Page 5 of Raine
“Well, that’s good, right?”
“For now, Rainey, for now.”
I groan at the nickname. “Is there anything else?”
“Things are going to change at Arcane.”
Arcane is our club, our home away from home, and the place where our legal and illegal operations run. My thoughts move to the girls in the basement, the ones we have desperately attempted to help instead of selling off to a life sentence of debasement and sadism. There has only ever been so much we could do with Draconis and Avernus breathing down our necks, but with Draconis out of the picture now, it causes a bubble of hope to glide over my flesh.
“The skin trade?” I ask, the hopeful note in my voice unquestionable.
“We can’t cease it completely. It’s going to take time. When my father was in charge, we managed to give the girls a better chance of survival by offering them to the lesser of the evil types of men that my father and Avernus had lined up, but that will stop now. We are going to give these girls another shot at life and some hope.”
Hope. There was that word again, but with Justyce’s words still echoing inside of my skull, all my mind clings to is that we can’t let them go, that we can’t stop this despicable human trafficking bullshit.
Amber, bergamot, whiskey and the scent of leather infiltrate my senses, Arrow’s voice wafting in and sounding like he’s underwater. Screwing my eyes closed, I focus on my breathing and open them to see Arrow’s concerned pair looking at me with his hand on my shoulder. It feels like a branding iron, searing my flesh and I shrug him off, the ringing in my skull sounding like a damn gong being hit.
“Raine. Look at me.” The authority in Justyce’s voice has my heart rate slowing, and the fog begins to clear.
I peer up, my eyes meeting his, and I see a hint of concern pilfering through his dark gaze.
“Are you ok?”
I nod because I don’t think I could voice what I’m feeling without coming undone or reaching for my gun strapped around my waist. Without consciously doing so, my hand reaches for my piece, and I breathe out a heavy breath.
“It’s going to take time, Raine. We just need some time. If we start upending everything the Tartarus Mafia stands for — everything they have been doing for decades — we are going to have Avernus and Jarvis asking questions. Questions we don’t have answers for right now, and heat we don’t need.”
Jarvis is Arrow’s father, and although he’s always been pleasant to me, I’ve seen the resigned and apprehensive look in Arrow’s eyes more times than I could ever count.
We all have skeletons in our closet, and right now, standing in this room with my brothers, the fuckers are banging on the closet doors so loud, demanding we let them loose. Not today, Satan, not to-fucking-day.
I stand, straightening my tank top and leggings, then look around the room at each of the boys before coming back to Justyce. “I get it, I do. Doesn’t mean I have to like it. We good here?”
Justyce stands and closes the distance between us, wrapping his arms around me to hug me. My eyes blow wide, startled by the public display of affection he’s bestowing upon me. Justyce isn’t a hugger, but I’ll take it.
“Just a little longer, Rainey, can you do that for me?” He whispers in my ear, and I force the tears back and nod.
“Good girl. Go home and get some rest. You need to be at Arcane tonight for the shows.”
I nod again, feeling like a damn blowup doll with the lack of words leaving my mouth. Acheron scoffs, and I glare at him. Sparing Arrow a quick glance, I offer him a small smile before I hightail it out of the testosterone infested room.
It’s going to be a long ass night.
Chapter3
Raine
Islept the entire day, avoiding my dressing table like the black plague and throwing the earlier conversation from Justyce’s to the back of my mind. A massive event is being held at Arcane tonight, one that I’m going to be the centerpiece for. My role in the club is extensive, tending to the strippers and the BDSM aspects, but I’m a dancer at heart, and a damn good one at that.
When we hold these special shows, the members flock from all over the world to get a little slice of Raine Voroniva. I should be flattered, but I’m not. It’s difficult to acquire a membership at our club, but the ones that do are generally filthy rich and either cheating on their wives or husbands, searching for a quick thrill, gamblers, or sick and demented fucks, or all of the above.
And although I despise their beady eyes getting off to my body, at the same time I’m not dancing for them; I’m dancing for myself. Maybe I should put more energy into dancing instead of snorting lines…but the dancing numbs my limbs, not my mind, not completely anyway.
I push my tits together in the burlesque-style corset. The black and purple dress plunges deep, showcasing my huge rack and the Tartarus Mafia tattoo down the middle. My tattoo isn’t like the boys’; although it rests over my heart as theirs does, mine has a sense of femininity and a bit of class. The head of a red rose is smack bang in the center, the stem flowing down in intricate and soft lines, with leaves falling around it until it reaches the skull at the bottom. The skull is similar to the boy’s, only smaller, with a gentleness disguised behind its bloodied rose eyes.
Slipping into my fishnet stockings, I attach them to the garter and stand up to look myself over in the mirror. I take a sip of the vodka, soda, and lime on my dresser and move to finish my makeup, not that anyone will see me without my mask on at the club.
By the time I’ve finished painting my face and admiring my handiwork in the mirror, I’m three drinks down and feeling a hell of a lot lighter. Smacking my lips together, the deep purple lipstick feels like satin between the pillowy flesh and pairs spectacularly with my beach-curled wild orchid hair.
