Page 24 of Raiden

But here?

He could ask me to leave. I want to. He hasn’t. Do I really want to go at all?

“Whatdoyou want then?” It’s meaner than I want to sound.

I don’t know how I want it to come out. I don’t know how to offer comfort. I don’t know why he’s showing me this part of himself. A single night, a confession about a shitty night I lived through, getting lost, a panic attack, a kiss—none of that makes us friends.

It doesn’t make us lovers.

It doesn’t mean trust. It doesn’t change who we are. I’m still the daughter of the man who did this to him and made him like this. He should want me to pay the price of undoing it, but the spiteful burning rage behind his dark eyes staring boldly into me, is gone.

“Just a shower. Just to be fucking clean.”

“Clean? That’s not for people like you and me. Not for the life we’re living. You can’t scrub that away.”

“What is there then?”

“Only a brutal form of acceptance and then you move on. What you’re doing. It’s not wrong, even if it’s not working.” The record stops abruptly, turning to static as it spins and spins. “Have you ever talked to someone about it?”

He snorts. “About what? The shit in here?” He lifts his hand like he’s going to thump himself in the temple, but I step toward him quickly. His hand freezes halfway.

“What you’re afraid of might be in the past. It might be over, but your brain doesn’t know that and so it’s very real. PTSD won’t just go away. You need treatment.”

“Talking to some doctor who hasn’t experienced shit all in his life isn’t going to help.”

“Try a her then.”

He narrows his eyes dangerously. I go on the defensive, then realize what I’m doing. We’re always so dramatic that I laugh, loosening myself up purposefully. “Christ. Look at us. You want a shower? Let’s go. I’ll be right in there with you, on the other side of the curtain. I can even talk to you if you want. I might be annoying. You might hate me. I might even be the enemy, but you already know I’m a good shot and now you know I’m good with a knife. Nothing’s getting through me.”

His eyes widen at my self-deprecating tone. “The problem with you, Widow, is that you’re so likable. It’s a character flaw you should work on fixing.”

“I think the term you’re really looking for is attractive. It’s been a problem my whole life. When you look like a whore, people assume you are one.”

His eyes darken. “Don’t say that.”

He whips around, snatches the record off the player and shoves it into the sleeve. He’s tense as he picks out another, practically tears it out, and gets it into place. Opera. Dark, broody, wild sounding music and a woman’s voice that has such a range her talent is undeniable, even if the genre of music isn’t something I’d normally enjoy.

I clear my throat at a lull in the song. “When you’re naturally seductive, blonde with big tits and a good ass, it draws the wrong kind of attention.”

“I said likable, not beautiful.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes.”

“You’re confusing likeability with lust.”

My body feels tight at his frown. A surge of violent heat rips through me. If we need to talk about anything, it’s not getting lost in the woods. It’s what happened in there. That kiss. “I can see that you want me. You want to own me. Devour me. You want to change me. Punish me. Make mepay. You think you can convert me with your kisses and your cock. You think you can break me and that in return, I’ll fix you.”

The air pressurizes with the tension flowing between us. As if the music was made to mirror the situation, the voice increases, sweeping up to a dramatic high note. “Stop telling me what I think,” Raiden demands over it.

“So you don’t want to kiss me? You’re not hard as a lead pipe right now?” That’s not fair. I can clearly see the outline of him in his jeans, but I can see that he’s also battling with himself. He doesn’t want to want me. The feeling is mutual.

The feeling is confusing as fuck.

He’s never looked at me the way every other man who has wanted me has.

“I do. I am. But the other shit isn’t true.”

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