08-23-2018, 09:25 PM
"He was supposed to protect the girls. He just wasn't supposed to rip anyone's fucking throat out. You didn't even think to fucking call me."
"Would that have been before or after Rafael bled out in your club, Ori?"
Voices washed the silence. Disorientated, Raffe watched the shadows of the ceiling. Pain needled his throat when he swallowed. He felt hollowed out. And famished, though the thought of food made him feel sick. He shifted, limbs like blocks of concrete, the ache deep as if every bone had broken and reset while he slept. Groggy memory resurfaced as his senses returned. When he looked at his hands they were clean, though blood still rusted his nail beds.
"I called in one of your favours," Carmen continued. "A big one. You have some shitty contacts, Ori; that man is absolutely disgusting. But I think he saved Raffe's life. Though--" Her voice tailed off, perhaps because she suddenly noticed Raffe's struggle to sit up. Actually, that was going pretty badly. He sank back down.
Her face swam into view, hair loose of its usual victory rolls. He'd never seen her look that dishevelled, if it could even be called that. She sank down on the bed beside him, brows drawn low. The lack of makeup made her eyes all the bluer. Raffe shut his own, tried to claw himself together; breathe through the pain. A bed meant he was probably in one of the rooms the girls sometimes used to crash after a shift. If he was still in the club, Kasun was probably here somewhere as well.
Unless I killed him.
But he was too afraid to ask.
Is it bad? he tried instead, but nothing came out; it burned to even try, so much so that he winced and scrunched his head back into the pillow. Carmen didn't answer, but he'd seen her expression; it told him enough.
Oriena wandered nearer, until he could see her porcelain face marred by a nasty split lip. Inky dark hair spilled lazily over a shoulder, a far cry from the siren she usually presented on those elusive evenings she chose to haunt the club. Truthfully he was surprised she'd even come. She might be Carmen's boss, and this might be her domain, but nothing in her demeanour suggested she particularly cared what happened here. The storm of her eyes raked over him, a smirk pulling her swollen lips. "Well fuck, Raffe. Still, at least you're not dead."
"Would that have been before or after Rafael bled out in your club, Ori?"
Voices washed the silence. Disorientated, Raffe watched the shadows of the ceiling. Pain needled his throat when he swallowed. He felt hollowed out. And famished, though the thought of food made him feel sick. He shifted, limbs like blocks of concrete, the ache deep as if every bone had broken and reset while he slept. Groggy memory resurfaced as his senses returned. When he looked at his hands they were clean, though blood still rusted his nail beds.
"I called in one of your favours," Carmen continued. "A big one. You have some shitty contacts, Ori; that man is absolutely disgusting. But I think he saved Raffe's life. Though--" Her voice tailed off, perhaps because she suddenly noticed Raffe's struggle to sit up. Actually, that was going pretty badly. He sank back down.
Her face swam into view, hair loose of its usual victory rolls. He'd never seen her look that dishevelled, if it could even be called that. She sank down on the bed beside him, brows drawn low. The lack of makeup made her eyes all the bluer. Raffe shut his own, tried to claw himself together; breathe through the pain. A bed meant he was probably in one of the rooms the girls sometimes used to crash after a shift. If he was still in the club, Kasun was probably here somewhere as well.
Unless I killed him.
But he was too afraid to ask.
Is it bad? he tried instead, but nothing came out; it burned to even try, so much so that he winced and scrunched his head back into the pillow. Carmen didn't answer, but he'd seen her expression; it told him enough.
Oriena wandered nearer, until he could see her porcelain face marred by a nasty split lip. Inky dark hair spilled lazily over a shoulder, a far cry from the siren she usually presented on those elusive evenings she chose to haunt the club. Truthfully he was surprised she'd even come. She might be Carmen's boss, and this might be her domain, but nothing in her demeanour suggested she particularly cared what happened here. The storm of her eyes raked over him, a smirk pulling her swollen lips. "Well fuck, Raffe. Still, at least you're not dead."