Chapter Eleven

"Are you gonna tell him?" Kisa lounged in the passenger seat, tired, but smiling. There was a softness to her gaze that sent Seto's heart pounding.

It had been a long flight back to Domino City. Nearly twenty-four hours in the tin can of his private jet with no privacy and no chance to do any more than exchange longing glances at each other. He wanted to touch her, hold her, kiss her, ignite that addictive burn she's stoked in him the night before. He'd had only enough patience in him to wait until they were in the relative privacy of the parking garage before he pressed her against the side of his car and ravished her mouth.

He pulled his eyes away and leaned against his door with his elbow, fingers trailing across his lips.

She squeezed his thigh. "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

She placed a finger to her lips. "Thinking dirty things, probably about me."

"Have I become that easy to read?"

"Only slightly more than usual." She nodded out the windshield to a woman pushing a pram down the sidewalk. "Unless you're trying to imagine that sexy little housewife naked."

He kept his eyes trained on her. "Does this 'sexy little housewife' happen to have tattoos and a voice that can melt steel?"

"Probably not."

"Then no."

She smirked. "I didn't know you had a tattoo fetish."

He took her hand, resisting every urge to press his lips to her fingers, and rubbed his thumb along the band of black circling her wrist. "Neither did I. Not until I saw yours. There's something appealing about a woman who can handle that kind of prolonged pain."

"Maybe I should consider those sleeves after all."

"You had more planned?"

"Before I left Germany, yeah. We were talking about doing a Day of the Dead theme. All skulls and bright colors. Then I saw this one woman at a festival. Each of her sleeves were a different theme. Fantasy, sci-fi, that kind of thing. Then I saw someone who had a sleeve of traditional Japanese art and I was like, 'Woah! That's fucking cool!'."

Seto leaned against the steering wheel, head resting in his hand, as he watched her. Her gesturing. The faster she talked the more excited she became. It was mesmerizing.

She turned wide, sparkling eyes on him, and took his breath away. "What do you think?"

"What you do with your body is your business."

She smiled, leaned her chin into her shoulder, and looked up at him through her lashes in the most alluring way. "As long as you get to enjoy them, right?"

"I figured that went without saying."

The door to Mokuba's friend's house slammed shut and Seto's head jerked up. Mokuba was climbing down the steps, his duffle bag slung over his body. Seto settled back in the driver's seat and went to take the steering wheel, but Kisa kept holding his hand and squeezed.

"You going to tell him?" she asked.

He squeezed back before putting his hands on the wheel. "Tomorrow. On the way to the park."

That seemed to pacify her.

Seto unlocked the doors in time for Mokuba to throw the back passenger door open. His bag was thrown in first, across the seat to land hard against the opposite door. He flopped down afterward and slammed the door behind him. Seto looked at him in the rearview mirror, taking in the flush of his cheeks and the scowl on his face as he struggled to buckle his seatbelt. Irritated. Not quite angry.

Kisa looked back at him. "You okay?"

"It's a buncha bullshit!" Mokuba spat. "That was my round. Cheap shot cheating asshole."

Seto made a mental note to talk to Mokuba about his language after Kisa was dropped off. Kisa, however, seemed unfazed. She leaned an arm against her headrest, body wavering as Seto maneuvered them onto the street and out of the neighborhood.

"Got your ass handed to you, huh?" she asked. "What game?"

"Mortal Kombat."

"The new one?"

"Nah. Richie's got the first three on Playstation. His parents are old system junkies. They got everything back to the NES."

"Cool. Old systems like those are hard to get running these days."

Mokuba shrugged. "I guess. Most of them's his dads. He's a whiz at doing workarounds for that kinda stuff."

"I could show you some tricks."

"Yeah right."

"I might be a little rusty, but practice will grease the wheels a bit."

In the rearview mirror, Seto saw Mokuba staring at her, suspicious and unconvinced. "You used to play Mortal Kombat? Get real. Girls like you don't play video games."

Seto glanced over in time to catch Kisa giving him a knowing smirk. "Girls like me, huh? You won't be saying that when I wipe the floor with you."

Mokuba crossed his arms. "Who d'you play?"

"Sonya and Kitana, mainly. I play Scorpion too, but only if I wanna be really annoying. I had this friend I used to play with. He was more of a puzzle and RPG guy, but when he was over my house it was nothing but Mortal Kombat or Tekken all day."

"You cheated!"

Seto shook his head, dislodging the faint memory and sending it back to the dark where it belonged. He tried to tune them out after that, but it was difficult to do when the conversation continued at an excited, rambling pace to Kisa's apartment. He tried to listen more to the sound and tones of her voice than the words being said. After that week, he decided, nothing Kisa Miyoshi was or had been could surprise him.

Punk rock? Sure.

Tattoos? Of course.

Violent video games from the 90s? Naturally.

She was a complicated puzzle, where pieces shouldn't fit, but somehow do. Seto looked forward to putting the rest of those pieces together.

There was electricity between them. She put her hand on the center console, close enough to touch, to hold, but neither of them dared. She looked at him, smiled most invitingly, and said goodbye. Seto could only nod in answer before leaning down and popping the trunk. Mokuba jumped out to help her with her bags, but more so to continue their conversation.

Seto took the moment of silence to slow his breathing. Every fiber of his being wanted to chase after her, give her a proper goodbye, and run his fingers through her hair, across her skin, one more time. He had no doubts what would be in his dreams that night, as long as his nightmares didn't make an appearance.

For what felt like the first time, he looked forward to sleeping.

The snap of the trunk brought him back to himself with enough time to remove his fingers from his lips before Mokuba climbed into the front passenger seat. He had a shopping bag in his hand, adorned with German text and graphics.

"Miss Kisa said you got me this," he said.

Over Mokuba's shoulder, Seto saw Kisa wink before retreating into her building.

"I did," Seto said.

Mokuba fidgeted with the handle, full of poorly suppressed excitement. "Can I open it now?"

"I'm not going to stop you."

Seto put the car in gear and began towards home to the sound of rustling plastic and ripping paper. He could almost imagine it was Christmas morning, with Mokuba still young and bright-eyed, tearing into gifts with reckless abandon. It had been years since he'd last seen Mokuba so excited over a simple present. He couldn't remember exactly when-

"Here. I made you this."

Seto took the break at the stoplight too hard. The air was sucked out of his lungs when his body slammed against his seatbelt.

That had been a different voice. One he knew. His own. With the pitch and cadence of the child he forgot he'd been. He clenched his jaw and mouth shut, breathing hard and slow through his nose. He raked a hand through his hair.

It was only when he'd managed to bring himself down did he realize Mokuba had gone silent. He had a jersey across his lap. White and black, with the emblems for the 2016 Olympic team across its front.

Seto turned back to the mocking red traffic light, thumbs drumming on the steering wheel. "I don't know much about sports, so I had Kisa pick it out for you. Their team won silver a couple of years ago. She figured you would like it."

Mokuba sniffed. He was rubbing his arm across his eyes and cursing under his breath. When he finally looked up he smiled, wide and brilliant, with tears shining in his eyes. He flung his arms around Seto's neck, nearly causing his foot to slip off the brake pedal.

"This is awesome!" Mokuba said. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

Seto hugged him, oblivious to the honking cars and outraged drivers around them. For at least a few moments, he had his little brother back.

Seto made two phone calls before digging into the weeklong pile of emails and phone messages that he was sure were waiting for him. The first had been to his old psychologist. He didn't know whether he was supposed to feel relieved or worried that she hadn't been surprised by his call.

The second took a quick Google search to look up. While he waited on hold, the receiver cradled between his cheek and shoulder, he dug into his computer bag. From the safety of an interior pocket, he pulled out the Black Mesa CD. His thumb caressed along the face of the cover.

No polite greeting was waiting for him when the line picked up.

"What do you want?" Galon Walton answered.

"Good morning, Mr. Walton," Seto said. "I believe I have something you should be very interested in. I may even be willing to drop my accusations to let you have it."