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“Millie,” a growl sounds from behind me. My eyes snap open, the warm flecks that were comforting me now ripped away. “Turn around.” I close my eyes, slowly turning my body towards the voice that’s behind me. Once I’ve turned with my eyes still closed, he growls again. “Open your eyes.”
I slowly but surely open my eyes, falling on who could quite possibly be the most beautiful man— I’m not sure you can use the word “beautiful” to describe a man like him—I have ever seen. I tilt my head, my arms dropping to the side. There is a familiarity about him that I can’t put my finger on.
He matches my movement, his head tilting to the side with his drink dangling between his fingers casually. His ankle rests on his knee, his dress shirt unbuttoned, his tie loose and hanging effortlessly off his broad shoulders. He’s sitting in the dim darkness so I can only see the profile of his face.
A smirk kicks up the side of his mouth, hinting to straight white teeth and a smile that could quite possibly scare the devil himself. “Come closer, Millie.”
With confusion coursing through my veins, I take a tentative step forward. His smirk deepens and his eyes darken. His eyes. Why does he have a familiarity about him that I can’t put my finger on? My walking stops. My body freezes and his smirk turns into a full smile that’s anything but beautiful. It’s the kind of smile that would haunt little girls in their sleep.
“Ahhhh…” he begins. “And she gets it.” He turns his head to place his drink on the table that sits beside him and that’s when it’s confirmed. The familiar tattoos that line around the scalp of his head. The sides shaved with the top long and slicked back. Shit.
Tripp.
MILLIE
He stands from the chair, all six foot five inches of him, and I swallow, retreating backwards. “Tripp?”
He laughs, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up even further, displaying his ink covered arms. The tattoos I had become so familiar with.
“Raze,” he corrects me. Noticing the confusion in my expression, he clarifies. “My name’s Raze, Millie.”
Raze? Why all the secret names? Why not just have one?
He continues, “Tripp is my name on the Base. The name the crew call me, the name that is nonexistent. My name, by birth, is Raze.”
“Why am I here? Whose Hachiro? Why are there so many Japanese here? And who are you?” The words fall straight out of my mouth, bypassing any filter.
“You ask an awful lot of questions for a girl who is in a very vulnerable position.” His face is serious yet his eyes dance with menace.
“Well I don’t seem to get an awful lot of answers.”
He pauses, the same smirk clinging to his lips.
My eyes follow his. “Tripp?”
“—Raze.”
“Sorry,” I whisper, my eyes meeting his. “Raze, who’s Hachiro?” I drop my eyes down to the floor, trying to add up whatever story is behind this messed up plan.
“I wouldn’t worry about Hachiro if I were you, pet. You have enough to worry about as it is.” He steps toward me, his musky sweet scent following closely behind him.
“Did you buy me?” I ask, my eyes searching his.
He smirks again. “I did.”
Shit.
“Why?” I ask, stepping backward until my back is pressing against the wall.
“Because I like to collect shit.” He smirks, his tone playful.
“What?”
The door opens again and the same man who greeted us before when we walked in comes into the room. “Boss? Yeah we have a problem.”
Tripp, or Raze, doesn’t flinch. His eyes remain on mine. He answers, “Show Millie where her room is.” Then he turns and leaves.
Tattooed suit, door man—I really need to start learning people’s names, I’m getting tired of referring to people by their attire or their mask—nudges his head, his messy black hair falling around his collar. “Come. You heard him, I’ll show you your room.”
