Page 20 of Rayne

"Bullshit!"

They finish dressing, scanning my naked body with smirks.

"Guess we might see you on vacation," Hawk says with a laugh, heading to the door.

I stare at them heatedly, tears of frustration pooling in my eyes. "I fucking hate you both."

"We hate you too," he replies. "But fuck, you come so well for us, Sis."

"Thanks for the family reunion," Jett muses, grabbing my chin and giving me a rough kiss before releasing me. "We'll let you get cleaned up. The jacuzzi might still be warm for you."

The two of them exit the room, slamming the door behind them, leaving me alone, covered in them.

I let out a growl of anger, swinging myself off the bed as I head to the bathroom. I quickly shower, washing myself thoroughly before slipping my clothes back on.

I grab my belongings, snatching everything up in my tight grip as I head out of the room. The club is quiet—though I suspect a lot of the rooms are still occupied. As I pass through the main area of the club, I spot some couples and employees lingering.

I don't meet anyone's eyes, scared I'll lose my shit if I do.

As I cross the parking lot, I quickly hop into my car, slamming the door shut. Letting out a scream, I compose myself for a brief second before driving home, cursing those assholes with all the hate and anger I have in my body for them.

Chapter 7

When I get home, I notice that my cell has several texts waiting from Margot begging for updates. I can't bring myself to reply—even if she's probably asleep by now.

It's around three in the morning, and even though I feel exhausted, there's no way I can sleep.

I'm so angry at them, but even more so, I'm mad at myself.

After I shower again, successfully removing a layer of skin, I crawl into bed, staring at the wall.

I really hate them. I hate them so much that it makes me want to explode. But I also hate how much I loved them touching me. It's sick, and now I'm questioning my own sanity.

How will I look my parents in the face? What do I tell Margot? Should I report it to the Club Ecstasy owners?

I don't know where to go from here.

A few hours later, the sunlight starts to creep into the room, and I still haven't slept. I'm feeling drowsy and drained, but my mind is running so much that I can't seem to shut off.

Giving up on the concept of sleep, I do the only thing I can think of—I shower again and start cleaning the apartment.

The apartment is already fairly tidy, but I do a deep clean, collecting every speck of dust, wiping the high cabinets that I normally can't reach, changing the linen, and rearranging my entire closet. And when I've finished, I start cooking. I need to do a grocery shop, but I have enough ingredients to bake cupcakes, so that's what I do.

I make three dozen guilt cupcakes.

Every tiny piece of hatred, frustration, anger I have goes into my baking. I frost them in pastel colors, popping them into a container to take to work tomorrow.

I've avoided my cell for the entire day, and when I check at dinner time, I have more texts from Margot. Her messages are getting more urgent, now worried about my wellbeing. I know I should respond to her, but I know the second I do, she'll reply or call. I can't talk about what happened last night. I'm not ready to face reality.

Sometime after dinner, I also get a text message from Mom. At first, I panic. A part of me pictures Hawk telling her what happened, just to destroy me that little bit more. But I open the text anyway, relieved to find she's asking if I can water their plants when they leave tomorrow for Florida.

That's where I got my house plant obsession from. Ever since I was young, Mom taught me to garden. We'd spend hours on the weekends looking after her perfect garden and indoor plants. She'd take me to the garden nursery, letting me pick out my own, and teaching me what soil to buy. So, when I moved out of home, it seemed only right that I make my own little garden again. Unfortunately, living in an apartment complex was limiting, so I had to settle for house plants.

I send her a quick reply letting her know I'll look after them for her, before turning on the television and getting engrossed in some movies. When bedtime finally rolls around, I'm so exhausted from not sleeping the night before that I crash hard. Despite how tired I am, it doesn't stop the nightmares that haunt me of masked men and jacuzzis.

"Good Morning, Nick," I say warmly as I walk past his office. He looks up from his desk, suit perfectly fitted and pressed.

"You're late," he remarks.

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