door as if prepared to have it knocked down any second.
“They will soon,” I said with a grin, adrenaline pumping through my veins.
“Then we’d better hurry,” she concluded and pushed away from the door, activating her wrist band. “Access Internet,” she instructed. “Look up definition of walk of shame.”
A female voice answered. “Walk of shame. An instance of walking back home on the day after an unplanned casual sexual encounter, typically dressed in the same clothes as the previous evening.”
I scrunched my face. “You think fashion meant that much to them?”
“Apparently so,” Christina mused. “Imagine shaming someone for wearing the same clothes two days in a row.” Christina shook her head. “I’ve done that plenty of times.”
“Me too. People truly were extreme back then,” I pointed out. “But there was also a different expression I wondered about,” I said. “Try looking up jackin' the beanstalk.”
“Okay.” Christina had only managed to say the command before the door was flung open and Khan and Boulder rushed in.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Khan was in my face. “Are you stupid?”
“No,” I said, my heart racing. Mother of all good, he was so close I could see every eyelash surrounding the normally golden-brown eyes that were now darkened by fury.
“What were you two up to?” Boulder asked Christina in a disapproving tone.
“Nothing,” she said innocently, trying to silence the virtual assistant, who was defining the expression I had asked about.
Boulder and Khan exchanged a glance when the last words were spoken.
“Repeat,” Boulder ordered and the virtual assistant started up again.
“Jackin’ the beanstalk, one of many euphemisms for masturbation e.g. slappin' the salami, jacking off, beating off, buffing the bishop, gleaning the obscene bean, choking the chicken, spanking the monkey, waxing the wanker, greasing the guppy.” She kept going while both men turned to stare at us with disbelief.
“Exactly what are you researching?” Boulder asked Christina, who ratted me out by exclaiming, “Pearl was curious about some expressions that she didn’t understand.”
Khan’s lips pursed up in a devious smile. “Were you?”
“No – I mean yes – but if I’d known the meaning, I wouldn’t have.”
“You’re curious about how men masturbate?”
“It’s just a misunderstanding,” I said quickly but Khan was already leaving the room and it was implicit that I should follow.
Walking out the door I threw a last glance over my shoulder and saw Boulder’s eyes soften as he walked over to Christina. She would be all right, but looking at the way Khan stormed down the stairs I also knew that I was in a big load of trouble.
“Khan,” I called after him, but he headed straight for his suite with me on his heels and slammed the door as soon as we were inside.
“Khan,” I tried again and this time he turned around, and with a pissed-off expression he backed me up against the wall.
“You think this is a joke?” he muttered threateningly.
“No.”
“You’re a hostage, Pearl.”
I swallowed hard.
“Say it!” he demanded.
“I’m a hostage,” I said quickly. “I think that’s been established.”
“Then why the fuck do you think you’re the lady of the house and can waltz around as you please?”
