33. RAVEN

33

RAVEN

In the two weeks that follow the first evening at Maddy's, we meet almost every day.

I wouldn't call it breaking the ice. This deal is exactly the opposite—skating on the icy surface, and if it breaks, both of us will fall through the cracks with dire consequences.

But that night, she invited me over, and we kept drinking and fucking and talking and fucking some more almost until dawn. It was probably booze that unwound us and the stress from the attack before. The only thing that threw us off that night was her heart rate emergency alert that went off on my phone at some point.

"You track me?" she asked with a snort.

"It's for your protection."

And then I made her get on top of me and show me how the good sweet Maddy can ride a cock.

Two weeks later, I gotta say the girl is exactly what I am—into foreplay. Who else can get off on an hour of me teasing her with only my fingertips? Get off twice, mind you.

We talk, sure. Just not when we are together. It's mostly phone calls. Every time I'm around, I see her tension. I see her want. The craving for her grows day by day, not leaving room for anything else. And every time I leave her place, her last glance gives away her disappointment. Or at least that's what I tell myself.

When we are together, we are greedy. There is no way to hide it. It's all physical. It's all senses. It's the intensity I can't quite keep under control. And I sense it in her, too, the way she takes charge occasionally, that Russian tease.

Would she tell me if she wanted me? She never does and doesn't initiate the meetings herself. But she can't hide her eagerness anymore.

She still won't let me kiss her, turns away when our lips are too close. It drives me mad, so I kiss her everywhere else with a ferocity that coaxes the most delicious orgasms out of her.

I learn her every curve, know every inch of her skin, the goosebumps, the tremors, the little sounds that escape her when I please her, that fire in her eyes when I let her please me in turn.

I want to ruin her for other men. No, scratch that. I want to make sure there's no other man she wants.

Apparently, that's a double-edged sword. Every day, no matter what I do, my mind goes back to her bungalow, the four hundred square feet filled with her, the delicious filthy things I do to her.

Our meetings become almost nightly, unless the little dude is there.

Sonny interrupted our meeting exactly three times. But no one says no to a kid. Not me, and certainly not Maddy, both of us getting dressed and pretending like we are having a conversation when she opens the door for him.

And then it's food.

One night, I stay for a movie.

Sonny asks me, "Can we both stay here?"

I wish . "You have to ask Maddy. It's her house."

"Do you have to ask her when you want to stay?"

I flick my eyes at Maddy. She is smiling to herself, but I know she hears every word.

"Who says I stay?"

I do stay for the movie but force myself to leave before midnight.

Sonny is a good buffer to the otherwise emotional clusterfuck that Maddy is starting in me.

Patience is a virtue I never practiced as diligently as I do with this kid when he hunts me down at any given point of any day.

Sure enough, today I'm ready to start my bike after lunch with Bishop and Ortiz when he runs up to me in the parking lot and gives me that googly-eyed stare like I'm supposed to read his mind.

"What now?" I ask casually though I start enjoying spending time with this little trickster.

"You promised."

"Did I?" I mount my bike, no idea what he's talking about. But I expect him to talk.

"The whales."

Shit, the whales.

I did promise to take him whale-watching. He learned about them from that Animal Kingdom book he carries around. Except that he spends so much time on the beach with Kai's gang, surfing and whatnot, that I figured the not-so-impressive whale-watching was a thing of the past.

I nod. "You haven't seen any yet?"

"In a book," he says, his eager eyes latched onto me like he can coax a yes with that guilt-tripping look.

He has to check everything he sees in books and encyclopedias in National Geographic videos or real life, as if to make sure that he is not being tricked.

I have no plans for this afternoon. I look up at the overcast sky, and for once, it's eerily quiet. It's the calm before the storm, and this just might be a lucky day to see the whales.

"Hop on," I say, motioning behind me.

One second, he is biting his fingers, waiting for my reply, the next, he hops on the bike like a freaking grasshopper.

He already figured out where my secret alcove is. He is a snoopy guy. So, I park at the beach and take him to the trail that leads up and between the rocks to the cliff over my alcove.

Sonny climbs among the rocks faster than an American Ninja Warrior. One second, he is behind me, the next one, he's already on top of the cliff while I'm still several dozen feet behind. Like I said, a grasshopper.

"Aaaawesome!" he shouts.

When I reach him, he locks his fingers behind his head and grins at the vast expanse of the ocean. It doesn't escape me that he's imitating my usual pose at the alcove.

The sky is loaded with clouds that will soon burst with rain. The ocean is heavy and majestic, bringing its loaded waves onto the shore and against the rocks with brutal force that explodes with fountains of water and bubbles with foam.

I scan the bluish-gray expanse of water in the distance and see the re-appearing peaks of whales.

"You see those?" I point out.

"What?" Sonny narrows his eyes to where I point to.

"A pod of whales."

"Where?" he shouts, his eyes suddenly huge as he stands on tiptoes.

"There." I bend over and try to line my forefinger with his line of vision.

"You tall," he says. "I can' see." He jumps up. "Where?"

"You don't need to jump. Look attentively."

But he doesn't seem to see it.

I sigh and shake my head. He is a fibber. Or he might have ADD. Or maybe he's just overwhelmed with everything he sees and learns these days.

I squat and tap my shoulder. "Come on," I say.

"Wha'?"

"Get on my shoulders."

Without hesitation, he puts his little hands on my shoulders and hops on. I wonder if that was his true intention from the start.

I stand up to his excited, "Whoa!"

"Okay. Pay attention." I point in the distance and tell him what to look for when a big hump appears in the water at a distance, impossible to miss, and produces a fountain of spray. "There, there?—"

"I see it! Rave! Did you see that! Whoa! Whoa!"

His fingers are gripping my hair so tightly that he's about to pull them out by the roots. And then he throws his arms in the air and does some cartoonish war cry, and I can't hold back a smile.

This kid is crazy. And amazing. And so spontaneous, not yet tarnished by the adult attitudes and secrets. I wish more humans were like him.

We spend more time watching the whales, and then I think back on Maddy's attack and pull my Swiss Army knife out of my pocket.

"Sharp?" Sonny observes it with interest.

No. And that's exactly why I'm going to give it to him.

"I am going to teach you some moves," I say.

Sonny immediately sinks back on his bent legs in a karate position, his face exaggeratedly focused.

I roll my eyes. "This is serious."

He laughs, then relaxes. "Okay."

"You need to carry this on you at all times, okay?"

He nods. "Okay."

"There are all sorts of people around, and in case something happens, you need to be prepared."

"Like help someone?"

"No, protect yourself from bad people."

His lips round in a silent "oh."

I teach him the jab, then the slash, the thrust, hoping that that lethal move will never be used.

I pick up a branch and give it to him for practice while I show him the moves with my knife. I hope he never gets a chance to use them. But you never know.

He goofs around at first, making fun of all the positions and hand movements I make him repeat after me. But the longer he practices, the more pointers I give him, his moves with the stick in his hand don't seem so funny to him anymore.

When I finally explain to him the knife and let him take it, he looks at it with fascination.

"It's a tool, Sonny. If you are ever in the wilderness, it can come very helpful. Indispensable, in fact."

"In-dis—" he tries to repeat the word.

"Helpful, yes. But it can also be a weapon, however small."

If only he knew that even that dull little knife can do a lot of damage if you know a thing or two about arteries and pressure points.

"One more thing," I say.

He listens attentively. I think he is enjoying spending time with me more than actually learning. That's all right. Someone once said learning should be fun. Sure. I hope that for all kids it's fun, rather than having to use the knife to fend off your drunk foster father.

"If something is bothering you," I say, "something you are afraid of but can't say out loud, you use a safe word."

We've had those in juvie for codes, on the street for alerts, among dealers in case there were snitches around. It was a surprise to watch a movie and see parents teaching safe words to their kids. In case they are "uncomfortable." Again, we all have different childhoods.

"What kinda safe word?"

"Anything. ‘Snake,'" I suggest.

"So, if I see a snake, I say it?"

"No." I shake my head, practicing my patience again. "If someone is forcing you to do something you don't want, but you can't say it, and you see me around, you say, ‘snake,' and that's how I know that something bad is up."

"An' you do the same?"

"Sure. If I want to warn you."

"Like a secret code?" He grins.

"Like a secret code."

When the kid tucks the knife into his pocket—proudly, as if he got another treasure—he lifts his chin and narrows his eyes, scanning the ocean.

"Like a superhero," he murmurs under his breath.

I wish those were around.

He's deep in his thoughts. I like that. I hope Ayana teaches him more than just an abundance of things.

"Rave?"

He always calls people by name, even when the attention is already on him. That's a good thing. Dale Carnegie would've been proud.

He looks dead serious when he asks, "If you had any superpower, what wou' tha' be?"

I smile, but he doesn't. Children have this amazing habit of being awkwardly straightforward in their curiosity. When they don't yet learn that it can get them in trouble, embarrass others, or create hostility or put them in danger.

What do I tell the kid?

Shakespeare said that even the best are molded out of their faults. Well, some of us are molded by our demons. We often run from the demons of our past, sometimes, our entire lives. Some of us hide from them, wear disguises, hoping they don't find us. They always do. The rest of us try to accomplish great things and prove that we can fight them. We build walls, gather armies, and rise to the top so the demons can never catch up and drag us back.

That's the truth about the demons of the past. They can make us stronger. They create cowards, but often make kings. Sometimes ruthless. Sometimes admirable.

So that's the deal. Monsters chase you? Make a deal with them. Skeletons in the closet? Make friends with them. Ghosts of the past won't leave you alone? Talk to them. There's only so far you can run. Monsters in us feed on fear. When you understand them, you accept them, and they eventually get bored. Occasionally, they leave to chase someone else.

I want to tell Sonny that if I were to pick a superpower, I wish I could slay the demons of the past. Silly, I know. He wouldn't understand what those are. He didn't have demons. I hope not. He had a shitty childhood.

But I don't say anything. Instead, I ask, "What would be yours?"

A little smile forms on his lips. He looks at me awkwardly. "I wish I could make food out of air."

It's an invisible punch in my gut.

I showed him the videos from the port of his friends taking the packages we sent. He grinned and laughed, and I felt like shit that Ayana could've done so much more but simmers in its own wealth.

"Can I come to town when they send the next package?" Sonny asks.

"No."

His chin falls to his chest. "Bu' I wanna see ‘em."

"You want what?"

His eyes snap to mine. I cock a brow.

"I want to see them," he says sharply, punctuating every word. "Garrick. I haven't seen him long time."

"It's still a no. It's for your safety, Sonny. Things are not good in Port Mrei. Not good at all. We will figure something out when everything calms down."

"They can come here then?"

I think it over. "We'll have to talk to Archer about that."

I don't know how to explain to Sonny why this island has so much money, but the things have gotten so out of control that we simply are not in charge of the small town anymore. You think money can solve problems. But there are other things that are above the wealth—local government, social structure, mentality. I hope one day, Port Mrei will rise back to its former wellbeing. But as of right now, I think even Ayana is in danger of collapsing. This resort will quickly turn into another Port Mrei if we don't have enough service people. And service people come from Port Mrei. And Port Mrei is trouble. Don't ever underestimate the power of the masses that are fed up with poverty. Revolutions start from the bottom.

But there is something sneaky about the little dude. I can sense it. He is angry, and that's something I don't see very often.

I know the little guy well by now. When he is in a hyper mood, he does sneaky things.

And I already sense that something is coming.