Rafe

by Jo Raven

  She rubs her thumb and forefinger together and winks. “Nothing’s fucking free in life, Rafe.”

  “Language.” I sigh. “I’ll pay you later. You know I come through. So now talk.”

  She clucks her tongue and smiles, and I know I’ve won. Not that it does anything for the worry gnawing at my stomach. “You were right. She has a stalker.”

  My blood freezes. I’d been hoping nothing would come up. “Who did you see? What happened?”

  “Just a sleazy guy waiting outside the place where she works. He followed her when she got out, but did nothing.”

  Fuck.

  “Think your girl is in danger?” Apples asks.

  My girl. Those two words shouldn’t make me feel so warm inside. She isn’t mine.

  “What do you think?” I trust Apples’ instincts. “Is she?”

  She glances back at the boys training, then at the wall. Stalling. “Maybe.”

  “What is it? What did you notice?”

  “Tats.”

  My mind immediately flashes to the hand tattoo that’s engraved in my memory, and I rub my eyes, as if that can erase the image. “What tats?”

  “Prison tats.” She licks her lips, takes a step back. “At least Mage says they are.”

  Mage is another of my street kids, good friends with Apples. “And he knows, how?”

  She shrugs. “His family has been more in jail than out of it.” Another furtive look at the guys training, and she turns to leave. “Gotta go. See ya, Rafe.”

  “Wait.” When she doesn’t stop, I jog to get in front of her. I know better than grab her from behind. Her triggers are worse than mine, and her reactions even more violent. “What about the other matter—the fight club?”

  She stops, regards me with a deep frown. “That place’s guard won’t let anyone near the door, much less me or Mage. But there are rumors.”

  “Rumors.” She’s pulling on my last shreds of patience. “Like?”

  “Like, there’s a man with a hand tattooed on his arm. A patron of the club. Drops by sometimes, when he’s in Madison.”

  My vision goes red for a second, and I have to stop myself from grabbing Apples and shaking more details out of her.

  He’s here. Right fucking here. I was right. “What’s his name? What else did you find out?”

  “Listen, boss…” Her apple-green eyes search my face, clear and honest. “I’d let this go if I were you. They say he’s Cosa Nostra.”

  ***

  Cosa Nostra. Sicilian mafia. My dad’s family, the Vestris, are Sicilians. Dad hated the mafia with a passion.

  I stare at Apple’s small form as she slips out of the gym and closes the door without a sound.

  Doesn’t make a difference, one way or another. With the Russian mafia running the club, I’ll be heading straight into the lion’s den anyway.

  I still need to find a way in.

  Looks like I’ll have to push harder, get in touch with one of the more violent street gangs and promise a favor in exchange for an in. Could work. No idea what I could promise them. All I know is, I have to get my hands on this guy.

  Can’t sit on my hands and wait when I finally have him. What if he turns tail and leaves? How will I find his trail again?

  Dammit. Even the prospect of losing Damage Control pales in the face of failing to catch this asshole, face him at long last. It’s been on my mind for so long, all other thoughts take second place.

  Except Megan. I just can’t get her out of my head.

  “Yo, Z-man.” I wait until Zane looks up from where he’s in deep conversation with the owner of the gym, Peter, and jerk my thumb at the door.

  I wonder if he’ll react. He missed practice this whole past week, and has been avoiding me.

  But he nods at Peter and turns toward me, lifts a hand. “What’s up?”

  “I’m outta here. Take over, yeah? I think they’ll be okay without me.”

  Zane’s eyes narrow. “What, you’re not only skipping parties and get-togethers, now you’re gonna ditch training, too?”

  I suck in a sharp breath. “Fuck you, Z-man. What I do is none of your business.”

  “Yeah, like losing Damage Control was none of my business, too, huh? You didn’t think I deserved to know?”

  Fuck that shit. “You got something you wanna tell me, man? Just say it.”

  “Damn right I got something to say. Why the fuck didn’t I know this sooner? You obviously did. Not cool, fucker.” He jabs a finger at me. “I thought the shop was our project. I thought you’d have remembered to tell me that wasn’t the case.”

  “I told you how things are. It was never really mine, man.”

  “This is bullshit. If something means a lot to you, you fight for it.” He’s in my face now, chin jutting out, and I jerk back. “What’s the matter, fucker, did I hit a nerve? Maybe you don’t really give a fuck about Damage, not like I do.”

  “Back off, Zane,” I hiss through gritted teeth and push him off me, but he shoves me right back. His flat and angry eyes tell me all I need to know. He’s not about to forgive me, and on top of that he thinks I’m not doing my best to keep the shop.

  “This was our dream.” His jaw works, his eyes flash. “I don’t know what the hell is distracting you right now, twisting your priorities, but this is what we fought for. So what is it? Revenge? Sex? Drugs? What’s your addiction these days, Rafe?”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I snarl. This isn’t happening. I’m not exchanging angry words with my best friend.

  “I know you. You’re obsessed. But your past is in the past. Leave it there. Fight for what’s in the future.”

  “What the fuck makes you think I’m not? And how would you know that my past isn’t fucking up my future, goddammit? The past is alive. The past is fucking me up.” My chest is too tight, and heat is spreading up my neck. “You have no fucking clue.”

  “Okay, what do you mean? The past is alive? What are you talking about?”

  Dammit, I slipped up.

  “I’m done,” I say and turn to go. “Take over the training or not, whatever. I don’t care one way or another.”

  “Just like I thought.”

  With Zane’s accusing stare burning a hole between my shoulder blades, I grab my duffel bag and head out. Gotta stick to my plan and see it through, with or without my friends’ understanding and help.

  In fact, it’s damn better that way, so that if—or rather when—things go tits up, as they’re bound to do, I won’t drag them down with me.

  ***

  Snow covers the city, white, pristine. My black Mustang rolls through the swirling flakes, marring the perfection. I chose it black, like my past. Like my stained thoughts.

  Dammit, Zane. I slam my fist into the steering wheel.

  Part of me wishes I could talk to him, that I could believe he’ll support me. But my plan is crazy and dangerous, and I know it. He’ll never approve, and I won’t let it go. No fucking way. Catching the motherfucker who destroyed my life and took those I loved is what has kept me going through the years.

  And yet, having Zane pissed at me hurts, and not in a good way.

  Man, I want to help anyone who’s in trouble, anyone who’s in need, or out on the street. I’d like to save everyone, though I learned early on that letting people down is inevitable.

  But this isn’t just anyone. These are my brothers and sisters. The Brotherhood and the Damage people, they are everything to me. If they suffer because of me...

  Shit. How can I convince Armin not to sell Damage? Where the fuck can I find the money to buy the shop off him? This is driving me nuts.

  On my way home, I take a detour to check on Apples who’s supposed to be watching the coffee shop where Megan works.

  I feel responsible for the kid’s safety. Apples can take care of herself, she has a strength forged on the ugly streets, but if, as she claims, this ex-con is following Megan, then I want to make sure both girls are all right. Maybe e
ven catch a glimpse of the fucker stalking Megan, before I go home and settle in for another sleepless night.

  As I drive in front of the coffee shop, I slow down, scanning every possible hiding spot. Not many around here—just a couple alley mouths, a building entrance or two, and a bus stop.

  I see a guy I don’t recognize smoking. There’s a dog scratching his ear behind a trash container. Can’t see Apples, but then I notice Mage, her friend, skulking into a side street.

  Covered. They’re keeping watch.

  Heaving a sigh of relief, I’m about to hit the gas and head the hell home. This day has sucked ass.

  Then I see her. Megan. She’s sitting on the snow-covered steps, her face in her hands.

  What in the holy fuck? I hit the brakes so hard the car skids, and I jerk the wheel to bring it back under control. I roll to a stop just a few feet away, throw the door open and jump out.

  She’s still there, dark head bent, her knee-high boots scuffed, her pants dusted with snow. Not an illusion. She really is sitting there, in the snow. What the hell is going on?

  I stride up to her. “Meg. Megan. Hey.”

  She jerks at the sound of my voice, and the last thing I wanna do right now is frighten her.

  So I go down on my knees in front of her, in the snow, so that our eyes are level. Hers are red and puffy, and my chest tightens so bad it hurts.

  My hands clench, powerless, and the snow falls around us in silent flakes. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Her voice catches, and she looks away.

  I lift my hand, grip her chin and gently turn her face back toward me. “Just tell me. I only want to help.”

  Her lower lip trembles, that full, soft flesh I want to sink my teeth into, it looks so sweet. “It’s just today.”

  I blink. “What is today?”

  She exhales, swallows hard, her eyes filling up again, and damn, it’s tearing me inside. “Raylin vanished without giving me money for the rent, leaving Raf behind for me to take care of, and Mike just called to tell me I don’t have a job anymore except for that part-time one on Sundays, and Mom hasn’t called because I bet she forgot about it, like every year.”

  I blink again. “Slow down. Your mom forgot about what?”

  She wipes a hand over her mouth and lifts her chin. “My birthday.”

  Oh shit. I want to enclose her in my arms, protect her from the world and its ugliness, but I don’t think she’ll let me. It’s not like I’ve been the most approachable of guys until now, and she has no reason to let me comfort her, or trust me in any way.

  “What about your boyfriend?” I ask, even if the question tastes like ashes in my mouth. “Have you called him?”

  She shakes her head.

  Okay. I shouldn’t be glad he isn’t here, that I’m here instead, and I force myself to think. I have to do something. She looks so sad, it’s hurting me just as much as Zane’s anger did. I want to take the sadness away, make her smile.

  “Are you done with work?”

  She nods. “I’m going home.”

  “I’m going home, too. Would you come with me?”

  Her dark brows lift in shock, and I rush on, before she can think of reasons to refuse. “Just to take a quick shower and change into clean clothes, I’m all sweaty from the gym. It’s your birthday, and we should celebrate. We could go out to eat something, or for a drink, or—”

  “Yes,” she whispers, her voice raw.

  Yes? My breath catches when she gives me a watery smile. It lights up her face, brightens those amazing dark-lashed eyes, turning her from a pretty girl to a damn gorgeous woman.

  My heart booms in my chest as I rise to my feet and offer my hand. “Then let’s go.”

  When she takes it, slender fingers wrapping around mine, I know something irrevocable has just happened—time stretching and arching like a bridge into the unknown, and as she trustingly looks up at me, I know without the shadow of a doubt I’d fucking do anything for her.

  Anything at all.

  Chapter Seven

  Megan

  The black Mustang is parked by the side of the street. When I emerge from the coffee shop with my purse slung over one shoulder, my eyes finally dry and my chin held high—screw you, boss, it’s not as if I initiated any of the “indecent displays” you’re so pissed off about—I see Rafe leaning against the trunk, arms folded over his chest.

  My heart does a wild little flip in my chest. He wants to celebrate my birthday with me, and in the midst of the chaos that is my life, on the heels of losing my job and realizing Raylin isn’t coming back, it makes me feel warm.

  I went into her room yesterday, found a handwritten note on her bed. Have to go. I won’t be coming back. Take care of the kitty and yourself. Love, Raylin.

  She left a few things. Her brush is on the bedside table, a pair of old shoes under the bed. A calendar with tropical beaches hangs on the wall. Florida. I don’t even know where she’s from, or where she went to.

  Christ. I’m furious at her. Scared for her.

  And right now, I don’t care, because she left, and Rafe is here.

  I drink in the sight of him, his muscular shoulders stretching his jacket, the shaggy blond hair catching the lights of the coffee shop. He smiles as I slowly walk toward the car, flashing those sexy dimples, and I almost miss a step.

  His smile does it to me every time.

  It’s stopped snowing, I realize, as he pushes off the car and offers his hand again. It makes me want to giggle, because he’s so badass with his jeans and biker boots, the tattoos peeking under his sleeves, the messy hair and earrings, but this move is so… gallant. Gentlemanly. Belonging to a life spent in the lobbies of luxurious hotels and villas on the lake shore.

  Which in its turn makes me wonder about his childhood. I need to find out more about him. His hand takes mine again, derailing my thoughts, sending jolts of electricity down my spine as he walks me around the car and opens the door for me.

  What am I doing? This is nuts. This guy pulled away from me time and again, made me feel he regretted touching me every time.

  But I can’t keep away. His pain, just like his smile, is breathtaking and tugs at something deep inside of me. He reflects my fears like a mirror. When he hurts, I hurt with him, and it’s as if… as if taking away his pain will take away mine, too.

  If we shared our pain, would it become easier to bear?

  His hold on me is firm, and when I slide into the seat, he doesn’t release me immediately. He’s looking down at our entwined hands, brows drawn together, as if trying to figure out some complex equation. It somehow seems to be the closest we can get, this handholding, strong fingers pressing mine against a callused, warm palm. His cat-like eyes narrow, then lift to my face, and his lips part on an exhale.

  He’s so handsome it hurts my soul.

  Finally letting go, he gives his head a small shake and closes the door, then jogs around in the snow to the other side. He folds his tall frame into the car and snaps the door shut.

  Quiet. His car smells like him, smoky and spicy. He has a dog-eared paperback stuffed by the seat. I pull it up slightly as he revs up the engine. Dante, Inferno. I push it back down.

  The sole of my shoe crunches on something and I lift a broken drumstick.

  Rafe grunts and takes it from me. “Sorry for the mess.” He throws the stick in the back seat and pulls away from the curb. “I don’t often have girls riding with me.”

  Interesting. I file this bit of information away for further examination. Every tiny detail I gather about him is precious. He doesn’t give it away freely.

  “Hard to believe,” I say and grin at him.

  “Well.” One side of his mouth curls up, showing one faint dimple. “Not pretty ones like you.”

  “Oh come on.”

  “I’m fucking serious.”

  Crap, he thinks I’m pretty. Sure, I’d felt the reaction of his body before, but men’s bodies are easily aroused. I heard say they can
get an erection from dropping coins into a slot machine, and…

  Oh God. He thinks I’m pretty. A hot flush rises in my cheeks. I feel like I can do just about anything now—climb a mountain, run across town… Smile without restraint.

  Which I do.

  Funny thing is, his eyes widen as he watches me, then his own smile ratchets up a notch. Those cute dimples deepen, and it’s breathtakingly sexy.

  He turns his gaze back to the street and I’m still staring. I watch the knot in his throat bob as he swallows, his tongue darts out to lick his lips, and heat suffuses me.

  I’m in Rafe Vestri’s car. Alone with him, in his car. And he’s taking me to his apartment so he can shower and, oh dear God, that image is almost my undoing. Because, oh hell… Rafe naked under the hot spray, all that muscled flesh and inked skin gleaming wet, his hands running up and down his chest, sliding lower, to grab his—

  Holy crap. This is crazy. Stop it.

  My face aflame, a maddening throb between my legs, I force my eyes to the road and keep my mouth shut until we reach our destination.

  ***

  I’m dying of curiosity to see Rafe’s pad. I want to find out who he really is, and what’s more personal than one’s home?

  Since I met Rafe during my jog through that rich neighborhood, I expected him to stop in front of one of those tall, white houses. Instead, we turned into a nondescript street with rows of massive buildings and not a smidge of green in sight—no trees, no gardens, no grass.

  He parks on the street, hops out and again hurries around to open my door and help me out. I can’t help but smile when he offers me his hand.

  Hand language.

  He tugs on me, lifts me to my feet, then tugs again so that I’m held at his side. “Careful, the snow can be slippery,” he says, his voice a pleasant rasp that makes my skin tingle.

  He closes the car door, locks, and starts walking toward the building, his fingers tangled with mine. I wonder if he even notices he’s holding my hand as we climb up three broad steps and he punches a code into a keypad by the door. It clicks and he pushes it open, striding inside. I hurry to match his pace, and he slows down immediately.

  We wait for the elevator, and now we’re indoors. No real reason for him to keep his warm fingers around mine.