Chapter 13
She didn’t ask where they were going when Varen pulled out of the parking lot and drove with purpose back into Downtown.
They got stuck in some late afternoon traffic, but it wasn’t enough to trap them on Burnside Street.
They drove past historical hotels, the biggest indie bookstore in the world, and parts of Old Town that even Nala hadn’t explored before.
Varen whipped to the left before they hit the bridge, taking them up a road weaving through barren industrial parks.
If I thought she was a serial killer, this would be it!
By now it was all but black outside, with the occasional light twinkling either from a building or a plane coming in for landing.
Nala didn’t think much of anything when Varen pulled down a dark street lined with big, brick buildings that looked like they hadn’t been used in years.
Even so, she parked in a small carport blocked off by a secure fence, phone in hand as she ordered pizza.
“You hate anything?”
“No anchovies.”
Nala stood outside the car, taking in the smell of the Willamette River half a mile away.
A freeway passed by, high enough in the air for cars to wink in and out of existence as they went on their way.
A drizzle began to fall. A part of her was glad to be led up a flight of metal stairs, while another wanted to continue to take in Portland’s past.
She shouldn’t have been surprised by how Varen lived. A young, affluent single woman like her was either the penthouse lover or someone drawn to converted lofts. Of course she was all about the latter.
Exposed brick, exposed beams. Open living that would make most middle-class yuppies salivate.
The wide, open living area went straight into a dining room and a spacious kitchen with all the trimmings.
A guest bathroom sat to the side, sporting one of the only doors in the loft aside from closets and a back door.
Up a twirling, wrought-iron staircase was the loft itself.
Even from down by the entrance, Nala saw a king-sized bed draped in earth-toned comforters, pillows, and who knew what else.
It didn’t look like much, but between the location and how trendy such a place was, Nala was sure it cost at least a cool mil. It looked well lived in, so Varen probably purchased it before she became an uber-rich asshole.
If there were any great lights in the place, Nala never got to see them.
Varen seemed content to live in the dark, with only a few soft glowing lamps illuminating the kitchen, dining area, and the bed upstairs.
Nala didn’t ask for permission as she flopped onto a leather couch facing a large flatscreen TV.
Video game consoles were neatly stacked beneath the coffee table.
An advanced copy of the latest Elden Ring expansion lay on top of the glass. Of course she likes playing games about total desolation. Of course. This woman was so damn angsty inside that it almost made Nala laugh.
“Pizza will be here in about five,” Varen said. “Guy knows me well. Always gives me first dibs on his route.”
“How often do you order pizza?”
“I dunno. Once, twice a week? I also tip well.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” The woman had no qualms slipping Nala a grand a week for pretending to be her girlfriend, so the pizza guy probably got a Benny for putting Varen first on his route.
Nala had to hand it to Varen. She had a great view of the river from here, including the boats gliding effortlessly back and forth like tiny white dots.
Inner east Portland lit up as the evening wore on.
There, in the comforting warmth of Varen Lake’s loft, Nala almost felt at home.
It was better than Patrick’s place, anyway.
“It’s not as cozy as a craftsman like yours, but…”
“Hm? You think I own that house?”
“Well, no, but…”
She cut her off again as Varen offered her a glass of water. “I barely even live there. I pay five hundred bucks a month, plus my part of the utilities, to say I live there. Really, I live there on paper. It’s not a home.” Nala wouldn’t mention the sleeping arrangement.
“Forget I said anything.”
The pizza arrived in three minutes. The man was more than happy to take Varen’s generous tip before going on his way, and the smell smacked Nala right in the hungry stomach.
“You play?” Varen asked, pointing to her video games as she sat down with pizza on plates. “I don’t have as much time anymore. Too busy coding this shit to play it.”
“You make video games, huh?”
“Not anymore. I dallied in college. Then…”
“Then your girlfriend died and you decided to go the app route like she was going to.”
Varen put down her pizza. “I never said she was my girlfriend.”
“I deduced.” The pizza was the perfect balance of greasy and tasty.
“And I don’t really play. Not anymore. That was more my ex’s thing and I played with him.”
Then she saw Fallout in the stack of games.
Anything by Bethesda was destined to be Nala’s favorite.
I had the most kickass Nord mage on Skyrim.
Oh, the things she lost when she dumped her boyfriend.
Apparently, Varen was not going to talk about video games anymore. “Desirée wasn’t my girlfriend,” she said, her voice low. “She was my fiancée.”
“Ouch.” Nala hadn’t figured they were that serious, but that was only because Varen seemed as personable as a fruit fly. “I’m sorry.” That explained a lot, though. Girlfriend probably conjured up a different kind of grief from fiancée.
“Thanks. We were two months away from getting married when she died. That was three years ago, though. Feels like yesterday.”
“It feels like yesterday when my sister last called me to make plans for Christmas.” Grief had a funny way of bending time like that.
Was there anything more to say? Nala wiped her fingers on a napkin and sank deep into the comfortable couch.
Varen remained silent, as she always did, jaw working on pizza while countenance whirled in thought.
The woman spent a lot of her time thinking…
Nala supposed that was necessary for someone who made a living off being on the cutting edge of technology.
“So, there was something you wanted to talk about,” Nala said after a long, unperturbed silence.
Plates were empty on the coffee table. Drinks were half consumed.
She and Varen lay sprawled on their respective couches, staring at the dark, lofted ceiling while thinking of God knew what.
Even Nala wasn’t sure what was going through her mind right now.
“Yeah. A couple of things.”
Neither of them moved. Neither of them said a word.
“Well?” Nala sat up, hoping that some movement would get her talking. “You’ve dragged me around half of Portland and brought me home, where you plied me with pizza and a few words about video games and your dead fiancée. I think it’s time you started talking.”
“If I may confess…” Varen joined her in sitting up. “I had a lot more resolve earlier.”
“What happened?”
Her stare was unwavering. “You did, Nala.”
“Oh, come on.” She laughed, uneasily. “Be serious like you usually are.”
“I am serious. When you were a woman helping me with something… before you had a real identity to me… it was much easier to tell you things bluntly. Now I feel like I have to cushion everything.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to scare or hurt you.”
Nala shifted in her seat, thighs going up and down as she stuffed her hands farther beneath them.
Her own natural heat was the only comforting thing in that big, cold loft right now.
“I can take it. Whatever you need to say, I can take it. Even if it scares me, it’s worth it, if it means getting vengeance for my sister. And your fiancée, I guess. And anyone else he’s hurt. What is my pain and discomfort if it means having a chance to take down that bastard?”
Varen had an uncanny way of studying her.
Uncanny because it vaguely reminded Nala of her sister, who used to stare at her much in the same way, as if she were dithering between giving her the cold, hard truth of a situation or continuing to coddle her because she cared too much.
This woman is definitely not my sister. The implications were too grim.
“Go on. Tell me what you want to tell me so badly.”
“It’s actually two things.” Varen reached into her back pocket and pulled out a small envelope embossed in gold.
Had she been carrying that thing all day?
“Guess I’ll tell you this one first.” She handed Nala the envelope.
“It’s an invitation to the next Aviary meeting on Wednesday. It’s at The Raven, where he holds most of the weeknight meetings.”
Before Nala could read it, Varen gave her the bomb.
“He wants us to become official members, which means we need to perform.”
She didn’t bother to read it. She didn’t need Ravenwood’s words telling her to bend over and get spanked in front of him.
“I didn’t think you’d be excited.” Varen picked up her glass and wetted the back of her throat. “It’s good, though. It means he trusts us and wants us in his inner circle. We’ll soon be invited to his house. I have plans for that if you’re interested.”
“What kind of plans?” Nala tried to focus on that and not the conflicting images entering her mind. BDSM play with Varen… but in front of those weirdos. And Ravenwood.
“I dunno, are you a sneaky woman?”
“You mean can I sneak around?” She grinned. “With the best of them. When I was a real shit I used to sneak money out of my mom’s purse to get gum and stuff. Let me tell you, she is not easy to get past. I still don’t know if she knows I did it.”
“Good. If I can get you near his office or something, I’ll need you to infiltrate.”
“Like a spy? Awesome.” It was a scary thought, yet Nala’s adrenaline was already pumping in anticipation. I’ll find the evidence, Varen. You play your smooth businesswoman game, and I’ll get the evidence to take him down. Damn, they could make a good team.
“We’ll still need to perform. Be convincing.”
Nala came down from her productive high. “I see. So you gonna swing me over your lap and spank me?”
Perhaps she said it too candidly, for Varen’s eyes widened in disbelief. “We don’t have to do that, but we should plan something out. Something you’re comfortable with.”
Butterflies twisted in her gut. “I’m not going to be comfortable with anything, but not wanting to die would be great.”
“No spanking.”