13. RAVEN

13

RAVEN

I first saw Maddy when she came to Ayana from the Eastside when Bo was shot. She stood out immediately with her soft confidence and disregard for everyone. Like she was in her own world.

Unusual, right? Well, for an Outcast.

Here you have the richest young people of the Western world. But she didn't try to rub shoulders with them. In fact, she seemed to stay away from them. She put on her tennis shoes and scrubs or dresses and came to work as a nurse in the medical center. Worked double shifts, too. Stayed overnight for emergency cases. Hardly ever went out.

Out of the ordinary always draws my attention.

I thought, trauma. I looked up her file. Parents gone, but all right, this happened to half of Ayana's residents.

I thought, mental issues. Didn't look like it.

Archer Crone, the Chancellor himself, called her "the good girl of Zion." Archer has an eye for good people when he's not high or drunk, and Katura took care of that part. Now he is clean and continues to save the world. Women can do that— either send men to the darkest pits of madness or become their steppingstone. Or just fuck really well—that's my experience.

Maddy? Hmm. I don't care how good a person she is. There are no gods, devils, or saints. All said and done, bones broken and wounds cut open, we are disappointingly very human and simplistic in our needs. I'll make her crack.

The first time Maddy looked at me reminded me of Mac, the way he looked at me the night I stood in his backyard, nineteen, drawing a gun on him, and I felt hate for a second. Hate that he saw right there and then who I was, what I've done, all the nasty things that were done to me by my foster monster, the stuff that made me whimper like a little girl when I was a kid and begged for mercy. Mac looked at me like there was nothing I could hide from him. Later, that's what drew me to him. That he didn't pity me, didn't despise me, wasn't scared. He saw me for what I was and wanted me around. I wasn't used to people enjoying my company.

I felt the same way around Maddy. That day, when I ended up at the medical center after the Carnage fight, the way she stood her ground, didn't cower under my gaze, and turned around when I tried to have my way made me curious. In fact, it challenged and surprised me.

I was hooked.

When she paused her calm, pretty eyes on me that day, anger flared up in my blood for the first time in years.

She wasn't Mac, a seasoned guy who saved the worst scum in the hood. She was a girl, several years my junior, and that— that —was not ordinary.

So, I dug deeper. Maddy Wise had disappeared from social life. No legal activity either. No check-in with the after-Change registry. No claim on her bank accounts. Nada.

Interesting, I thought, why wouldn't she try to claim her funds? Or look up her relatives?

I dug out her medical file. Turned out, two years ago, she was checked into a hospital on the mainland two days before Archer's private jets took off for Zion for spring break. She had acute severe asthma. I asked around—she arrived at Zion that same day. So, I asked my darknet guy to get the detailed medical records for her from that hospital.

And there, right there, was the truth about Maddy Wise. Not only did she never check out of the hospital, but as per her records, she had an intubation procedure at 3:05 p.m. the day the jet took off for Zion. She was still at the hospital the day of the first nuclear attack.

You don't have to be a genius to realize that our Maddy couldn't be in two places at once.

The hospital was bombed. She was never on the list of deceased or recovered. Maddy Wise simply stopped existing. Yet, whoever was claiming to be her was on Zion.

It only took a minute of research to find out who her best friend was—Milena fucking Tsariuk.

Well, well. Coincidence? I think not.

Maddy is a mystery, and the way she makes me feel is unusual, to say the least.

When I was in my sex-exploration era, I used to look at women and wonder how far they'd go in bed, what tricks they had up their sleeves, what their pussy looked like, and how they orgasmed.

Maddy? My dick turns into a tungsten hard-on when I imagine taking her dress off. Just the dress. The first time I thought about what panties she wore, I jerked off. When I found her lost bracelet at Archer's birthday party two months ago, I twisted it in my hand for hours that night at home, then rubbed myself and came like a maniac when I imagined putting it back on her wrist.

Sure, I wonder what she'd be like in bed. But I want to crack her open. Do things to her. See what the difference between Maddy and Milena is. Know what Milena is like. Learn what makes her come out of her shell. The thickest shells are the hardest to break but they hide the softest core. She is this whole package that I can't wait to get my hands on. Most importantly, I want to find the reasons for her hiding and know how to protect her.

She is mine, if only for a short while. Which means, I won't let anyone harm her.

When I open the door to the patient room, Maddy stands by the window, the blinds open, her arms hugging herself. Slowly, she turns to look at me as I close the door behind me and study her.

She is a nurse. Where does a nurse get a gorgeous, toned body like that? Then I remind myself that she lived on the Eastside for two years like a hippie. They did gardening or something like that, cleaned and built stuff.

She is still wearing her minidress and fancy sandals. Of course, you didn't come here for a regular shift, Maddy baby.

She dressed up for me, I fucking know it, and it makes my chest hum with satisfaction.

There's that fierceness in her eyes that she fails to hide. They sparkle. There's a dare in them.

There you are, Milena.

I want to see this side of her. I will claw it out of her if needed. It's always the quiet ones who know how to tame monsters because they know how to hide their own.

Maddy pulls the blinds closed.

Oh? Is she expecting something to happen?

She nods to the examination table. "Shirt off," she orders.

I like her in charge. Unlike the last time I was here, I don't argue. I wonder what she will do next.

I pull the shirt over my head and drop it onto the chair, then take a seat on the edge of the examination table, spreading my knees wide so that she has nowhere to stand but between them.

She walks up and touches my shoulder wound.

It's nothing serious. After all, I calculated that punch. But the brush of her fingertips against my skin makes me tense up. She is so close that I can see that she is wearing more makeup than usual, including lip gloss. Her perfume is not overly sweet but slightly bitter, like cool water or something. Our faces are on the same level, and I stare her down, wondering if something will give away her nervousness, though she seems calm.

"You were great in the octagon," she says and, without looking at me, steps away and grabs a bottle of peroxide and a box with first aid supplies.

She comes back and starts cleaning my wound.

I can't stop looking at her. Despite what I told myself before coming here—that I will behave, see how she reacts—I can't stop myself from setting my hands on her hips.

She shifts at my touch and steps closer.

Oh, Maddy baby…

She is a flirt. Is she teasing me? Does she want more?

"It's not your shift, Maddy," I say, tilting my head, trying to coax her to look at me, though her eyes are on my wound. "What are you doing here? Or did you come specifically to take care of me?"

She doesn't look up, continuing to disinfect my wound like it's the most important task in the world. "If I say I did, does that make you excited?"

I cock my brow.

"What are you doing here, Raven?" she asks, turning away to grab a tube of antiseptic ointment. "Or did you come here for a specific nurse to check on you?"

Finally, she lifts her eyes to meet mine, then quickly drops her gaze to my wound again.

She is perceptive, and I like this. Her movements are slow and calculated, and her touch is soft and unhurried.

She smells sweet and forbidden, and my dick stirs to life.

My hands slide down her hips and behind her, cup her ass, and squeeze gently, pulling her closer.

She follows by inertia and lifts off her heels as I bring her closer to me.

I feel myself swell in my jeans while the pretty girl's expression remains calm.

She doesn't stop what she's doing, gently applying ointment to my wound, and that gentle touch, the fact that I'm shirtless in front of her, and she's standing between my legs, are enough to make me stifle a groan.

My skin breaks out in goosebumps. She can see it but doesn't say a word. And I don't give a fuck. She must know this arrangement is not for the feelings or the cute courting game. It's a physical thing.

Women got it easy in terms of hiding their arousal. To a point, of course. We men have it on full display. Hard. There, look at that, we want you, take notice. It's definitely one of the cleverest mating mechanisms designed by nature.

Oh, and Maddy can feel it too. Of course, she can. But her face expression doesn't change.

"Hold still," she says softly, not giving me a single glance, like I'm not pulling her against my hard-on.

Her pretty lips are pressed tightly together. Her blinking is slow. Her breathing is even. Nothing is giving away that she might not be as calm as she wants to seem. Except—yes, right there. My eyes slowly glide to her neck, a tiny repetitive bulging of her artery, her pulse drumming against her skin—tuk-tuk, tuk-tuk, tuk-tuk—so fucking fast.

Immediately, my body rages with want.

I can smell her. If I stuck my tongue out, I could taste her, too, just a little lick against that hummingbird pulse on the side of her neck, making it run threefold faster.

She quickly sucks in her lower lip, moistening it.

If she let go of her silly rules, I could suck on that lip, then plunge my tongue in her mouth, ravish her with a kiss, make her head spin. We could get lost in each other.

Instead, we are playing a game. Because, yeah, rules, hers, for some silly reason that makes sense only to her and drives me insane. It makes me angry, too, because I wasn't planning on denying myself anything, and now that I can't devour that pretty mouth, it haunts me. I fantasize about kissing her for hours.

But I'm patient. I'm taking my time with my prey.

I lean in close, my cheek brushing against hers, and bring my lips to her ear. "Did you look forward to seeing me here, Maddy?" I tease her in a whisper and plant a little kiss on her earlobe.

I can feel her shiver. That's right, beautiful girl, I will make your body purr.

I could've touched her a dozen times by now. I could bend her over and fuck her just to prove my point. She would take it too. She would enjoy it, I'd make sure of it.

But that can wait.

I want her to think about me. I want her body tuned to my touch. To the point that when I don't give her what she expects, she'll need to get off. And she'll do that to the thought of me.

I pull away and look down at her fingers on my wound. She puts the large Band-Aid on it and smooths its edges slowly. When she's done, she simply lowers her hands to rest on my thighs, the move so innocent but calculated. I know that, and so does my dick that's been hard for some time now.

Her eyes meet mine. "You are all set," she says but doesn't move away.

She is waiting for me to do something. I don't look down at her hands, pretending this is normal. I lift my hand and tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. She doesn't flinch, but her chest stills—she is holding her breath.

Good.

"You shouldn't be working so much, Maddy," I say, offering her a little smile. "Take some time off. I want to see you tomorrow. Your place. And I want you to play nice. Like the good girl of Zion that you've been playing all this time."

I set my hands on her hips, gently shifting her away as I get off the examination bed.

Her hands fall off my thighs, leaving behind the feeling of emptiness where they just were.

Slowly, without looking at her, I put on my shirt then softly say, "Thank you," and walk out the door.

I don't want to leave, but I need to. I know she was expecting something, but I have other plans. I will drive her absolutely insane with want. Until she starts seeking out our meetings and eventually—I'm making it my goal—kisses me first.