Page 37 of Raven

Despite Skiba and other men being on my team for over a year, I share very little with them. I’m not interested in forming any type of bond with the men who work for me.

Before I rev up the engine, I lock eyes with him, waiting for him to talk.

He glances at the house, then looks around. “If you are into that pretty nurse, you don’t care if I”—he tilts his head toward Siena’s house—“make a move.”

That’s another surprise. There are no rules about guards fraternizing with Ayana residents. Most of them go to Port Mrei for entertainment. Occasionally, they hook up with some of the Elites. I get it. Many of the guards have that overbearing male energy and dangerous past that many women find attractive. I just never knew that Skiba was interested in Siena. I never saw them talk.

“Do you mind?” he asks. For permission, obviously.

“Not at all,” I say and rev up the engine.

I’m not concerned about what story Skiba created in his head about me and Siena or what he wants from her. But my interactions with Maddy are already obvious, and that’s something I should be more careful about.

“I’ll meet you at the Center,” I say.

The reason I want to get rid of Skiba for a minute is because I want to take the now-usual route past the medical center. It’s barely a detour, but I hope the revving engine of my Yamaha reaches Maddy’s ears now and then.

It’s barely eight in the morning and cool outside. It’s overcast, and though the air is muggy and it will most probably rain soon, at least there is no blinding sun that I hate so much.

I turn into the wider cobblestone street that goes past the medical center when the familiar little figure up ahead draws my attention—Sonny “Little.” As I approach, he almost jumps in front of me and waves his hands, so I pull over.

The Port Mrei Mowgli is like chewing gum stuck to my shoe sole. He still eagerly waves his raised hand in the air in a greeting as he approaches.

“Going to work?” he asks.

I swear, the kid knows my schedule.

“Snooping around so early?” I ask.

He snorts with laughter, pushes his long hair out of his face, then sticks his hands in the pockets of his summer shorts and studies me. “Cool motorcycle,” he says.

It’s a Yamaha, nothing special but does the job here on the island. I don’t need a fancy half-a-million-dollar toy like Archer has.

“Yamaha,” I say.

His eyes narrow. “Ya-ma?—”

I point at the brand logo.

His cheerfulness deflates a bit as he looks at it then back at me. “I don’ know letters,” he says with a hint of regret.

He doesn’t know how to read. His speech is screwed up, too. He should be in school, but instead, he roams the resort from morning until night.

“Did you ever go to school?” I ask cautiously.

He nods quickly. “For like a year. Then they stop’. Say’ somethin’ was happenin’. Like we have vacation. Then my mom didn’ come home. Then someone else move in. Some men. They told me to go.”

“Didn’t you have relatives that you could stay with?”

He shrugs.

There is no hurt in his eyes. Instead, he tells me all this with eagerness. He seems happy to share himself. He is a talker, too. I vaguely know what happened in Port Mrei when the world erupted into a war—a lot of chaos, looting, and all sorts of lawless dealings. Shit happens even in paradise.

The kid looks up at me again. “Wanna get burgers?”

At eight in the morning?

“No,” I say.

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