"Get ready?" the younger boy asked him worriedly. "As in 'dressed'?"
"Just make yourself look pretty," Terry volunteered. "A bit of makeup, some sexy jewellery, strappy boots or something. Get yourself oiled and smelling good. You're spending tonight with Paddy Mac, so don't fuck it up."
Green eyes went wide as old pennies. Rayne just stared at him.
"Wh... who's idea of a joke was that?" he demanded at last.
"It's not a joke," Aldo said quietly. "PJ likes to get to know his boys before he shoots with them. He knows all of us. You, he has not met. Don't be scared, Rayne. He won't hurt you. He knows that you're still waiting on the tests and they haven't made a sheath big enough to hold him so he won't fuck you tonight."
Terry snorted quietly through his nostrils. Rayne glared at him; "What?"
"He won't poke you, but those two muscle boys that came out here with him don't look as if they'd mind!" Terry laughed grimly. "Better make sure your arse is nice and slippery, sweet-cheeks!"
"Fuck off!" Rayne snarled at him, pushing his way out of the shower and into the bedroom.
His hands were shaking as he studied himself in the mirror on the wardrobe door, stroking his dark hair back from his face and wondering what he should do. All his money was in the pouch at Phil's flat, as well as the wrap of precious Heroin. Christophe was looking for him, hoping to train him into a good little doggie like Thierry.
The young man snorted incredulously at the idea of that. No way was he coming to heel for Christophe, not even if the bastard offered to pay him!
And now he was being handed over to Paddy McNamara like a peace offering. If Phil was not exaggerating about the size of the man's dick, tonight might well be an eye opener in more ways than one. Rayne sat down on the edge of the bed, conscious that he was shaking. It was almost worse than being in thrall to Johnno. At least with John he had a good idea what to expect. These jokers might try anything with him and he had nowhere to run to.
To cap it all off, Ant – his only ally in this madness - was not even speaking to him and it was his own fault. Rayne clasped his hands in his lap and stared glumly at his reflection. He realised, belatedly, that this upset him most of all. Ant might sometimes be a bit of an idiot and he was far too convinced of his own heroic role in Rayne's great escape from Johnno, but he was at least a kind man. No one had forced him to spend so much money trying to help one ungrateful boy prostitute change his life. He had done what he thought was right, even when it was clearly not. Rayne was torn between feeling sorry for him and being angry because Ant knew just how to manipulate him.
"He's as bad as the rest of them," he told his mirror image in a sullen whisper. "He just wants to get his rocks off while you do all the donkey work."
He put his head in his hands then and sat there, huddled on the edge of the bed until Aldo came to help him with his makeup.
"You look fabulous," the Italian whispered in his ear as he prepared to leave the bedroom at last.
Rayne Wilde wished he felt fabulous but the only sensation he was conscious of was one of rising nausea. His skin was crawling, not helped by the sweet, aromatic massage oil which Aldo had rubbed gently all over him as they got ready. Delicate, beaded, silver coils were wound around his nipples and he wore a snug, black cock strap around his shaft and balls with delicate silver chains running to a ring that fastened snugly just beneath the head of his sex. It felt heavy and a little uncomfortable but Aldo assured him that he would get used to it. Silver bracelets circled his wrists, with more strands of fine chain running from them to rings around the tips of each of his fingers and his thumbs. His nails were painted silver and black. Soft-soled, sable suede boots caressed his feet and calves, bound with buckled straps of the same material and he wore little diamond studs in his ears and a silver and diamante collar around his neck. His hair was full of glitter and there were streaks of it across his high cheekbones. Aldo had glossed his lips until he felt sure they were melting and drawn thick, black lines of Kohl across his eyelids so that he looked like Cleopatra.
Beside him, Aldo was a vision in black and gold. A black leather collar and cock harness complimented black and tan leather boots and a golden belt across his lean, bronzed hips. Little whorls of golden leaves ringed his nipples and he wore a single dark jewel in his navel. His ebony hair was slicked back from his handsome face with styling wax and he wore a single golden ring in his left earlobe with a little piece of jet hanging from it.
"I wish this was over," Rayne breathed, hoping that he would not be sick and ruin all of Aldo's work. "I wish I could just go back to bed and hide under the duvet 'til morning."
"You'll be fine," Aldo assured him. "I swear it, Rayne. No one is gonna hurt you."
A silence greeted their arrival in the day room. Then there were a few appreciative murmurs from the waiting group. Arturo and the twins had already set off, for which Rayne was profoundly grateful. Another slanging match with the Terrible Tossers was more than he could stomach at the moment. Ant looked at him as if he had grown another head, then turned away as if the sight was too much to bear but Daniel Leland rose to his feet, garbed in a long, loose, midnight black sarong, edged in golden loops of thread, which he wore like a roman toga. He nodded his head slowly.
"Well well... it was certainly worth the wait," he said at last.
A LA FENIX:
They walked the short distance from the boat to the club, on the edge of La Collines district. A neon sign over the door showed a brightly plumed bird discarding its golden feathers to reveal firstly a curvaceous naked woman, then a muscular, golden skinned man, over and over. Daniel took Rayne's arm and led him inside where the darkness swallowed his vision for a few moments. When he could see again, they were approaching a deep booth with turquoise covered bench seats and a long table between them. A number of people were already seated and Rayne recognised the Twins by their silver stetsons. A tall man with long, blond hair tied back in a pony tail rose and greeted them. His solemn grey eyes roamed over Rayne slowly, as if trying to memorise every inch of him, then he turned and wordlessly ushered them into the booth. Daniel Leland sat down at the head of the table, next to Terry. Rayne was guided to a place next to a broad shouldered, richly sun-bronzed man whose thick, shoulder length hair shone a deep, copper red in the lights from the dancefloor beyond their seats. As he sat down, a pair of steely blue eyes moved to meet his curious gaze. Their owner had a square, solid jaw like some old action cartoon hero and a full, sensuous mouth. His nose had been broken but it did not look out of place on that strong-boned face.
Rayne held his gaze, unwilling to look away. This fellow was not handsome in the same way as Aldo but nor was he ugly. He had a commanding presence. His chest was deep and broad with powerful pectorals, curving and dipping like polished bronze into the sculpted precision of his abdominal muscles and his nipples were hard, dark bullets. One muscular thigh rested so close to Rayne's leg that he could feel the heat rolling off it in waves.
"So..." this man said at last, his voice rich and warm, resonating with the combined brogue of Southern Ireland and the nasal twang of East Coast America. "You must be the boy who came in from the cold?"
Rayne blinked at him, not sure what to say to this. It was a curious opening gambit and it told the younger man that his fellow diner already knew more about him than he knew about the man sitting next to him. He shivered under the intense scrutiny of that steady stare.
"I'm PJ," the fellow said, without any fuss or fanfare. "Are you 'still' cold?"
Rayne shook his head. The concern seemed genuine but he could not be sure. It was rare for him to meet a man he could not mentally unzip and assess in the first few moments of their meeting. PJ McNamara reached across the table, breaking the hold his gaze had on his companion as he picked up a bottle of champagne and deftly twisted the foil cap so that he could pop the cork. As if this was some kind of signal, people settled in their seats and other bottles were opened. Foam spewed from the necks and into tall, narrow glasses, which chinked and clinked as the revellers toasted one another's health.
Rayne lifted his own glass to his lips but as he did so, Paddy McNamara turned in his seat and touched his crystal flute to Rayne's lightly. His eyes were fixed on the younger man's slightly flushed face once more.
"Good health," he said portentously.
