The Fae Book 3: Butcher and Raine

Chapter 2 (Raine): Some Friends Of Yours

Butcher's five-star guest accommodations lacked some basics that were going to result in a seriously bad Yelp review. Like down-filled pillows or any pillows, actually, and blankets. Just that ridiculously thin mattress laid out on the floor. Refusing to sit on the disgusting thing until I absolutely had to, I paced for hours, trying to keep warm in the cold basement cell, rubbing my hands up and down my arms. I began by plotting ways to rip out every single piercing on Butcher's body with my bare hands and other fun little methods to torture Butcher.

This was my mother's fault, I realized, because it felt better to blame her than myself for going anywhere with this man. Her comments about how I always chose weak men and I needed a stronger man were the crux of the problem. I probably would have been happy to go on the same way I always had and dated men who very quickly bored me. But, with my mother's gentle observations ringing in my ears, Butcher had walked into my life and I'd liked him. Not that we knew each other in any real way whatsoever, despite thirteen weeks of hooking up. It had only been sex, but something happened to me when I saw him for the first time that had never happened to me before: I felt like I'd known him on a deeper level, which made no sense, but the knowledge, the awareness was there nonetheless.

My mother had always told me the second she met my father, she'd known he was meant for her, that she'd recognized him as hers before she knew anything about him. Fortunately, my father hadn't turned out to be a psychopath like another man I could name, so she had some beautiful years with him before she lost him. My story was looking like I was going to be skipping over the beautiful years part and going straight to the pain and loss.

My teeth started chattering a bit, and I contemplated wrapping the mattress around me. I was getting tired and pacing to keep warm was starting to wear on me. As I began compiling a pros and cons list for touching the mattress, I stopped moving when I heard the door to the room opening. No light was on in the other room (where I'd at least had a chair), so I couldn't see anything. See who it was. Wondering if whoever was watching me would try to get inside my cell.

That made a shiver run through me and raised goosebumps on my arm. Never before had I been at anyone's mercy, and this man and his merry band of fellow psychos had none. Not one drop of mercy was to be found here in these rooms. You could feel it.

It also stopped my plans to sit on the mattress because no way would I be that vulnerable with a threat right outside my jail cell. When I'd first been thrown in here, I'd catalogued what was in my cell and realized nothing in there would help me. I'd explored every inch of my six-by-six square on my hands and knees, in the dark, trying to find anything that could be used for a weapon. There was nothing. The toilet tank lid had been removed and I'd even tried pulling off the toilet seat, with nothing to show for my efforts but two broken nails. The exposed pipes under the sink didn't budge when I tried to loosen them, and it soon became obvious that my only option was smothering someone with the thin mattress.

Well, that definitely wasn't a solid plan, especially given there was an unknown, unseen threat five feet away from me. That left only hand-to-hand combat, and I knew I was at a disadvantage size-wise but I'd give it my all and would fight with everything I had in me. Which, at the moment, was a lot of rage. Mentally preparing myself, I visualized what I would do to attack my unseen opponent. I could grab one of the bars on my cage and use that for leverage to kick the man as he tried to walk into my cell. Unless he was wearing night-vision goggles, he couldn't see in the dark any better than I could. If I could get him down, I could maybe run out of my cell and slam the man inside the cell, buying myself a few seconds to run. Then who knows what I'd have to do to get out of this place, but it was the only plan I had if someone tried to invade my cell.

I sensed movement even though I didn't hear anything and sure as hell couldn't see anything, and I heard a barely-there whisper of something falling to the floor. The door handle made a sound and I heard the door open and close again and knew I was alone. Taking a step forward, my foot stepped on something soft, and I bent down and picked up a soft blanket. A thick, heavy soft blanket. It was huge, king size. Definitely enough to put on top of the mattress so I didn't have to touch it and still have plenty to wrap over me. More than enough to stop my shivering.

That made me pause. It made sense that they had cameras down here but what didn't make sense was bringing a blanket to a shivering prisoner. It didn't seem in keeping with the purpose of this sub-spartan cell. We're here for your discomfort seemed to be the sole purpose of the MC's guest accommodations.

Screw it. Knowing there were probably cameras, I'd ignored my bladder, but now I threw the blanket over my head, making a sort of shield around me that would hide me from the cameras, quickly used the toilet, washed my hands, and used the very edge of the blanket to dry them. Then, as best I could, I spread one part of the blanket on the mattress, lay down on it, and pulled the rest over me, including my head.

The blanket smelled...delicious.

I'd smelled delicious before. When Butcher had fucked me, and my face had been buried alongside his neck or against his chest, his scent had been delicious. It wasn't cologne or soap, either; it was just the man himself, the scent emanating from his skin.

This blanket made no sense, but wrapped in a cocoon of delicious that also made no sense, I fell asleep very quickly and escaped from reality.

I woke when I heard something rattle my cage, and noticed the lights had been turned on in the room. Blinking sleepily, bits and pieces came back to me and I sat up, wondering why someone was in here.

"Breakfast," a rough voice said, answering my unspoken question, and as I came fully awake, I saw a paper plate being slid under the door. "You want the drink, take it off the tray. You mess with it, you can drink from the faucet going forward."

I got up and reached through the bars to take the paper cup. I was a little scared to consume any of the food or drink provided, but I was too hungry to make a point. I was also a little concerned about what would happen after I ate, but again, hunger was more important than anything.

"Do you have any saltines and ginger tea?" I asked, knowing it was a long shot.

"Lady, despite you somehow having a blanket, this ain't a hotel and we don't have room fucking service. You either eat what you're given or you don't eat."

I looked down at the plate of food. Toast with some peanut butter smeared on it, a peeled banana, and two peeled hard-boiled eggs. I sniffed the cup I was holding to make sure it smelled like normal orange juice and was relieved that it both smelled normal and didn't turn my stomach.

The man had already left by the time I looked back up. Sitting down on the mattress, I ate slowly and breathed deeply, trying to avoid what had been happening for the last week. Ate a bite. Waited a few minutes. Ate a bite. Waited. Until, half an hour later, I'd finished the toast and banana and the egg whites, with tiny sips of juice in between.

I focused on deep breathing when I felt that first feeling of ick, but the vile taste of bile soon won the silent battle I was waging and had me retching into the toilet. When I finished, I flushed the nastiness away and sat back on my heels, using toilet paper to wipe the involuntary tears from my face that always happened when I got sick.

Unfortunately, I didn't have a toothbrush or toothpaste to remove the disgusting taste and couldn't see room service providing either one. Ugh. Once I didn't feel so wobbly, I got up, dumped the rest of my orange juice down the sink and filled the cup with water. I swished it around in my mouth and spit, trying to get that nasty taste out of my mouth. Standing there, hands braced on either side of the sink, head down, I was glad there wasn't a mirror in front of me because if I was feeling this wiped out, I could only imagine how I looked.

You're not defeated, Raine. You're not. You will make it through this and somehow find a way to get far away from this man and raise your child without psycho daddy.

After a few moments, I crawled back onto the mattress and fell asleep, exhausted.

This next time I woke up, I wasn't alone in my cell.

Butcher stood over me.

"Get up."

Slowly, I got to my feet, my stomach still not steady, and I pressed myself against the wall, eyeing him warily. 

"What now?"

"Have some friends of yours here. We're going to have a talk."