Discovering Zhara: Bad Girl Training, Page 3

  “Really? Not a know-it-all?”

  He shakes his head. “Not at all. You never seemed like that.”

  “Well, that’s what everyone else seems to think of me.”

  “Well, I’ve never thought about you.” He smiles. He has a nice smile. Sweet and not at all dangerous looking like the rest of the smiles I’ve seen lately.

  Granted, not all of those dangerous smiles were bad to look at either.

  “You have a nice smile,” I tell him and for some strange reason a blush spreads across his cheeks. And for some stupid reason, that makes my cheeks flush.

  Oh my Gosh, just stop, Zhara!

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  The noise smacks me away from giggling, blushing, fairytale land and back to memories of being in the SUV, sitting on Wilder’s lap, while Goatee Guy touched himself.

  “What is that?” I ask, sitting up straighter.

  “Huh?” Ridge blinks at me.

  “That beeping.” I nod at his computer. “I think it’s coming from your laptop.”

  Ridge’s eyes widen. Then he lets out a series of very colorful words as he springs to his feet and collects his computer. When he looks at the screen, he visibly relaxes.

  “It’s okay. It’s just a false alarm.” He sits back down and places the computer onto his lap.

  “What is it?” I want to look at the screen, but worry that it might make me come off as rude. But he turns the computer toward me anyway.

  “I’m tracking Benton, Xavier, and Jackson,” he explains, pointing at three blue dots on a map of roads, rivers, and mountains. “This is their current location.”

  “Is that Honeyton?” I lean forward to get a better look.

  He nods. “But if they were to leave Honeyton, the map would change to show wherever they were.”

  “That’s cool.” I examine the map. “So, right now, Benton, Xavier, and Jackson are down by the cemetery.” That seems a bit strange. Do drug lords typically hang out at cemeteries?

  Perhaps if they’re burying dead bodies.

  I shiver at the thought, which causes Ridge to glance up at me.

  “Are you cold?” he asks worriedly. “Maybe you should lie back down and pull a blanket over you. I could have Jackson make you some soup. And hot chocolate.”

  “I’m fine,” I promise him. “I can eat whatever Jackson brings me.”

  “Are you sure? With what happened, I don’t want you overdoing yourself.”

  Worry stirs in my chest. “Will there be side effects?”

  He shakes his head and strands of his brown hair fall into his eyes. “They’re shouldn’t be. In fact, normally when someone gets injected with devil’s poison, they’re fine within minutes of waking up.” His brows furrow. “But with how long you were out, I want to keep a close eye on you. And your body temperature…”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “Devil’s poison?”

  “It’s the name of the tranquilizing drug Axel injected you with,” he says then hurriedly adds, “Don’t worry. The name sounds worse than it really is.”

  “Oh…” My heart pounds deafeningly inside my chest.

  Ridge must notice my sudden uneasiness because he asks, “Zhara, what’s wrong?”

  “It’s nothing.” I fidget with the hem of my shorts. “It’s just that, when Axel whispered into my ear, he said something about my mom liked the taste of devil’s poison.”

  “Oh.” He grows quiet. Like really, really, uncomfortably quiet.

  I don’t want to ask, but I feel like I have to. “Can people get addicted to this drug?”

  “It’s sort of becoming a growing problem and part of the reason why we were put on this job. But honestly, the addiction usually isn’t a choice.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He wavers with uncertainty. “It means that the people who usually get addicted to it are being forced to take the drug, either through experiments or simply because people like Axel use it as a form of punishment.”

  “Oh.” My heart thrashes in my chest as a single thought races through my mind.

  Was my mom addicted to devil’s poison?

  Nicknames

  “You don’t need to worry. You won’t get addicted from one dose,” Ridge says, misinterpreting my silence.

  “I wasn’t really worried about that,” I tell him. “I was just thinking, or more like wondering, if my mom was addicted to it and maybe that’s why Axel said she liked the taste of it.”

  He hesitantly takes my hand. “Remember what I said about people in this world lying. Well, Axel is definitely one of those people who would lie to you, so I don’t think you should stress yourself out about this.”

  “But what happens if he was telling the truth?”

  “If we find out he was, then we’ll worry about it then. But there’s no point in worrying about things if you aren’t sure they’re even true. It’s a waste of time and energy.”

  “Okay, I’ll try to stop,” I tell him. But I’m unsure if I can. It’s just not really in my nature. Although sometimes I wish it was.

  “Good.” He gives my hand a squeeze, but then creases line his forehead. “God, your skin is so cold.” He pauses, deliberating something. “I know you said it’s normal for you to run this cold, but maybe we should run some tests.”

  I squirm at the idea of being prodded and poked. “What sort of tests?”

  “Nothing too severe. I promise,” he reassures me, moving the computer aside. “Just some blood work. That’s all.”

  “And you’d do it?” I ask. “I wouldn’t have to go to a hospital?”

  He nods while studying me carefully. “I can draw the blood and then have my mom run the tests… Do you not like hospitals?”

  “I don’t know.” My gaze lowers to my hands as my eyes sting with tears.

  I stare at the lines in my palms, willing the tears to go away, but instead, memories press at my mind.

  When I was younger, my mom went through a phase where she decided she was going to learn how to palm read. She practiced on Alexis, Annabella, Jessamine, and I and we’d stay up all night telling fortunes and pretending we could read Tarot cards. I always thought it was sort of a strange hobby for a mom, but I liked that she was a little different and weird sometimes. But she wasn’t always that way and the older we got, the more those weirdo days faded. Then she started trying to mold me into the perfect daughter, when I would’ve much preferred being the weirdo girl who learned how to read palms and Tarot cards. And then she died and those weirdo days were nonexistent. And my dad, who allowed me to try to be who I wanted to be—even though I didn’t know who that was and still don’t—was gone too.

  “I was in the hospital when I heard the news about my parents’ deaths,” I say quietly. “It was the last time I’ve been there and I… I don’t know. Going back there… I’d just rather not go, if I don’t have to.”

  Sympathy fills his eyes when I look up at him. Or maybe it’s empathy. Has Ridge lost someone too?

  “My dad died when I was six,” he says, confirming my speculation. “He actually worked in the organization and died on the job. I was at the hospital when I found out. I hate going there too.” A shaky sigh leaves his lips. “Unfortunately, my mom’s a nurse so I don’t always get a choice.”

  “I’m sorry.” I scoot to the very edge of the bed, lean forward, and give him a hug.

  At first, his muscles wind up tightly and I worry I’ve crossed some sort of line. But then he unstiffens and hugs me back. Although he seems a bit uncomfortable.

  “Okay, what’d I miss?” Wilder’s voice sails over my shoulder.

  Ridge jerks back from me, as if he’s done something wrong. He moves so quickly I start to face dive off the bed.

  “Crap,” Ridge mutters as he scrambles to catch me.

  His arms envelope around my waist right before I eat a mouthful of carpet. As he struggles to rebalance me, he loses his grip and I tumble forward, my face landing right in his crotch ar
ea. My cheeks flame with heat as I push back and plant my ass back on the bed. The only thing that makes the awkward moment easier to handle is that Ridge’s embarrassment seems equivalent, if not worse, than mine.

  “Wow, Ridge. I mean, I know you suck when it comes to girls, but that was the least smooth move I’ve ever seen,” Wilder says in a teasing tone. “And if you want a girl to put her face near your dic—”

  “Don’t finish that sentence,” Ridge interrupts him, his voice loud, his cheeks bright red. “Or I swear to God, the next time your computer crashes, I won’t fix it.”

  “Oh fine. Ruin my fun.” Wilder wanders into the room and hands me the plateful of food he’s carrying, along with a cup. “Your highness, here’s your meal.”

  I giggle as I take the plate and cup from him. “Thank you.”

  He grins then plops down on the bed next to me, sitting close enough that our shoulders touch. “It’s the healthiest meal I’ve ever made. It even has all the four food groups. Well, that is if you can count the chips and juice as the fruits and vegetables food group.”

  “It looks good,” I say, fully meaning it. Sure, it’s just a ham sandwich, some chips, and a glass of juice, but I’m so starving right now I could eat almost anything and be happy about it. Besides, it’s not every day a guy makes me something to eat.

  A guy I kissed!

  I discreetly glance at him from the corner of my eye as images of the kiss replay in my mind. He’s doing something weird with his tongue, dragging the piercing along his teeth, as he dazes off into empty space. Well, at first anyway. But then he turns his head and totally catches me gawking at him. He flicks his tongue piercing against his teeth again and then brushes his blue tinted hair out of his eyes.

  “Good?” he questions with amusement dancing in his eyes.

  “Um…” What?

  “The sandwich. Is it good?” he asks. The impish glint in his eyes makes me wonder if he means something else, though.

  “Um… I haven’t tried it yet,” I say then take a bite. I must be starving or something because it’s seriously the best dang sandwich I’ve ever had. “It’s really, really good.”

  “Good. I’m glad.” Then he winks at me, something he does a lot.

  This time, though, I don’t even try to figure out why. I just smile

  He smiles back, then clapping his hands together, fixes his attention on Ridge. “Okay, so what’s next?”

  Ridge adjusts his glasses. “Well, right now I’m keeping an eye on Benton, Xavier, and Jackson. But we’re all supposed to be on call in case they need backup.”

  “Why? Are they doing something dangerous?” I pop a chip into my mouth.

  Ridge and Wilder trade a silent look and then both shake their heads.

  “Nah, it’s just a protocol mission,” Wilder says, but I get the impression he’s lying.

  “What’s a protocol mission?” I ask, picking off the crust on the sandwich.

  “It means it’s a simple, standard mission.” Wilder twists to face me, bringing his knee onto the bed. “Like, for instance, if we just have to go talk to someone or check up on something. It basically means nothing major will probably happen. In fact, we usually don’t bring all of our weapons on those kinds of missions.”

  “So the thing with Axel wasn’t a protocol mission?” I take a bite of the sandwich.

  Wilder shakes his head. “Definitely not. In fact, that’s not even considered a mission since was completely unplanned.”

  “What’s something like that called?” I ask, curious about the details of their world.

  “Getting fucked in the ass,” he says.

  “Oh.” Heat rushes to my cheeks.

  Seriously. Again? He didn’t even say anything besides two swear words. Get a grip over yourself.

  “You’re cute when you blush,” Wilder remarks, skimming his finger across my cheek bone. Then a musing smile tugs at his lips. “You know what? I think I’m going to call you Pink Cheeks from now on.”

  “Please don’t,” I beg, my cheeks heating up even more.

  “Why not?” He juts out his lip. “You let Jackson call you Cute Girl.”

  “He decided to call me that all on his own,” I remind him.

  “So? What’s the difference?” he asks, completely amused with himself. “They’re both just nicknames.”

  “Because Pink Cheeks is a ridiculous nickname.” Jett’s voice floats from the doorway, startling the three of us and making us jump.

  He’s wearing a plaid shirt with the sleeves pushed up, a worn pair of jeans, and socks cover his feet. His shaggy brown hair is a mess and his eyes are a little bloodshot, so I wonder if he’s stoned.

  “It’d be like me calling you Blue Balls,” he tells Wilder with a dopey grin.

  Wilder narrows his eyes at Jett. “That’s not even remotely close to the same thing.”

  “Sure it is.” He sneaks me a mischievous look I don’t fully understand and then grins at Wilder. “And if you nickname Zhara Pink Cheeks, then I’ll make sure that everyone starts calling you Blue Balls.”

  “Why? You suffer from it more than I do,” Wilder quips. “So, it’s probably more fitting for you.”

  While Jett and Wilder continue to argue about who should be called Blue Balls, Ridge offers me an apologetic look.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “The organization tried to teach us manners, but not all of us passed.”

  “They’re fine,” I tell him. “I grew up with two brothers so I know how guys can be sometimes.” Although, I never heard my brothers try to nickname each other Blue Balls.

  “Hey, we have manners.” Jett walks over and jumps onto the bed, landing on his stomach behind me and making the mattress bounce. Then he rolls onto his side, props onto his elbow, and rests his chin on his hand. “We just choose not to use them all the time.”

  Ridge rolls his eyes. “Trust me, I know.”

  Wilder and Jett exchange a look and then Wilder turns to Ridge.

  “Of course you do,” Wilder says. “Because you know everything.”

  Instead of getting upset, Ridge grins. “That might be the most accurate thing you’ve ever said.”

  “So, you’re admitting you’re a little know-it-all?” Jett mockingly gasps. “In front of Zhara?”

  Ridge gives Jett a tolerant look. “I never said I was a know-it-all.”

  “But you’re not denying it either,” Jett quips, then I feel his fingers tangle through my hair.

  I stiffen as he repeats the movement again and again.

  “Your hair’s so soft,” he states, combing his fingers through my hair again. “Have you ever wondered why?”

  “Why my hair is soft?” I ask, sounding a little dazed. But I can’t help it. What he’s doing feels so good, like a lovely little head massage.

  “Yeah.” Jett slowly combs his fingers from the top of my scalp all the way to the end of my hair. “I wonder if it’s your shampoo? Or if your hair is just naturally soft?”

  Wilder twists around to look at Jett. “Seriously man, how much have you smoked today?”

  Jett considers it for a lengthy amount of time. “Not too much.”

  “Well, FYI, you’re scaring Zhara with your stoner talk,” Wilder says. “And the hair combing.”

  “He’s fine,” I tell Wilder. “My brother used to smoke pot when he was in high school so I’ve heard stoner talk.”

  “But have you ever had a guy comb his fingers through your hair without your permission?” Wilder asks me, then blasts Jett with a dirty look.

  “It’s fine.” If I were braver, I’d admit it felt good.

  Wilder eyes me over suspiciously while Jett kneels up behind me.

  “I think she likes my hair combing.” Jett sweeps my hair to the side and then lines his fingers to my shoulders. “I give great massages too.” His fingers begin lightly working into my muscles.

  It feels like I should tell him to stop, but it feels too good.

  Wilder looks irritated whil
e Ridge seems a bit uncomfortable.

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  “Crap,” Ridge mutters and Jett’s fingers stop moving.

  “What is it?” Wilder asks, lowering his feet to the floor.

  Ridge shrugs. “It’s nothing. The system’s just being weird today.” But when he briefly glances up at Wilder, a hint of worry flickers in his eyes.

  Without saying a word, Wilder gets up and walks out of the room while Ridge begins typing like a madman on his computer.

  Jett moves out from behind me, stands to his feet, and offers me his hand. “Hey, do you want to take a shower? I’m sure you probably want to wash the night off or whatever the hell that saying is?”

  Taking a shower is the last thing on my mind, but I have an unsettling feeling they’re trying to get me out of the room. So, not wanting to be a pain in the butt, I nod and take his hand.

  He pulls me to my feet and guides me out of the room. But not before I hear Ridges computer start rapidly beeping.

  She’s Your Sister?

  No one explains what the beeping is. And while Ridge said it was just a system malfunction, with how tense everyone got, I wonder if there’s more to it than that. But I’m not brave enough to press for the truth. Besides, it might not even be any of my business. I mean, sure, they said I’m part of their team, but I haven’t even done any training yet.

  After Jett leads me out of the room, he steers me to a shut door at the end of the hallway.

  “Here’s the bathroom,” he says, opening the door.

  “Yeah, I know,” I tell him, remembering the last time I was in Benton’s bathroom.

  “You’ve been in Benton’s place before?”

  “Yeah, at the party he threw Friday night. The one where he had me pretend to be his girlfriend.”

  “Oh yeah. I forgot about that.”

  I nod my head at the bathroom doorway. “We also got locked in there for a while.”

  He eyes me over curiously. “In the bathroom. Together?”

  “It was an accident,” I quickly explain. “There was an incident with my shirt and it flew out the window and I…” And now I’m stupidly babbling.