The Fae Book 3: Butcher and Raine

Chapter 10 (Raine): I Don't Understand You

***TW for body shaming language***

When Butcher walked out of my apartment, I pulled up my mobile banking app to look at my checking account balance. It normally hovered around two thousand dollars. When I saw the amount of money sitting in my account, I almost choked. I definitely had to sit down as I kept staring at the number. He'd deposited two hundred fifty thousand dollars into my account. This surprise definitely wasn't something my mother had warned me to make room for in my life.

The next morning when I stomped out of my apartment to go to the bank, there was a man on a motorcycle in the alley across from my door. He was wearing a leather vest, he looked like a killer and he was glaring at me like he wanted to kill me. Butcher Junior, clearly. I stomped over to him.

"Why are you here?"

"Orders."

"That's it? Orders? What are your orders?" I knew who had given the orders, but what I couldn't figure out was why.

"Watch you."

"Watch me do what?"

"Watch you," he repeated, shrugging as if it should be obvious why he was watching me and what that would entail.

"Thanks for the clarification," I said. "But you're not going to watch me. I want you to take off and leave me alone."

"Can't."

I was vibrating with the need to punch this guy. Instead, stepping closer to him, I pulled out my Swiss Army knife and showed him the four-inch blade.

"Let me put it this way. You won't be following me today."

Then I swung my knife and stabbed the blade deep into his front tire. Then I sawed it back and forth for good measure. The man was off his bike the second I plunged the blade into his tire, towering over me.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He was growling at me, but I also noticed he didn't put his hands on me. Interesting.

Withdrawing my blade, I calmly folded up my knife and put it back into my pocket. "I told you to take off. You refused. Welcome to consequences. While I'd love to stay and hear you call Butcher and tell him why you can't follow me, I have things to do. Have a great day."

I beeped my horn twice as I drove past him. Being polite, I even waved. He was on the phone, and he didn't look happy, nor did he wave back.

Beep beep, fucker.

I went into my bank and walked out frustrated. Come to find out, my bank wouldn't give me two hundred fifty thousand in cash and they wouldn't let me get a cashier's check made out to Butcher.

"We need a company name or a first and last name for the check," the teller had told me. Then, protesting their stupid policy, I took it right on up the line to the bank president. Who still told me no.

So then I drove to my studio and -- surprise -- there was a man on a motorcycle in the street across from my building. He was wearing a leather vest, he looked like a killer and he was glaring at me like he wanted to kill me. Another Butcher clone.

Ignoring him, I unlocked the door to the studio and walked in. I handled some administrative paperwork while keeping up a steady stream of chatter to my boy and he gave me a few kicks, letting me know if he agreed or disagreed with the shit I was spewing. Half an hour before my first class, I changed into my yoga pants and top and did some stretching, calming my mind.

After teaching two classes, the baby was hungry for lunch, so I changed back into my clothes and locked up. Walking down the street to the diner, I was followed on foot by my Butcher clone. And, given my luck lately, the person I hated almost as much as Butcher was coming out of the diner as I was about to walk in.