28. RAVEN

28

RAVEN

I should've known that sooner or later, the monsters will start showing teeth. In hindsight, I should've taken precautions. But I'm thinking, well, this is Ayana, protected and surveilled. If I pay more attention to Maddy than needed, people will start taking notice. Archer will. Marlow, too. Bo would start sniffing around and giving me those hostile protective stares.

I don't think much about it when one evening, only two days after my little bathroom tryst with Maddy, I open her GPS tracker on my phone and see that she is in a Greek restaurant.

We haven't spoken in two days. I haven't texted or scheduled a meeting. I really need to cool it with her. I just make sure I know where Maddy is at every day. For her safety. For my peace of mind.

She's having dinner at a cafe.

Odd, because she's never been out as often as in the last week, but all right. She is coming out of her shell.

I grill steaks at home, on my patio, then go to my alcove, check her GPS tracker again, and she's still at the restaurant.

It's nighttime. And the one thing I don't like about darkness lately is Maddy going home alone. From work? Fine. It's a five- minute walk, both her bungalow and the medical center are in the same part of the resort.

But the restaurant she's at is on the opposite side. That's a half an hour walk. At night. By herself. Maybe even tipsy.

No stalking, I remind myself, then tell myself to assign one of my guys to escort her home, but for today, I will just make sure she is not party-drunk.

So, I don't take a bike, instead I power walk toward the restaurant.

Maddy is not my woman, but I sure feel like a fucking stalker as I see her leaving the restaurant just as I veer onto the restaurant street.

She is by herself, walking leisurely, and now I feel like a creep, watching her silhouette in the distance as I follow in the shadows of the buildings and stay away from the streetlights.

Here's a predicament about us men and our women. We want them safe but don't want to be controlling. We want them protected but don't want to sound possessive. And when we want to keep an eye on them, for their own safety, remind you, from a distance, in the shadows, we somehow come across as stalkers.

I contemplate catching up with her, as if we accidentally ran into each other. But she knows I don't walk around Ayana at night. Nor do I want her to suspect my level of surveillance on her. For her own safety, just to make it clear.

As I think that, my heart gives out a warning when I see a dark silhouette separate from the shadows of the plumeria trees just a little ahead of me, halfway between Maddy and me.

Okay. I watch it intently as I walk hidden by the shadows.

Another two dark silhouettes detach from the shadows, walk up to the first one, and they all walk after Maddy, closing the distance.

It could be nothing. Guards, maybe. Except they are quiet, their gaits determined. They are not in their twenties, so they are not Ayana residents. And they are dressed too shabbily, as much as I can tell in the streetlights.

No, not guards. They are approaching Maddy at increasing speed.

My brain goes into full alert as I start walking faster, closing the distance between me and them.

Forty feet.

Thirty.

Twenty feet between them and me behind them. They don't see me. But they are right behind Maddy, turning into a small street when she finally looks over her shoulder. Her eyes widen, and before she can say anything, one of them lunges at her, grabs her by the waist, and covers her mouth with his paw.

"Quiet," he hisses.

I see red.

Did I tell you how easy it is to cut into human flesh? How easy it is to do when you've done it dozens of times?

The first time might be an accident or self-defense. The second time feels like déjà vu. The third time already has muscle memory. From then on, it's a habit.

I don't have my gun —the thought flashes in my head. In a second, I snatch the Swiss Army knife from my pocket, snap it open, and, in several wide strides, reach the group.

Some say that the Swiss Army knife is a tool. Others call it a gadget. What makes its dulled edges lethal is knowing human anatomy.

You can stab someone in the heart, and they will survive. You can stab someone in the femoral artery in their groin, and they will bleed to death quicker than you can wipe your knife and put it away. Death can be tricky but often is astonishingly quick.

I don't ask questions, don't fight. This is not an octagon.

I grab the first guy by the shoulder and stab my little knife into the base of his skull, then push him away. If I damaged his brainstem, in seconds, his body would forget how to breathe and pump blood.

Without paying attention to him, I grab the next guy. Before I raise my hand, he sends a punch into my abdomen. It takes the air out my lungs, but not enough to incapacitate me. I punch him in the nose, and the second it takes for his body to come back to its senses, I fist his shirt.

That carotid artery on one's neck is a bitch. You can break dozens of bones, and the person heals. Cut the artery, and they will bleed to death in seconds. So, I jam my knife into his neck, pull it out right away, and let his squirting blood spray onto my shirt before I push him away.

I whip around and am about to lunge at the third guy who has Maddy when I halt in surprise.

He is on the ground, convulsing, his hand pressed to his collarbone.

Maddy stands over him, hair disheveled, some type of stick in her hand.

Slowly, she raises her eyes from him to me.

The silence gasps between us. Second by second, it becomes a living creature as we gaze at each other while the three attackers are on the ground, their gurgling and grunts saturating the warm evening air, laced with the smell of flowering trees and blood.