Raiden might be able to forget me after I quit, but I’ll never be able to. Never. Ever.
CHAPTER 5
Raiden
The atmosphere in the room is tense, even negative to say the least. I think there are real words for all the hate and pissed off vibes radiating from Zoe, but I’m not really into new age terminology, so I’m not sure what they are.
Zoe jumps up when I enter. I walk lazily toward her and thrust a whisky glass in her direction with a suggestive lift of my brow. There’s nothing a good whisky can’t fix. It delighted me to no end to learn that Zoe is a whisky girl. Well, of course she is. She always loved a challenge, and she also had good taste. I remember that her dad enjoyed a whisky now and then. He probably taught her how to drink, savor and enjoy it.
It just so happens it’s one thing we have in common.
The rest of the ground might be shaky, the waters shark-infested, but hey. It’s a start. And sometimes, swimming with sharks can be fun.
I didn’t get where I am by not taking risks.
Even if those risks were not the kind that involved my dick. It’s times like this that make me realize I should give the bastard a name so I can give it commands. How about Sparky? Down, Sparky. Stop that, Sparky. No, Sparky, that’s not appropriate. Sparky, she’s your ex-stepsister. Goddamn it, I said down! Sparky, you’re an asshole.
Not that I’d name my dick Sparky because that’s just weird. Weirder than wanting to name it just so I can order it to stop getting hard at the mere thought of Zoe.
And I’ve been thinking about her a lot.
Constantly.
Ever since I set eyes on her yesterday.
Zoe reaches out and takes the glass so gently that it’s almost like passing it off to a gentle breeze. If a gentle breeze had hands, that is. I already opened the bottle in the kitchen, so I tilt it towards her glass. “Two fingers or three?” It’s something her dad used to say, and she can’t help her sentimental expression that I remembered.
“Two.”
She waits until I pour, then jerks the glass tumbler away so fast that the whisky just about sloshes over the side. I have quick reflexes, so I manage not to spill a single drop of the fifteen-hundred-dollar bottle of whisky on the floor. I pour myself a drink, and since I haven’t gotten around to purchasing much of the furniture I need even though I’ve lived in the house for a few months already, I set the bottle on the floor. I walk over to one of the couches and sit down before staring pointedly at Zoe until she sits too. I know I’m making her uncomfortable, but I feel like looking away first makes me the loser in the creepy stare off we’re suddenly in.
“So?” She tips her glass, and without looking away, downs the contents in a single gulp. She doesn’t so much as wince when she swallows the whisky.
“I thought you wanted to savor a good whisky. If I knew you were going to shoot it, I would have pulled up a twenty-dollar bottle.”
“Pulled up? You mean like from the wine cellar? Or maybe you have your own special cellar for every different kind of alcohol. Maybe for dead bodies too.”
“No. Just a basement with a bar, unfortunately. It’s not nearly as interesting, I’m afraid.”
Zoe sets her tumbler down on the floor and smooths her hands over her legs. She has really, really nice legs. The green dress she has on, which is almost the exact shade of her eyes, only makes it obvious that she has many more nice things to be appreciated. These jeans will only hide so much, so I concentrate on enjoying the complicated and complex flavors of the whisky.
“Why did you really ask me here?” It’s clear Zoe is running out of patience. I’m still quite surprised she showed up.
“I wanted to talk about old times. Like what you’ve been doing. It’s been almost two decades.”
“Are you sad I never looked you up? Offended? I should remind you that you never looked me up either.”
“I’m easier to keep tabs on.”
“And much harder to get a hold of because of it. You live in a gated community, and I seriously doubt anyone could just call to set up an appointment with you. Not that I was keeping tabs on you. I just couldn’t help it, as I said. The whole city knows who Ruthless Raiden is.”
“Since we’ve been over this, we should just skip it and the angry, resentful, bitter emotions that conversation might evoke. I’d like to talk about happier times.”
“You never even tried to contact me,” Zoe says evenly, but by the hard set of her jaw, I can tell she’s pissed. “You had all the resources in the world.”
“That didn’t come until later. And it’s pretty hard for a fifteen-year-old kid to hire a private investigator to find someone who doesn’t want to be found. Plus, there was always the fact that I didn’t have a cell or computer of my own yet, and my mom didn’t want to have anything to do with your dad, which we both know was probably for the best. And I didn’t have a car. We couldn’t afford that. So, you’ll forgive me if I had zero resources at my disposal up until after college.”
“Yeah? What was stopping you then?”
“The fact that you never contacted me either, and it had been ten years by then, and I thought maybe things
