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So I took him with me. And blow. Shrooms. LSD. Ayahuasca. Guns. Illegal fireworks.
And there’s the lesson that life teaches you.
When shit went down, there was no better person to know than Raven, who found guys through his old connections on the dark web who knew guys all over the world and could get shit done amidst world lockdown.
Money was the best weapon. With the unlimited access that I gave Raven, he managed to acquire the chemical compounds for testing, keeping Gen-Alpha in the clear, and the biological material without waiting for months of approval. He made the first shipment of weapons happen like it was nothing.
Shit, the dude never went to college but knew the military codex as well as the laws of bringing heavy arms to a US territory. How?
In two years, Raven becametheZion connection. Arms, security specialists from war zones, black market, white market, government contracts, test animals used before FDA approval because paperwork took too long and we needed to run test-and-error.
He had a meeting with my dad, for which I got Raven dressed in one of my Armani suits, and holy fuck, he looked like a Yakuza top-echelon boss, his pitch-black hair slicked back, his speech flawless. He didn’t swear, still doesn’t, like it’s a taboo. My dad, the Secretary of fucking Defense shook hands with him, and only the two missing phalanges on Raven’s left hand gave away a story that didn’t fit with the picture of a sharply-dressed no-nonsense guy. And the scars that etch his body—I’ve seen those, but he hides them well enough underneath long sleeves. My dad had connections and all the power, but amidst the shaky political situation at that time, Raven was the middle guy who was willing to take responsibility and fault for military contracts.
What I know is that Raven deserves every bit of his reputation. I would trust him with my life and definitely would never do anything to get on his bad side, knowing where he comes from and all.
“Feel like having a drink at my place?” I ask.
Raven lowers his head to look at me with a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You look relaxed, Archer. Despite what happened to your father, you seem to have it together like you used to.”
There’s a soft knock at the door, and Maddy walks in, right away giving me a surprised look. “Archer! How’s everything?”
Her movements are soft but precise like she knows the room by heart and can do things with her eyes closed. It’s soothing, and so is her voice when she asks me a couple of questions, then turns to Raven.
“Mathew Levi,” she says the name that I forgot as she studies him up and down. It’s odd to hear Raven’s real name which sounds extremely Biblical.
“It’s Raven,” he cuts her off in his low voice, staring her down in his deliberate intimidating manner.
“Well, you are a patient, so it’s Mathew Levi.”
“It’s Raven.”
There’s a pause between them, Maddy facing him as she slowly puts his file on the desk, then takes slow steps toward him.
“What are we dealing with?” she asks.
“You are dealing with my face,” he says slowly.
“Alright.” She attempts a smile. “I need you to move closer to the edge of the seat.”
And when Raven does, his jaw tightens a little. He’s injured—I’ve been to cage fights enough times to know.
Maddy notices, too. “What’s with your ribs? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
“I need you to take off your shirt.”
“I said I’m fine,” he says just as quietly yet with danger etching his tone, his eyes never leaving hers.
She doesn’t flinch a bit. “You’re my patient, and I’m asking you to take off your shirt so I canmake sureyou’re fine.”
“You’re going to do what I came here for. My face, that is.”
I think I might’ve sobered up at this conversation.
Maddy’s expression doesn’t change, not even a fraction. And that’s an achievement, considering most people can’t look Raven straight in the eyes without giving away unease.
“Man, let her do her job, huh?” I smile, trying to ease the tension. I don’t like his sharpness with Maddy. “Maddy, he’s just stubborn.”
