The Girl Who Would Be King(32)

“I know you?”

“No.”

“Then what are you doing out here? Audience and fans aren’t supposed to be out here, this area is private…restricted.”

“Sorry. I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Yeah? What about?”

“Well, I guess I just wanted to know how you got into this – how’d you become a strongwoman?” I ask, trying to sound young and naïve. She snorts a laugh.

“College drop-out. Broke up with my boyfriend. Lifted weights. Got lost. Needed to pay the bills. It’s a real skyrocket of a career. Don’t tell me you’re interested.”

“Sorta,” I say. She squints at me again, eyeing the slender bones in my wrists.

“Gotta say kid, it doesn’t really look like you’ve got it in you. Maybe pick something a little more up your alley. You ever even lifted weights?”

“No. But I’m pretty strong.”

“Sure. I’m sure you are.” She flicks the cigarette into the dirt, stamping it out with her white boot. I don’t know why she’s wearing all white, it seems weird.

“How strong are you?” I ask, innocently as I can.

“I don’t know…I mean, how do I even answer that question? Faster than a speeding bullet? More powerful than a locomotive?” she laughs again. “Hard question to answer.”

“Ballpark it,” I say, too sharply, regretting it almost immediately as I can see it trigger an alarm somewhere in her, as if everything in her has suddenly tensed up.

“Nah. I’ve gotta get back in. Can’t have you giving away all my secrets anyway,” she starts to walk back to the auditorium and I grab her arm hard as she passes me.

“Ballpark it,” I say again even harder.

“What the hell? Get your hands off me,” she says, smacking my hand off her with surprising force.

“Nice,” I say, nodding.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she asks, sneering and rubbing her arm where I’d grabbed her.

“Let’s arm-wrestle,” I say, smiling in the dark, revealing all my shining, slightly crooked, teeth.

“Why the hell would I do that? Get away from me before I call the cops.”

“Why does the strongest woman alive need the cops?”

“Don’t be a moron. Get out of here now.”

“No. Let’s arm-wrestle.”

“I’m not arm-wrestling you, kid. Get the hell out of here, NOW,” she turns to walk away and I draw back my fist and punch her in her lower back, hard. Not hard enough to cripple her, even if she is just a normal person, but hard enough that she’ll take me seriously. She falls to the ground on her knees, her skintight leather pants instantly covered in mud and dead grass. Her hand goes to her back.

“Jeezus. What’s wrong with you?”

“I said, let’s arm-wrestle.”

“And I said no.”

“Let me put it another way,” I breathe, learning down near her ear. “We arm-wrestle and you win, I’ll let you live.”

“And if I don’t arm-wrestle you?” she asks, sounding unsure for the first time.

“Then I don’t,” I hold out my hand to her, offering to help her up. She looks at me like I’m insane, which is fair, I suppose. For a second I think she’s not going to take my hand, but then I see something click in her eyes and she reaches out to take it. When she does, she pulls as hard as she can, trying to pull me down onto the ground with her, but I see it coming and anchor myself. I don’t move when she pulls and the effort yanks her shoulder out of joint. She cries out in pain.

“Gonna be harder to arm-wrestle now,” I say, clucking my tongue against the roof of my mouth with disappointment. She kicks at my legs, trying to sweep them out from under me. I think briefly about dodging her leg, but at the last second decide to take the kick, see what she’s got. I steel myself for the impact and I feel her shin break against mine. She screams again. I worry for a moment that someone’s going to hear her, but I can still feel the pumping bass through the ground and even ‘oohs and ahhs’ above the music as the performance continues. Lena lies on the ground, pathetic and bleeding. I kneel down next to her in the mud, glad I’m just in jeans and not my precious cat suit.

“I just wanted to see how strong you were. See if you were anything real, anything I should be worried about.” I survey her broken parts. “Clearly, I didn’t need to be concerned.” Underneath the pain, there’s some relief in her eyes; something I’ve said makes her think I’m not going to kill her. I almost feel bad for leading her astray and I frown a bit. “I do have to kill you though, can’t have people like you walking around knowing there’s someone like me. Besides,” I say, my voice becoming a bit of a growl, “I find the idea of you disgusting. Almost like you’re a total affront to my existence. Yeah, you shouldn’t be pretending to be something you’re not…not without expecting the real thing to come and challenge you least ways.” I lean on my knee. She closes her eyes, probably feeling sorry for herself, and I can taste the fear rippling off her body. It’s like a salty metallic wave that fills my senses. It’s delicious. And I want to swallow it whole. “I would like to know though, just out of curiosity, if you don’t mind, how much can you bench press?” I ask. Lena’s eyes stay closed.