After a great deal of dithering over the menu, she agrees to split a caesar salad with me and orders the petto di pollo alla valdostana. I go for the veal with mushrooms and sweet sherry sauce. I choose my usual coffee while Rayne decides on iced tea.
Only one word springs to mind about Rayne’s attempt at conversation—desultory.
“Are you planning on telling me what’s wrong, or are we going to sit here with the elephant in the room?”
Rayne lets out a long, drawn-out sigh. “There’s nothing wrong. I’m just thinking about Sasha, that’s all.”
“What about her? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Nothing specific. I just feel bad for her. I know how it feels.”
She can’t possibly know how it feels to have your dick cut off, so she must mean the sense of violation. I gentle my tone and rest my hand over hers. “You can talk to me, you know.”
Rayne looks at me for the first time since we’ve left the hospital. “No. I’ve talked enough for one day.” She snatches her hand away as if burnt. “Look, can we talk about something else?”
I bite my bottom lip. Whatever went down between Rayne and Sasha obviously upset her, and my lashing back wouldn’t help matters.
“Okay.” I take time stirring cream in my coffee. “What would you like to talk about?”
“Are you going to be my Dom or not?” Her bottom lip thrusts out just a little. I’ll need to remember that taking the offensive is her tactic of choice.
“If you want me to be your Dom, you’re going to have to talk to me at some point.”
She stares at me for a moment then gives another of her exaggerated sighs. “If you must know, Sasha asked me about my rape. She wanted details. It seemed to help her.”
Our food arrives, and I wait for the server to quit placing and fussing. Rayne sits, moving food around her plate.
“What details?”
Rayne’s eyes look dead as she recites the salient facts without embellishment, without emotion.
“What happened after the Courtney guy dropped you off?”
She stands and throws her napkin on the table. “I’m heading back. I’ll see you there.”
“Rayne …”
She keeps walking.
Rayne and I come full stop as we run into Sasha’s gurney in the hall.
“Can you give us a minute?” Sasha asks the nurse.
The orderly and nurse guiding the gurney pull it against the wall.
“What’s up?” I wrap Sasha’s pale hand in mine.
“They’re taking me for a CT scan and some nuclear medicine test,” Sasha says.
I look at the nurse. “How long will she be?”
“Several hours, if not longer. We have to wait for the dye to take effect, and the first set of scans will take about an hour and a half. Then, she’ll have an MRI before going back for the second half of the scan.”
I wink at Sasha. “See you in a few.”
“Then, she’ll need her sleep.” The nurse has that no-nonsense barracuda tone that brooks no argument.
I lean over and kiss the side of Sasha’s mouth as was our custom. I straighten and wink. “We’ll see you tomorrow. Need anything?”
“No, man, I’m good. Just bring our little friend back with you.” Sasha gives me a weak smile and looks past me to Rayne. “She says I’m allowed to have a pity party tomorrow before we put all this behind us.”
With her usual intuition, Sasha identifies the part of Rayne’s nature that calls to me. I’m not so sure about this pity party stuff, though. That is pretty harsh if you ask me. I’m no psychologist, but isn’t it too damned soon to get over the first stage of grieving?
Rayne takes her usual seat opposite me in the limo. As she settles, I swear she folds in on herself, like when I touch the sensitive plant in my garden. Something has sucked the light right out of her. All that remains is a shell acting for all intents and purposes like an automaton. I need to jolt her out of this stupor before it goes too far.
“Don’t you think you’re pushing Sasha too fast?”
Her spirit returns as Rayne beams the intense spotlight of her gaze on me. My Dracaena doesn’t like to be challenged.
“No, I do not, but it sounds like you have something to say about it.” She couldn’t have sounded bitchier if she tried. Good thing she’s caught me at a good moment.
“I’m not being critical—”
“Yes, you are. But go ahead. I get it. You’re her friend.” Rayne sighs and looks out at the traffic as we inch along Queen’s Park Crescent toward the Amber Star Hotel. “What’s got your knickers in such a twist?”
Rayne’s arbitrary nature should annoy me. Instead, it makes me smile. The more she relaxes around me, the testier she gets. And in my book, relaxation only comes with trust.
“You’re a university grad. You studied Kübler-Ross’s stages of grief. Sasha hasn’t had time for denial, anger, or bargaining, never mind depression.”
Rayne gives me a major eye roll. “That’s how much you know. Some people roll through some of the stages in seconds. Others get stuck in one and can’t move past it. Everyone’s different.” She lapses back into silence.
When we arrive back at our suite, Rayne sits on the arm of the couch. Staring into a pit of darkness. After a couple of weak attempts to get her to snap out of it, I give up.
“I’m going to get cleaned up. You sure you’re okay?”
She says nothing.
“Rayne!”
Her gaze drifts across mine before settling back on the nothingness. “I’m fine, Jaden. Just a bit tired. I’m just going to watch a bit of television.”
I shrug and go to my en suite. I need to wash off the filth from close proximity to Viper’s world. Sasha’s pain burns, having spilled over me like acid. I need to purge it from every cell. To find that place of inner peace.
Over an hour blows by as I finish my shower and shave. I spend some time rifling through my clothes. Since the suite is my home in Toronto, I have a full clothes closet. Tonight, I want something suitable for the fanciest restaurant. Connor mentioned Sassafraz is the perfect place to take Rayne. Not that I’m thinking about impressing Rayne. Not one little bit. I just like good clothes and great food. I go for quality, not quantity.
I dress to look good for myself, not my little dragon. Who will probably rip my face off the moment I see her. I slip into a fresh pair of black jeans, a Neil Barrett black linen shirt, and my Dolce & Gabbana black leather boots laced halfway, tongue out. I sling my favorite black leather jacket over my shoulder and head out to find Rayne. It’s time for both of us to shed the black shroud that surrounds our day. I start speaking as I step into the living area. “I thought we’d …”
Rayne isn’t here. Huh. “Rayne?”
No answer. I step through her open bedroom door. No Rayne. I check her en suite. Where the hell has she gone? I look for a note on the desk, table, and countertops. Nothing.
I check the suite inside and out. Security hasn’t seen her leave, and she isn’t in the hotel bar. I quell the panic and try to think logically. I figure Rayne for the type who would leave a note. Although it’s only been a week, I’ve learned one hell of a lot about her personality. Good manners would override her meanest thoughts. I head back to the suite and sit on the end of her bed, trying to think like she would.
A faint rustling noise comes from the closet. Rushing to it, I open the door and the light flares to life. It illuminates Rayne. Huddled in the corner. Head cradled in her arms. Knees tight against her chest. She breathes deeply and rapidly, almost on the verge of hyperventilating. I crouch down in front of her and take her carotid pulse. Her heart hurtles down the track at one hundred and ten beats per minute. Her skin is slick with sweat. She shakes uncontrollably.
I try to lift her head, but she stubbornly keeps it in place. “Rayne, look at me.” I put on my best doctor-dealing-with-recalcitrant-patient voice. No response. I hunker back on my heels, unsure of what to do n
ext. “Are you in pain?”
Rayne moves her head slightly. I take that as a no. So, it’s a panic attack. Something must have happened at the hospital. I sit beside her and gather her in my arms. She stiffens, face still hidden. I hang on, loosely enough that she can move out of my embrace if she so chooses. Firmly enough that she knows someone’s there for her. She continues to shake, saying nothing.
As I hold her, my mind slips back to that final night with Savannah. I dissolve.
28
Rayne
Ship out; that is only used to send a letter …
I don’t know what the fuck possesses me. I manage to stay strong for Sasha, and I’m pretty damn proud of myself for that. Sasha’s an open wound, bleeding humiliation. The more she talked and opened up to me, the more I felt her pain—physically and mentally. I convince myself I’m okay all the way back to the hotel. I manage to make it to the couch, looking as cool as the crisp night air.
“You okay?” Jaden hovers, looking every bit as uncomfortable as a young child at the dentist.
“I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yup.” I manage a weak smile. Go … before I break.
“Okay, I’m going to get cleaned up.” He doesn’t move. “You sure you’re okay?”
I can’t make my mouth move.
“Rayne!”
“I’m fine, Jaden. Just a bit tired. I’m just going to watch a bit of television.”
Naming an activity seems to do the trick. Jaden straightens, smiles, and heads off toward his bedroom. I sit for a moment, freeing more adrenaline to ratchet up the fist squeezing my pounding heart. I’m not sure what’s happening. I can’t catch my breath. I’m far too young for a heart attack.
I need a place where I can be alone, someplace where Jaden won’t find me. I hide in the tiny alcove at the back of the bedroom closet, perched atop a pile of spare blankets and pillows.
It hits me like a ton of bricks. Life as I know it could change in a split second. Summer could die. Or be dead already. Even Jaden is human and could be killed in spite of his demeanor as an indestructible force.
Life as I knew it had changed in the time it took ES to say, “Get them out of my sight.” I start shaking uncontrollably, sweat dampening my hair. I’m dying; that’s it. You’re afraid. Body spasms blow away any rational thought. A ringlet of thoughts swirls through my mind. Summer’s gone. You’re too late. You’re all alone. Jaden could drop dead. Jaden could walk out any minute. I can’t swallow. I can barely breathe. I hug my stomach as I rock … waiting for it all to go away. Imminent death looks like a blessing.
Time stretches out to infinity, but the angel of death doesn’t come. Sometime during my fit, I slid onto the floor, resting my head against the bedding, knees drawn up to my chest.
“Where are you?”
I start as I hear Jaden’s voice. I’ve lulled myself into believing he doesn’t give a shit and will be happy for the break from the crazy woman. His voice booms again. I answer, but no sound comes out.
“Rayne, answer me now.” The note of irritation in his voice does nothing to help my vocal cords. I say nothing.
Silence reigns for another eternity. Jaden comes back into my bedroom. The closet door opens. I remain hunkered down in my corner.
“Goddammit.” The door shakes with the force from Jaden’s slam. He sounds more frantic than irritated. That’s all it takes. The tears start flowing. Tears that haven’t seen the light of day since I was eleven or twelve years old. I hold my breath, waiting for him to leave the bedroom. My head sinks into the arms crossed over my bent knees as I fold into myself. Hiding from vulnerability and fear.
I’m drowning in a sea of repressed emotion breaking free. Why does bad shit always happen to me? What did I ever do to deserve the use and abuse that signifies my short life? Why? Why? Why? My mind sifts through every catastrophe imaginable.
A warm arm slides around my shoulders, and Jaden wraps one large hand around my head, pulling me into his hard chest. I curl into his inviting arms, gasping and sputtering as sobs consume me. He sits without moving while I empty the cesspool that holds my soul. He strokes my head until the tears end, and all that remains is the occasional hiccup of dry sobs. He wipes my tears with his shirt.
“So, what part got to you?”
A small piece of the permafrost surrounding my heart melts. Jaden hasn’t demanded anything of me. He offers to share.
“I don’t know.” I sigh. What has brought this on? “She told me her story, and I can’t get rid of the horror.”
“And?”
“She asked me to tell my story. That doesn’t bother me, though.” Liar. I bat BG right back into her cage. She puts her foot in the door as I try to close it.
“So what are these tears about?”
“I don’t know. I told you.” I let full-fledged bitchy rule my voice. Who the hell does he think he is, anyway? I don’t owe him a thing. But we notice you’re still in his arms.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” Jaden keeps his tone neutral.
I pull out all the stops as I absorb his vibes. I catch a whiff of anger, although not directed at me. Mostly I get compassion with a tiny undercurrent of retribution. I try to shut him down. I can’t handle both of our emotions. I’m exhausted from my own and Sasha’s.
If I tell this man my story, there’s no telling what he’ll do. Kill them all? Good. Not good, goddammit.
My mind carries on its clash of the Titans—guilt maiming hatred, hatred making a miraculous recovery and knocking self-pity aside to make way for retribution. I want that bastard Kevin to pay, even after all these years. I want him to feel the terror. To be helpless. Maybe I’ll slice up the head of his cock and see how he feels about it.
“Are you still with me?”
“No. I mean, yes, I’m still with you, and no, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.” He pulls me closer.
Five minutes pass, and he just sits there on the floor in this closet stroking my hair. As he holds me, another shard of ice melts, releasing years of protective silence.
When I was fourteen, ES moved us from Guelph to a hick town. About seven hundred people lived there. Like every small town, there were the poor families with a gazillion kids who lived on the fringe. Farm kids made up the rest of the population. I arrived all full of academic pep and creative vinegar. I stepped straight from an academic fast-track to the backwater swamp of Southwestern Ontario where studies in things like Latin and theater were not an option.
Jaden barks out a hoarse laugh. “You must have been quite the shock to their systems.”
“Oh, yeah. And to make matters worse, they hated black people. The party started the first day of school. They put me in tenth grade because of my age. Academically, I should have been in eleventh grade. The town sluts, Susan and Blair, said, ‘Oh great, a nigger’ as the scent of body odor and manure assaulted me.
“Where was the teacher?”
“Oh, standing right there at the front of the class. He ignored them and told me to take a seat. Then one of them said, ‘How come you’re such a darkie if your father’s white?’”
“‘How come you don’t mind your own business?’ flew out of my mouth before I had a conscious thought. The wounds in my heart started to fester.” Could I sound more dramatic?
“I bet that went over.” Jaden brushes my arm with his fingers. The repetitive motion and his gentle tone relax me.
“Yeah, like the proverbial lead balloon.” I shiver as I remember the anger and humiliation that simmered beneath the surface. How dare they treat me like this? I’m a Canadian, born and bred. I’ve lived here all my life, and not one person has ever called me rude names before.
Jaden says nothing, just keeps stroking my arm.
“I hung around with two guys, John and Howie. Howie’s family had fourteen kids and no household plumbing. His cousin’s family had nine kids, one being the rapist, Kevin. I went to school with some of
them, so I knew them casually.”
“You probably knew everyone in a town that size.”
“Pretty much.”
The detachment I wear like a second skin dissolves in his embrace. Jaden listens with his whole body, head thrown back, eyes closed, arms still holding me tight.
This time, I bleed out my absolute terror and self-revulsion. I tell him about how the bitch goddess saved my mind. About how I turned into a robot and didn’t fight. I choke on my shame.
“And you know what the biggest kicker is? The bastard won a million dollars in the lottery. Sometimes, life just isn’t fair.”
“For people like you and me, life isn’t fair and not just sometimes. That’s why I do what I do. That’s why you’re here and not with pond scum like Viper.”
Oh, my God. He’s for real. He said, “You and me.” Like I’m not alone. Is it possible we’re more alike than I thought?
“Can we change the subject? Anything but Viper.”
“Sure. Tell me what you’re looking for in your Top.” Jaden’s eyes remain closed.
“My what?”
“What you keep calling a Dom. Dom is a term used by someone who lives the lifestyle twenty-four seven. I do not.”
I swivel out of his arm so I face him. “I know I’m all fucked up. I don’t blame you for saying no.”
Jaden turns his head and one golden eye peers at me. In one lionesque movement, he gets to his feet, pulling me up with him. “I need a toke.”
The suite has everything a human being could want, and minutes later, we’re settled on the couch with two glasses of wine and a blunt. The hell with vaping.
A comfortable buzz rolls over me as we lounge on the couch. Jaden lies on his side, head propped on his fist, looking at me like I have something interesting to say.
“Now, let’s start over. I’ve known you long enough to know you’re not about to let some man control your life.” Jaden’s lip quirks at the corner. “No matter how devastatingly handsome he may be.” He winks, and more of that gushy warm wax flows through my groin. Slow down, girlfriend. His charm and good looks are inviting, but he has a cold intensity that can clear a room without saying a word.
Rage (A Jaden Rayne Adventure Book 1) Page 18