Page 66 of Raine
I walk the short distance to Acheron’s car, my hands wrapped tightly around my waist and my eyes downcast on the wet cement.
My brow furrows, and I look up into the stormy sky. Of course, it fucking rained.
I slide into Acheron’s car, a coolness sweeping through me that has nothing to do with the cold. Buckling up, I look out the window, my eyes burning with the urge to cry, but I refuse to let a single tear fall.
His palm cups above my knee, and he squeezes, then removes his hand. It’s not romantic in any way, more of a reassurance, and one fucking tear manages to escape.
Angrily, I swipe it away, holding back the sobs I so desperately want to let free.
Half an hour later, we pull up at Justyce’s, with Acheron crawling through the gates and into his carport.
Unbuckling, I exit his car quickly and all but run inside to the entertainment room where we always meet. I skid to a halt, my heart hammering faster than a jackhammer when I spot Arrow in the corner.
His cognac eyes find mine, and guilt wraps its slimy hands around my insides and squeezes tight. I cough, trying to relieve the affliction battling inside of me.
Arrow’s eyes soften for a minute, and I swear he’s about to move from his chair, and to me, the crinkle in his black jacket hinting at it. But when I smell the cherry and smoke behind me, a telling sign that Acheron is there, Arrow’s eyes harden and he leans back into his chair and gets comfortable.
He crosses one knee over the other and takes a sip of his drink, his eyes looking like a blazing fire. I shrink away, my eyes darting toward Justyce. I fucking miss my best friend, but even now, when I’m not trying to hurt him, I am.
Acheron pushes my back lightly, and I walk forward reluctantly. Moving to the lounge next to Justyce, I take a seat, and Acheron sits beside me, leaving enough room between us not to make me uncomfortable.
Flicking my gaze to Arrow, I find his head cocked and eyes on us, his brow furrowed. I avert my gaze and focus back on Justyce, his look mirroring Arrow’s.
Am I that fucking transparent?
Clearing my throat, I wring my hands in my lap, my belly churning as I speak. “Your message said you wanted us here as soon as possible. What’s up?” I say, directing my question to Justyce.
He looks at me and Acheron suspiciously, his arms folded across his black t-shirt and showcasing all his tattoos. Shaking his head, he addresses each of us and then speaks to the room.
“Detective Brice went to Clara’s house and affirmed what we had already thought about the three dickwads in her house. They found their wallets in one of the rooms and ran them through the database. Of course they have a mile-long record between the three of them, but what didn’t surprise me after what he yelled at you, Raine, was that they were cronies of Draconis's.”
“How do you know that?” Arrow pipes up, flicking his gaze from me to Justyce.
“Brice confirmed he’d run drugs for the Tartarus Mafia for years once he looked him up. He’d even spoken to Draconis about the trio previously, and he’d commanded that he turn a blind eye if he knew what was good for him.”
There was only one question on my mind, and I had to ask. “What about Clara’s family?”
“They’re running analytic tests on the copious amount of blood left all over the house. They’ll get back to me at the end of the week.”
I nod, suddenly feeling my throat close and everyone’s eyes on me. Standing quickly, I dust my skirt down and look at Justyce in question.
“Go. I’ll keep you updated.”
Walking out the door, I head toward the front entry so I can go home. I’m stomping toward the door when a hand snakes around my bicep, and I turn around abruptly to see Acheron looking at me.
“We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.”
He groans and yanks me into the room beside us, which happens to be the library. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line the walls, a few leather seats in the center and a fireplace blazing in the corner. No matter the season, that fucking thing is always on.
Acheron kicks the door shut and pulls me toward the fireplace across the room, our footsteps echoing off the timber floorboards. I allow him to pull me along, too jaded and exhausted to fight back.
I wrench free of his hold, my eyes finding the fire and listening to it crackle around us. It sounds like my fucking heart and soul breaking all at once. All my insecurities, trauma, past fuckups and demons rear their beastly fucking heads, and I attempt to shake them away.
Acheron grasps my chin, forcing me to turn my head and look at him. I expect to see anger or frustration, but all I find is sadness and melancholy swimming through his pretty eyes. They’re a little bloodshot, and I know it’s the lingering effects of the pills we had earlier.
“Why are you running from me?”
