Page 74 of Sin Like the Devil

“You could get hurt!”

Raine’s chuckle is smooth like honeyed whiskey. “It wasn’t so long ago that you were the one threatening to hurt me.”

“I haven’t taken it off the table.”

The sound of his gravelly laughter is a soothing balm to the soul. Nothing is over-complicated with Raine, despite the disaster zone that surrounds us.

When we’re alone, we don’t discuss the drugs I’ve sold him. Xander and Lennox. Harrowdean... None of it. Instead, it’s just my paint palette and his soft, crooning violin strokes keeping me company.

Silence and companionship. A mutual understanding for the art of escapism. I hadn’t realised how lonely my own coping mechanisms had become.

When someone shoves my shoulder and doesn’t bother to apologise, my patience snaps.

“Let’s get out of here.”

“You wanna catch a flight to Paris?” Raine suggests sultrily. “Or perhaps Venice? Little romantic getaway?”

“Sure, darling. Let me just pack my suitcase and call the driver, shall I?”

“Don’t forget the bottle of champagne.” He sighs in a wistful manner. “I remember those days. My manager used to bring me a glass of Dom Perignon after every show I performed.”

I almost trip over my own feet. “Your manager?”

“You thought I just played violin for my own benefit?”

Mouth closing, I feel like an idiot. It never occurred to me that his talent went beyond mere passion. Being incarcerated in a place like this doesn’t exactly line up with some luxurious celebrity lifestyle.

“I played professionally for several years. Four world tours. Things exploded after I recovered from losing my vision. Everyone wants to see the blind violinist play, right?”

“I guess. How did you end up here then?”

Raine rakes his teeth over his bottom lip. “Not a pretty story. I’m an open book, but let’s talk somewhere else.”

“Come on. I know a place.”

Tightening my grip on his arm, I guide him through the reception and out into the quad. There are a few people filtering around, taking wrapped sandwiches and juice boxes outside to enjoy the rare blast of winter sun.

We walk towards the gym—a large, cinderblock building in the uppermost corner of the institute. Most don’t bother to look behind it, though.

There are several abandoned buildings across Harrowdean with day-to-day operations now taking place in the manor itself. Tucked far behind the gym, a thick tangle of bushes almost entirely covers a second, smaller building.

This one is part of the original architecture with ornate, shuttered windows, moss-covered pillars and cracked entrance steps. We have to wrestle through the brambles to see any of that though, slicing our hands on sharp thorns.

Raine curses several times as he struggles to navigate the path, attempting not to trip. I do my best to hold the worst of the roughage out of his way. Eventually, we emerge through the building’s sarcophagus.

“Watch your step,” I advise. “There are five.”

Raine nods gratefully. “Are you taking me to a quiet corner to kill me? I can’t hear anyone out here.”

“Well, I don’t want any witnesses.”

“Aw, shit. I wish you’d told me. I could’ve gotten high one last time.”

“You’ve had enough.”

He sniffs. “Not for my own funeral, I haven’t.”

There’s a rusted combination lock on the door, preventing any unruly patients from escaping inside to fuck or shoot up in privacy. Though I doubt anyone could ever find this place without knowing where it is.

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