Chapter 20- Shoot your Shot

  Raze always gets what he wants.

  Whether it's the new sports car six months before its release or the fully booked year-long restaurant on the night he craves it, the world will somehow bend to his wishes, and he’s gotten the private talk with Mital as he sought.

  Except it’s become way worse.

  Mital and Vikson have requested a dinner, a proper meeting. Since the new year is around the corner, a huge Bowenese holiday, Lotus always hosts a huge event, and Vikson has invited the Valtors and I for the celebration.

  I step into the country club that Raze spends his weekend in to call it off.

  Staff Andra guides me around the private establishment in an automatic wheeled cart, politely asking about my day while showing me the tennis courts, golf course, and the lounges I can access as long as I have my guest pass on my wristlet. She drops me off at the shooting range.

  When the whiff of gunpowder and wired Lotic-fuel enters my nose, it hits me that wearing white was a mistake. Within the Gaia’s safety barrier, the temperature is controlled, but outside, my wool coat is the only thing saving me from this cold weather. The silver V shines along the hems of my sleeve and collar.

  Only Raze is inside the shooting simulation. I watch him begin his course, a single pistol with six bullets to start. He sprints out of the starting box and hides behind the large crates as hostile Andras shoots in his direction. Raze peeks out as they reload, blasting all six targets in the head, and racing through the matrix. He picks up an upgraded weapon in the next zone and eliminates every target, not a single bullet wasted.

  He lands on the finishing plate when he clears the last section, and the timer dings on the screen in the corner of the observation room—new record.

  Raze comes out the door, a towel over his nape, and Andra hands him a cold cup of water. I fold my arms, trying not to look too impressed or overly jealous of this daunting talent.

  “I won’t be attending the New Year's gala,” I say before he empties the cup. “I’ll sign another day whenever the notary is available. Or better yet, forget about the whole thing.”

  Raze wipes his sweat-dripping face, his chest still rising and falling in his charcoal-fitted shirt. His eyes widen in thought as he gets another glass of water, chugging it before responding. I may have come off too abruptly without a proper greeting.

  “What’s the matter now, Princess?” He strolls past me and tosses his towel into a woven basket. He presses a cart button, his attention back to me. “Your father-in-law specifically requested a private meeting with my great uncle. So I think this situation is beyond our control now.”

  “Princess?”

  “What, you don’t like it?”

  Well, it’s better than noodle arms.

  “If I’m the princess, then what are you? A court clown?”

  He masks his displeasure with a sour smile.

  “I still have to sign for the deal to go through. I don’t own SEM, but only I know the formula.”

  Raze sighs. A faint smugness plays on his lips. “Yes, I know. You’re the brains of this whole thing.” He stops before me and throws an arm over my shoulder as if we’re best of friends. “The arrangements are going well, celebrity chefs will be catering, there’ll be a drune show, all sorts of entertainment. You’ll have a good time.”

  I shrug his arm off. “That is not a good enough reason for me to attend.”

  The cart bell dings. Raze leaves the simulation range and gestures for me to follow.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “Another shooting range.” He hops into a seat, and I slide to the one across from him. The cart lifts and drifts us above the club.

  I brush down my ivory skirt and cross my legs, the sun beams over my dark tights, shining against my leather boots.

  “Going somewhere?” Raze comments.

  I ignore him. I knew I was headed into a fine establishment before leaving the house. Though I’m not a member, I can still dress presentably.

  “The initial agreement was only between us,” I curtly remind him. “Not your whole family.”

  Every single Lavoran will attend the event, as part of their family tradition. Vikson makes a whole fest, rounding up photographers, putting up posters, and giving a speech wishing everyone a great year. I attended once when I was eight and newly engaged. I hated all of Raze’s snarky cousins, who are almost a decade older than us, so I skipped the following year.

  “Well, there’ll be more than just my family,” Raze says. His gaze was on the empty field as we descended. “Politicians, movie directors, other tech CEO’s, and maybe Ashen Hunge might attend. Sent an invitation to his agency when I heard you’re a fan of his movies.”

  I roll my eyes. “That is not my point!”

  Raze disembarks the cart, and I’m forced to exit. The grass is soft under my soles, green and healthy despite the harsh season. Trees surround the area, concealing us from the other private spaces.

  A variety of guns—pistols, shotguns, assault rifles, antiques—lay across the table in an organized manner, bullets and neon vials placed underneath each weapon. Raze examines his armory attentively, putting on his ear muffs and eyewear.

  “Should I come back another time?” I grumble. He flashes me a glare of annoyance. “You said you’re free to talk now, but you’re busy playing with toys.”

  He picks up a revolver, inserts the bullets, spins the chamber, then points the muzzle at me.

  My heart jolts. I take a clumsy step back, alarmed at the sudden shift.

  “Aw, what's wrong?” Raze asks, satisfied with my reaction. “Afraid of a little toy?”

  He lowers the pistol and paces himself behind the shooting line.

  “That’s not funny!” I clench my jaw. If he’s not listening, then I’ll have to say it directly. “I don’t want to see your family. Not your—”

  Fire rings in the air, the waves pierce my eardrums and beat into my chest. I clasp my hands over my head, cowering away from the shots. Without the velm’s protection, I forget just how hammering old guns can be. The foul smell of gunpowder fills my nose. My eyes are shut, and I face away until it’s over. When I assume he’s done, he loads another mag and starts another round.

  Finally, after two more rounds, he returns to his armory and removes his ear muffs. I storm to him, slamming a fist down on the table.

  “Are we going to have a proper conversation or not?” I exclaim. “I don’t want to see your uncle or any of your family. If you still want this deal, we’ll just pass the papers around with a notary as witness and be done with it.”

  He shakes his head in frustration. “That’s not how this works.”

  “I don’t think you understand—”

  “No, I don't think you understand.” He stalks a step closer, his shadow looms over me. “You’ll be taking home millions, if not more, from us—me. All businesses have risk, and it’s not something to be said and done with. Especially not business done with someone like my uncle!”

  “Which is why I never wanted any of this!” I bump into his shoulder before leaving for the cart button. He grabs me back by the upper arm.

  “You do want this. That’s why you’re here, to finish our discussion.”

  “And our discussion is over.”

  He doesn’t budge when I try to wiggle out of his grasp.

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  “What is a small meeting for a few hours compared to the rest of your life in leisure? You walk into the room and just sit there, stand there, greet everyone, endure their presence for a few hours, then walk away with a sack of gold. Is that so hard?”

  I bite the insides of my cheek. With a finger jabbed at his chest, I spit out, “What if it’s you who’s in a room full of people who’re responsible for your mother’s death? Knowing that a handful of them signed the papers that passed the policy to burn her alive when things go south?”

  His expression grim, eyes scanning my seething face. If he’s waiting for tears, he’s wasting his time.

  “I’d count how many people’ll be in attendance,” he answers in a low voice. “That’s how many bullets I’d bring in with me.”

  My breath halts. That’s not a response I’d ever expect from Raze—not so much of what he said, but the casual way he expressed it.

  “I’m sorry,” he says genuinely. He tugs my sleeve and pulls me into an unforeseen hug. His arms over my back, a hand pressing my head to his chest. The same way he used to comfort me when I was upset. “I don’t think I’ve paid her my respects, but she was a wonderful woman. However, you should know that my family regrets their decision every day. They rewrote all their policies to protect staff in all positions. If you allow it, they’ll make it up to you.”

  As much as his words engross me, I writhe myself out of his embrace before he continues. “Nothing they do will bring her back.” They won’t restore my father’s reputation. The years I’ve lost in between. “It’s too late for that. I just want the money.”

  “Well, at least you’re honest.” Raze sighs and returns to his rows of weapons. He picks up an antique model and begins polishing it, even when the yellow and white gold outshines the rest of his collection. He holds it up in the sun, revealing an intricate engraving of a dragon on both sides. “And I’ll be honest with you. If you don’t attend, I don't think the deal will go through. You see, SEM might solve our problem, but we also have other solutions in mind, including newer technologies that can produce edibles from wild grasses and fallen leaves. Sure, business is a trade, but with my family, half of it is courtesy and partner confidence.” He casts me a doleful look. “And that’s the least of it.”

  I huff deeply out of my nose and avert my gaze to the cart button. I imagine myself in the middle of the grand floor, greeting Vikson for the first time in eight years, and suddenly my stomach tightens. Every part of my body threatens to flee, forget this conversation ever happened. But a tiny part of my senses at the back of my brain tells me otherwise, that Raze is right. Did I really expect a corporation to hand over millions for a product as if I’m shopping online?

  I watch Raze reload the antique gun as I contemplate. He slams the magazine in and offers me the polished pistol. “Want to give it a try?”

  The academy rarely teaches us how to handle any weapons made before this century, let alone this model. But the design is intriguing. Cautiously, I take it from him. The heaviness drops on my wrist. Without betraying my prowess, I grip the handle with both hands.

  As long as it’s not a ray gun, I don’t tremble.

  “Desert Eagle,” Raze starts. “One of the deadliest guns, and one of the hardest to control. My uncle made a custom order for my last birthday, etched by a famous jeweler. Only one like it in the world. Here, I’ll help you.”

  I keep him at bay with an elbow. “I know what I’m doing.”

  He takes a few steps back and welcomes me to try. I put on the earmuffs and step in front of the target thirty meters away. I align the target’s head with the front and rear sights. The trigger takes an extra muscle to pull. The blast goes off, and my joints jerk backwards so far I swear it would’ve snapped my wrist. The recoil is lethal.

  After composing myself, I look at the untouched target. My bullet is nowhere to be seen.

  “Go again,” Raze urges. “You have six more bullets.”

  I take a deep breath and line up the sights above the barrel. My hands are unnerved now, the crosshair shaky in my sight. So I shot the rest of them without another thought. By the time my trigger clicks empty, only one bullet hits a target, and it’s not the one I aimed for.

  I shove the gun back at him. “It’s broken.”

  “Sure.” Raze contains a grin. “Let me test it out. It’s my job, after all.”

  He reloads and puts on his ear protectors. This time, his targets begin to skid sideways at various speeds. One by one, he shoots all the bullets at a constant rate. The target metal rings with each shot. At the end of it, all seven targets have a hole in the dead center of their head.

  “Hmm, seems fine to me.” He shrugs.

  I fold my arms. “Did you bring me here just to insult me?”

  “Why do you always think I’m attacking you?” He purses his lips and reloads the Desert Eagle. “Maybe I want to help you.”

  He reaches for my hand. I assume he wanted a handshake, then he dropped the gun back into my grip. He doesn’t let go until he stands behind me and lifts his hand with mine.

  “What—”

  “I want you to trust me on this.”

  “On what?”

  “That I’m on your side here.” His eyes connect with mine. “I want you to hit what you’re shooting for.”

  He adjusts my hold, one hand over the other, shifting my fingers in a certain way, different from how I placed them before. Slowly, he glides down my arm, straightening my elbow, then down to my hips, at the belt of my skirt, uncurling my spine.

  “Remember to breathe,” he says, then releases me.

  At the end of my breath, I shoot them all out, mirroring his shooting rate. I hear the metal rattling as the smoke rises at the muzzle. All seven bullets pierce within the target’s outline.

  Raze claps slowly. “There you go. See how simple that was? You just needed a little help, a little guidance.”

  I gingerly set the pistol on the table. My eyes narrow on him. “You said you’ll help me with this…gala. How?”

  His expression softens pleasantly as if I finally walked into the bait he set for me. “Simple. Just follow my directions.”

  *

  I discard my half-smoked cigarette into the trash bin and brush the fumes off me as Raze leaves the men’s locker. He’s dressed warmly in a long taupe wool coat that falls past his knees, a loose black shirt underneath, exposing his collar, and a pair of loose trousers, his belt snaked gold. His hair is blown and fluffy against the wind. He’s ready for the runway.

  “Are you going somewhere?” I bounce back the question.

  He fixes his coat, ocean-scented body wash wafting from him. I catch a whiff of his woody cologne.

  “Shopping,” he simply replies. His nose twitches at the thin cigarette fumes, but doesn’t find the culprit right under his chin. “Have a dress in mind?”

  Plenty. But none is what Raze prepares me for. He drives us to another Gaia large enough to fit towers of stores. Bridges span the fabricated river and the forestry. The space is packed with other patrons.

  The building we head into is almost empty, set apart from the rest of the retail stores. HC House.

  The receptionist greets us and immediately beams at Raze with familiarity. She’s twice our age, with copper curls and a beauty mark above her lip. A human receptionist. That’s how you know this place will be expensive.

  We’re led into a display room full of gowns and ballroom dresses, rather the same attire I see in the media, worn by celebrities during red carpet events. An overwhelming wave washes over me, as if I wandered into a space I don’t belong in. The fine materials on the mannequins, all too extravagant, each piece costing about as much as my early property tax. Though I have no doubt Raze will be the one to make the purchase, I can feel the weight of each dress crushing me before it’s even on my shoulders.

  Raze must’ve caught wind of hesitancy, because he retracts his steps to guide me through the rows with a hand over my waist, and I do my best to keep my discomfort hidden.

  We glide through a sea of dresses before a silk red gown catches Raze’s attention. Deep carmine red with silver filigree on both sides of the hip and down the drapery, a beautiful cocktail dress. “I can see you looking nice in this.”

  I can see it too, but the longer I study the color, the more my vision begins to simmer. I shut my eyes and shake my head before my brain registered it as blood.

  “I hate this color.” I continue down the row, removing it from my frame of sight.

  Raze follows. “Fine. Not everyone has good taste.”

  After acquainting myself with the space, I’m comfortable enough to select a few outfits that suit my style and color. The sales assistant removes them from the rack and brings them into the dressing room, where I try them on, even the red cocktail dress Raze sneaked in.

  Unfortunately, I love them all, how it feels—physically on my skin, and mentally.

  For a moment, I allow myself to continue my watercolor dream, as if this is what it would’ve been like. Shop to my heart’s desire with Raze by my side—exactly what Raze wants to evoke.

  The moment I walked into the shop, I knew this was all bribery. This boutique is way above what I’m accustomed to, but precisely what I liked—a bait. And I let myself bite, just to get a taste of what could’ve been.

  An hour passes in and out of the dressing room, and I can’t decide which one to take. I let Raze choose since it’s his gift to me anyway. He brushes along the pending rack, a glass of champagne in the other hand. “Let’s take them all.”

  The overwhelming wave returns. Raze must be drunk, sipping the complimentary champagne this whole time. He’ll regret it later, no doubt. But I seize this vulnerable moment. Accepting the gifts doesn’t mean I accept the invitation.

  The receptionist places the order for all the ones I chose and sends them to the tailor with my measurements. And will be delivered before New Year's.

  When I think Raze will take me home, we head into another section of the HC house for shoes. Heels and stilettos. Andra comes to me with a few pairs that match the dresses I chose.

  He sits me down on a chair and changes them for me. My foot against his lap. The same rules apply—just gifts.

  Andra packs the ones I favor. I throw in some other shoes for daily errands, but Raze only allows the heels meant for the gala.

  “Fair,” I sigh. “Then are we done? My legs are sore.”

  My own boots have a slight incline from the short heels. I would’ve worn something more comfortable if I expected to be on my feet all day.

  Raze considers it, but since I haven’t given him an answer, he keeps offering. “Don’t you need earrings? Rings? Necklaces?”

  It overwhelms me again. I’ve already gotten a good part of this without giving anything in return. “Isn’t that too much?”

  His eyes are serene in the open Gaia, and he nods towards the other retail buildings. “You’re never too much.”

  I don't deny myself this rare moment of indulgence and follow him into the jewelry. I choose pieces that aren’t excessively large or jarring to the eye. They are real gold, diamonds, gems, handcrafted by renowned jewelers. Simple and elegant, but not dull.

  For our last stop, we enter a cosmetic retailer. Anything I touch on the shelf will be bagged and sent to my gaia. My finger traces the first item to the last around the store—makeup pallets, luxury shampoos and conditioners, hairstyling accessories, skincare, and perfumes.

  Before I know it, my cheeks are sore from smiling. Inactive muscles I haven’t exercised in a long time. I sit on the bench, watching Andra pluck out each item from the shelves.

  Raze stretches beside me. “I’m starving. You?”

  I reach into my pocket for my SEM pills. He stops me at my wrist before I pop one into my mouth.

  “Come,” he says. “Dine with me.”