Raja zapped back to the main world, materializing in his pad, still buzzing from the Hive’s zombie carnage.
Dobby, rocking tiny shades like a mob elf, shoved a steaming coffee into his hands.
"Rough day, boss?" Raja gulped it, grinning. "Just another Tuesday slaying Lickers." Refreshed, he decided to chill with Rose and Kandi, cruising to Uncle Charlie’s Malibu beach house in his sleek Chaos Mobile.
MAYA: "Master, you’re diving into sitcom land—brace for nonsense."
Raja winked, "Nonsense is my jam."
Stepping into Charlie’s place, Raja caught Charlie and Alan mid-Thanksgiving plot. Jake was off with Judith and her parents, Sheldon and Lenore, leaving the brothers scheming.
Charlie, sipping a beer, pitched, "No kid, no rules—let’s hit Vegas, boys!" Alan, ever the buzzkill, frowned, "Vegas? We’ll lose our shirts."
Raja chuckled, lounging on the couch, "I’m ga for slots and chaos."
Charlie clapped, "That’s my nephew!" but pivoted, "First, Raja, can you drive to Coffee Shop My Ex Lisa is waiting for there—I’m winning her back today."
Raja raised an eyebrow, "Ex-girlfriend? Bold move, Uncle Chuck."
Raja dropped Charlie at Lisa’s, spotting her—tall, stunning, all curves and confidence. His brain shorted.
"Holy rlin, she’s a goddess!" When Charlie slumped back to the car, rejected, Raja gaped, "Dude, how’d you fumble her?"
Charlie shrugged, mumbling about "timing."
Raja shook his head, Sitcom logic, man.
Charlie, undeterred, planned a Thanksgiving dinner to woo Lisa, inviting everyone: Judith, her parents, Evelyn (their mom), Berta, Jake, even Rose and Kandi. He bribed Berta with cash and Jake with candy to sing his praises.
Raja smirked, "This is gonna crash and burn."
Dinner was a glorious trainwreck.
Judith’s parents, Sheldon and Lenore, learned she was gay when Evelyn blurted, "Judith’s vibe is fabulous!"—awkward silence.
Rose, tipsy, spilled, "Charlie and I hooked up once—wild night!" Lisa choked on her wine.
Kandi’s dress—barely covering her body, flashing the table, Jake choosing that mont to pipe up, "Uncle Charlie’s the coolest!"
Alan and Judith bickered over custody, plates rattling.
Raja, munching Fires, grinned like a chaos gremlin, soaking in the ss.
MAYA: "You’re loving this too much."
Charlie, desperate to shine, fought Evelyn over carving the turkey, shouting, "It’s my house, I slice!"
Evelyn snapped, "You’re a child!"
Lisa, watching the circus, pulled Charlie aside, voice soft. "We’re better as friends, Charlie. If I ditch my husband after I got married, you’re my first call."
She kissed his cheek and bailed.
Raja, tasked with driving her ho, sensed the awkward vibe. "Coffee stop?"
he offered, flashing a grin. "Ask anything to kill the silence."
Lisa nodded, intrigued by the kid who thrived in Charlie’s madhouse.
At a cozy coffee shop, they ordered Aricanos and settled in.
Lisa sipped, eyeing Raja. "How do you fit in that nutty house?"
Raja leaned back, smirking, "I’m Raja, London orphan visited USA. t drunk Uncle Charlie at a bar, he ’adopted’ as his nephew—classic Charlie move."
Lisa laughed, picturing it. "That tracks. And Kandi? Your girlfriend? She’s gorgeous."
Raja waved a hand, "Gorgeous? Nah, Kandi’s hot—like, supernova hot. Let’s talk real, Lisa—we might not cross paths again, so why play formal?"
Lisa’s eyes sparkled, "Fine, ’hot’ works. How’d you et her?"
Raja grinned, "Bar bash, her friends partying hard. I threw a beach house rager, one thing led to another—boom, sparks. Oh, and Rose? Also my girl. I’ve got a thing for beautiful oneesans—Rose, Kandi, we fuck often."
Lisa’s jaw dropped, then she smirked, mischievous. "So, I’m an oneesan too, huh?"
Raja’s grin widened, "Oh, you’re sexy oneesan material. I’d be down for fun, but you don’t strike as wild, open-minded and mature enough."
Lisa bristled, "Not mature? Not open-minded? Says who?"
Raja’s eyes twinkled, bait set. "My gut’s never wrong, but let’s test it—prove wrong."
Lisa, competitive, snapped, "Challenge accepted—I’ll show you mature."
Raja led her to the parking lot, all smooth. "Pose like you’re dancing at prom."
She did, swaying playfully. Raja slid in, hugging her tight, and planted a French kiss—slow, bold. Lisa froze, then lted, kissing back with fire, their lips battling for a minute. His hands drifted, squeezing her curvy ass gently; she yelped, blushing.
Raja pulled back, smirking, "Wanna book a room? Test that open-mindedness?"
Lisa, shy but ga, nodded, "Let’s do it."
At a Luxurious hotel, they tore into the room, ripping clothes like wildcats—buttons flying, zippers shredding. Naked, they paused, eyeing each other’s forms with raw hunger, then crashed together, lost in a frenzy of lust that shook the bedfra.
Post-bliss, panting, Raja asked, "What’s your dream gig?"
Lisa sighed, "Luxury ho decor business—can’t get the cash."
Raja, casual, offered, "I’ll fund it. Focus on the dream, not chasing husbands." Her eyes welled up, gratitude sparking. She showed her thanks with a sultry encore BJ, leaving Raja floating in ecstasy.
MAYA: "You’re reckless."
Next morning, Raja’s phone buzzed—Gideon, voice urgent. "Got a case in Seattle, hostage situation. Free to join?"
Raja grinned, "I’m in when do I reach." After knowing he has to travel fast.
He dialed Beth, asking, "Yo, how do I get to Seattle?"
She laughed, "Private jet, luxe hotel, driver—done. Don’t call Sugar Mommy again."
Raja teased, "Sure thing sweet tits, Sugar Mommy!"—she hung up, flustered.
Dobby Blinked him to a private airfield, where a sleek jet whisked him to Seattle.
A driver dropped him at the FBI office, where Raja flashed his consultant ID and parked in the cafeteria, ditating cross-legged, exuding calm chaos.
Agents side-eyed him, whispering, "Who’s the kid?"
Raja ignored them, vibe screaming Chaos Lord.
Thirty minutes later, Gideon rolled in with his BAU crew—Hotchner, Morgan, Reid, Greenaway—spotting Raja’s zen stunt amid the buzz.
Raja cracked an eye, grinning, "Yo, Gideon, what’s the case?"
Gideon chuckled, leading him to a packed briefing room. "Seattle Strangler, four victims in four months, keeps ’em alive seven days, taunts us with challenges. We’ve got till 4 PM to profile and save the latest." Agents fidgeted, clock ticking.
Gideon introduced the team:
Hotchner, assessing his mindset;
Morgan, tough muscle;
Reid, brainy profiler;
Greenaway, sharp instinct;
plus Seattle’s finest.
Raja studied victim photos—bruised, bound, nails torn—then the killer’s taunting letter.
Gideon asked, "Raja, thoughts?"
Raja’s grin turned wicked, chilling the room. "Prison guard. Dominator."
Agents scoffed—a teen guessing jobs? Reid frowned, Morgan smirked, "Kid’s out of his league."
Gideon leaned in, "That fast? Explain."
Raja strolled to the board, voice casual but razor-sharp. "No evidence, direct challenge—he knows cop tricks, so he’s in the system. Victims suffer seven days—tied, starved, nails ripped—like prisoners. Killed on day eight, sa hour, like clockwork executions. Disciplined, ti-obsessed, he’s Punisher and judge—fits a prison guard, doling out pain, watching inmates squirm. Death tis align, bodies dumped late, cops stumped. Dominator? He could hang ’em easy, but strangles by hand—voila, control freak."
Jaws hit the floor—Reid blinked, Hotchner nodded, Morgan gaped. Gideon’s smile scread 100% belief; the room was 90% sold, stunned by Raja’s surgical breakdown.
To Be Continued...
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