Chapter Eleven

Raisa

When I look up, I see we’re pulling up to the Integration Zone’s front gate. Although it’s in L.A., it looks as though we’re in the middle of a war zone. There’s a little guard shack on each side of the sliding gate, which is eight feet high and topped with barbed wire, as is the fence that surrounds the entire Zone.

One of the human guards approaches as Brokka rolls his window down.

“Two more passengers than when you left?”

“Yes.”

I can tell the fire chief is a male of few words and doesn’t like being questioned about his business.

The guard’s eyes narrow as they focus on me.

“Ma’am? You okay.”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the vehicle.”

These orcs have lived here all their lives. I’m not even inside the gates yet and I’m getting a taste of being a second-class citizen in my own country.

“Have I done anything wrong?”

“Standard procedure, ma’am.”

That’s two too many ma’ams already.

“Are you wondering if I’m here of my own free will?”

His wide-eyed look tells me that’s exactly what he was wondering.

Although only moments ago I was sad, terrified, and embarrassed, now I’m pissed. That’s a side of me that doesn’t come out often, but it flares to life.

“I’m happily fucking this orc, officer, and would love to get through the gate without further ado so we can get busy in his apartment.” To punctuate my outrageous comment, I toss my hair and give the guard a close-lipped, cat-that-ate-the-canary smile.

Some devious part deep inside me experiences a moment of glee at his shocked expression.

The guard is somewhere in his mid-fifties, so I’m probably the same age as his daughter, if he has one. Saying the word “fucking” while basically grinding on an orc’s lap is liable to give him indigestion.

“Pass,” he says as he steps back and lets us through.

The orcs erupt in loud, raucous laughter. Kam reaches over the seat to pat my shoulder as he says, “That’s the spirit. You’re going to do fine here.”

With that one sentence, I’ve gone from scared to proud and ready to take on anything.

The Zone looks like a post-apocalyptic movie set: concrete buildings set against a backdrop of poverty and despair.

I can’t help but notice the dilapidated buildings, their worn exteriors and broken windows are a stark reminder of the poverty that exists within the fence. It’s like stepping into a different world, one that exists side by side with the bustling city just beyond the boundary.

As the Suburban navigates the winding streets of the Zone, my eyes dart from one sight to another, taking everything in. I spot nagas sliding gracefully down the sidewalks, their scales shimmering under the gray autumn skies.

Minotaurs lumber past, their massive forms hinting at their immense strength. And then there are the men who resemble wolves, with their shaggy hair and intense, almost-hungry gazes. It’s all so surreal, a fantastical glimpse into a world I’ve lived so close to but never took the time to investigate.

“Durga, this place…” I trail off, unable to find the right words to capture the mix of wonder and sadness churning inside me.

He squeezes my hand, offering me a reassuring smile. “I imagine it’s overwhelming, but I’ll show you around. Look at Marissa. She handles the Zone—and us—just fine.”

I nod, taking a deep breath, and force myself to look beyond the graffiti and crumbling walls. I try to focus on the faces of the residents, their resilience and determination shining through.

The scent of street food wafts through the open windows of the Suburban, mixing with the smells of concrete and exhaust, giving the Zone a distinct aroma.

As we pass by a group gathered around a makeshift marketplace, my ears are filled with the cacophony of different languages and dialects. The sound of laughter, conversation, and the occasional bark of a stray dog all blend together to create a symphony of voices, each one with its own story to tell.

As the Suburban comes to a stop in front of a modest apartment building, I take a deep breath and steel myself for what lies ahead.

After thanking them all for picking us up, I walk with Durga to the front door of his apartment. Excitement and nerves swirl in my belly as I realize I’ve entered a new world and I’m about to step into Durga’s life.

Once inside the building, I’m greeted by a narrow hallway. The walls have recently been painted a happy yellow, yet the carpet is worn and threadbare. It’s clear the building has seen better days. Though they can’t afford to remodel, they’ve tried to change what they can, which is giving this place a fresh coat of paint in an upbeat color.

Durga leads me down the hallway. The scent of disinfectant hangs in the air, mixed with the smell of spicy food. The sounds of distant laughter and music from neighboring apartments create a vibrant backdrop to the scene.

I can’t help thinking back to my own apartment building. The halls were littered with trash and junk mail that no one bothered to tidy up, and some of my neighbors were more likely to try and rob you than say good morning.

When we reach Durga’s apartment, he pauses. For perhaps the first time since I met him, he looks unsure of himself. Is this the same male who imperiously ordered me to show him my pussy last night? It’s really sweet that he’s worried I might not like his place.

Curious, I step inside, my gaze trying to take in everything at once.

To my surprise, the apartment is neat as a pin despite the shabbiness of the furniture and the worn carpet beneath my feet. Natural light filters through the windows, casting a warm glow that illuminates the room.

My eyes are immediately drawn to the windowsills where Durga has placed small succulents, just like the ones I have in my own apartment.

A smile creeps onto my face as I walk over to examine his plant collection. “You have succulents too?” I exclaim, my voice filled with genuine delight.

Durga chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Yeah. They’re low-maintenance, just like me.”

I giggle at his response, feeling a connection forming between us. It’s a simple thing, a shared love for these little plants, but it makes me feel closer to him.

As I continue to explore the apartment, I notice the art hanging on the walls. It’s a collection of diverse pieces. It’s clear Durga has invested time and money in creating a space that reflects his personality and interests.

I approach a painting that captures my attention, then tip my head to appreciate it better. It’s a colorful abstract piece, with vibrant brushstrokes that seem to dance across the canvas. The wild splashes of color remind me of some of the pieces hanging on my own walls.

“You have great taste in art.” I can’t hide my admiration.

Durga dips his head, a touch of self-consciousness in his eyes. “Thanks. I’ve always been drawn to art, though I’m no artist myself.”

I laugh softly, my voice filled with warmth. “I never got a chance to tell you.” Because we were too busy fucking, I think to myself. “I’m actually an artist—mostly digital.”

His eyes widen with surprise. “I had no idea. All those paintings on your walls? Are they yours?”

“Most, yeah. Some are from Goodwill. You’d be surprised what you can find if you’re persistent and patient.”

He gestures to his biggest painting, the one behind his couch, which is my favorite. “I’ve never had the nerve to leave the Zone to go to Goodwill, but that one is from Ebay.”

“Like I said, you’ve got good taste.”

“So most of the art at your place is yours? You just gave me another reason to be impressed.”

“Really? What’s the first reason?”

The look he gives me is so hot, so filled with passion that heat sparks through me like wildfire. Just that one look makes my nipples harden and causes my thighs to clench. The chain reaction continues as my scent makes his nostrils flare and pulls a soft grunt from the back of his throat.

“I wanted to take you on a walking tour of the Zone.” He takes a step back, almost slamming into the window behind him. “We’d better skip the tour of my bedroom and get going if you don’t want a replay of last night.”

“But I do. I do want a replay.” My voice is breathy as the words blurt from my mouth without permission.

“As do I.” Oh, he used the low voice, the one that makes my insides quiver.

He stalks toward me, his fiery gaze never leaving mine. “I ravaged you last night. I want to give you a couple more hours to recover before I do it again.”

I always thought the term “weak in the knees” was one of those dramatic sayings from 1950s movies, but damn, I feel close to swooning. Instead, I fan my face.

“Okay. Walking tour of the Zone it is.”