Chapter 3: Raven

"Is everything alright?" A deep voice asked. Ciara whipped her head around, seeing a man walking around the corner of the building, face hidden in the shadows of the alley.

"Everything's fine," Jack slurred, glaring at her, blue eyes dark and stormy. "I'm just talking to my wife-"

"Ex-wife," Ciara bit out. "We're divorced, Jack. And it wasn't my decision." The fear was replaced with anger, and everything she'd ever wanted to tell her ex-husband came tumbling out of her mouth, forgetting the man who had joined them. "You left me when I needed you the most. You left me because my disease wouldn't allow me to have children. You left me because my disease debilitated me and you couldn't handle it."

As she spoke, she stepped closer and closer to her ex-husband, ignoring the dangerous look in his eyes. She spewed venom, her eyes glittering in a dangerous way that not many people saw from her. "You slept with that whore, you got her pregnant. Isn't that what you wanted, Jack? You wanted children so bad that you took your sperm somewhere else and knocked her up. Except you didn't like having to raise him, did you? You didn't like having to actually pay for your decision."

"You bitch!" Jack bellowed, slapping her hard across the face.

Ciara gasped, clutching her cheek, moving her jaw. It stung, and throbbed. But pain was something she was used to, something she could ignore, so she looked at him, eyes slitted.

It was then she remembered the man who had joined them, and that was only because he had Jack in a hold with his arms behind his back. He flicked his mass of curls back and spoke low and dangerously into Jack's ear.

"Never, and I mean never, hit a woman. Especially in my presence, do you understand?"

Ciara's ex-husband was trembling in fear, eyes wide, begging her to interfere. She smirked. She refused to help him anymore. Never again, and certainly not now.

The man released him, shoving him away. "If I ever see your sorry face again, I will snap your neck. Do you understand?"

Jack nodded, whimpering, and almost scampered down the alley, disappearing into the night.

The man approached Ciara, and she backed away. He might have helped her, but she wasn't stupid. She didn't trust men who traversed dark alleys at night. Her back was against the cold brick of the building as his hand came up to her face, as she flinched away.

"Let me look at it." His voice was commanding, but still gentle. She looked up at him, recognition dawning as his face was lit by the emergency exit sign over the kitchen door. It was the fourth wrestler, the man from the file of photos. His dark eyes probed hers, then inspected her cheek carefully, calloused fingers running over the flesh. "You're going to have a hell of black eye tomorrow."

Ciara nodded, her wits coming back to her. She wet her lips. "You're Raven. Scott Levy." She said. "You're late."

He smirked, his full lips twisted into a half smile. "All business, are we? You must be Ciara O'Dubh." At her unspoken question he told her Jericho had called him to warn him he was in trouble with the organizer as well as Jennifer Brown, Vince's niece.

"I think I'm too tired to give you trouble," she admitted, laughing. "But we should go in before Nancy calls the police." She turned to the door, tugging on the handle. It was locked tight.

Ciara rolled her eyes, looking at Raven. "It's not my night. We'll have to try the front door." But she knew that was locked as well, to make sure fans who hadn't bought a ticket couldn't sneak into the club during the fundraiser. She regretted leaving her walkie talkie on the counter in the kitchen, then looked down and grimaced at the grooves the buttons on it had left in her cleavage. They would just have to wait until someone let them in. Or find a phone to use.

Walking around to the front of the building, Ciara regarded Raven from the corner of her eye. He was wearing a black coat that resembled something a pirate captain would wear, black dress shirt open at the collar, and black pants. His hair was a mass of curls, tumbling over one eye, and falling to his shoulders. The choker he wore in the picture was clasped around his neck.

Coming to the massive black doors that included decorative wrought iron Greenman heads on either one, and studs around the edges, Ciara knocked, knowing they couldn't be heard over the music. She just hoped Nancy had the good sense to realize she wasn't inside the club any longer.