Rafe

by Jo Raven

  “But we’re just having coffee,” Tyler says, thick arms folded over his chest. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Here it is,” Zane calls out, waving a paper. “Got your signature on it.”

  Fuck.

  “Goddamn you all,” Armin mutters and drops in a nearby chair.

  Zane hands the paper over to me. It is a title transfer for Damage Control, all right. I stare at it for a long moment.

  Then I methodically tear it to shreds until it’s confetti. I stuff the pieces in my pocket, just in case—no way I’d trust Armin even with the scraps—and go to stand over him.

  “This is goodbye,” I tell him. “Uncle. Soon I’ll have a copy of the will in my hands, so don’t think about trying anything else. I hope I never have to see your ugly-ass face ever again.”

  It’s time to go home.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Megan

  “Cute kitty.” Erin scratches Raf’s tummy. “Yours, right?”

  “Used to belong to my roommate.” I sink down on the sofa. Rafe’s mug of coffee is sitting right where he left it, practically untouched. “She left and abandoned him.”

  The kitty waves his short legs in the air and closes his eyes, purring so loudly he sounds like the professional coffee machines we have at the café.

  “Don’t worry,” Dakota says and comes to sit next to me. “They’ll be fine. These boys are tough. They’ll come through fine.”

  “Nobody can be tough all the time,” I say and bite my lip. Christ, why am I telling them this?

  But they don’t seem shocked.

  “That’s true,” Erin says, stroking Raf’s head, and Dakota nods as well.

  “And boys think differently, too. Their first reaction when things go bad isn’t to reach out, but rather to resolve the problem on their own.” Dakota scrunches up her nose. “Sometimes you have to get right into their face and threaten them into accepting help.”

  I blink at her. Hard to imagine this slip of a girl getting into Zane’s face and threatening him with anything, but she apparently did. I know she’s the reason he’s so happy now.

  “All of them have been through hell,” Erin says and puts Raf down. He glances up at her with an annoyed look. “But now they’re fine.”

  “Except Rafe.” Dakota picks up the kitty and nuzzles him to her face. Raf tries to claw her eyes out and she hurriedly holds him away. “He doesn’t look too good these days.”

  “The anniversary,” Erin mutters.

  “It’s more than that.” Dakota is looking right at me, her large blue eyes like windows into a summer sky.

  I grab Rafe’s coffee and take a sip, hiding behind the mug. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said about boys thinking differently?” She makes a disgusted sound. “Getting anything out of him is like pulling nails. Zane was like that, too, when his sister was dying last summer.” She passes the kitten to me, and I put down the mug to take him. “But of all people, he opened up to me.”

  “Why?”

  She smiles. “Because he’s in love with me. Just like Rafe’s in love with you.”

  I stroke the kitty’s silky fur, thinking about this. “You think so?”

  He did ask me to wait for him, sure, he asked me if I’m his, even said he loved me as he was falling asleep the other day—but that doesn’t have to mean anything.

  No matter how much I wish it did.

  “Girl…” Erin laughs and shakes her head. “Boy’s head over heels. It was obvious for months now, but lately you can practically hear him pant when you’re near. And the happiness on his face when you’re touching him, talking to him…”

  “He’s gone,” Dakota says, leaning back, grinning. “Boy’s smitten. And I bet he told you what’s worrying him lately. I’d bet my car on it.”

  “That useless piece of junk?” Erin mutters and sticks her tongue out.

  Dakota crosses her legs and swings one military boot back and forth. “So? Am I right?”

  Dammit. “Yes, okay. He did.” I scratch behind Raf’s ears. “But I can’t tell you. He’s the one who should.”

  “Fair enough. But we’ve already established he won’t tell anyone but you.” Dakota makes puppy eyes at me. “At least can you tell us if it’s something we could help him with?”

  I think about this. “I’m not sure.” I frown, as I realize something. “He never really explained. He only told me he was trying to fix things. And that his family’s murderer is out there, free. The police never caught him.”

  “It’s always worse on the anniversary,” Erin says after a while, when she realizes I’m done talking. “And knowing the murderer is out there… It must be horrible.”

  “Jesus, I…” I scrub a hand over my face. “I know almost nothing about what happened to his family.”

  To him.

  “It’s a hard topic. He may not be ready to talk about it any time soon.” Erin sends me a sympathetic look. “But there are articles you can read online about it. It’s not as if it’s a secret, you know.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek. Should I do it? Google it?

  Dakota’s phone pings, and she gets up. “Time to go. We’re visiting Audrey. I think she’ll be having the baby soon, she’s huge.” She giggles. “Can’t wait to meet mini Ash, or mini Audrey. Wanna come with, Meg?”

  I shake my head. A shudder wracks me. “No, thanks. Another time.”

  “You sure? Won’t you drive yourself crazy sitting here, worrying about Rafe and the guys?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “If you change your mind, give us a call.” Erin steps close, puts her arms around me. “Everything will turn out fine, girl, don’t you worry. Trust in love, okay?”

  At any other time, I would have laughed. It sounds so cheesy and overdramatic—but oh God, I do love Rafe, and I want to trust that feeling.

  “Here’s my tablet,” Erin says, pushing it into my hands. “It’s got satellite wi-fi. Look up anything you like. Give it to me next time we see each other.”

  “Thank you.”

  She nods, and her pretty dark eyes shine. “He’s worth it. Rafe. He’s worth fighting for. And he deserves someone who’ll accept him as he is, who’ll help him and love him. I think, despite the brotherhood and the friendship he shares with these boys, he’s always been on his own, inside. The load is too heavy. But I think you know that. And you’re still here. That tells me everything I need to know.”

  I clutch the thin tablet to my chest as they leave, her words echoing in my ears.

  Then I sit down to read what really happened that day, over four years ago, when Rafe’s life changed forever.

  ***

  Two hours later, I’m sprawled on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, my mind reeling, my eyes hot. Holy crap. I wipe at them, wondering if the image of a young Rafe, spattered with blood, his eyes wide and haunted, will ever leave my memory.

  The articles don’t contain much detail about the crime itself. Horrific murder. Knife wounds. Fatal shotgun wounds.

  But it’s enough. Rafe had watched it all. Struck with a long knife through the shoulder, pinned to the door, his back torn from trying to pull away to reach his sister who bled to death just a few feet away. He’d still been conscious when the police arrived, notified by a neighbor who said he heard gunshots from the house.

  But he wouldn’t talk. It seems he didn’t speak for months.

  God, Rafe. My heart is breaking for him. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes, despite my best efforts to keep them in.

  Maybe it’s stupid to cry about this now. It’s been years, and he survived. He kept going, in spite of it all. He tried to be strong, and hid his pain.

  Coming to think of it, I’m not sure I broke him, after all. What I broke was his walls. Deep inside, he was already shattered.

  The urge to run out and go look for him has me on my feet and at the door before I even realize what I’m doing.

 
Damn, Meg, no. He’s okay. He’s with his friends, going about important business. He doesn’t need more stress right now—and what will you say? That you Googled his family’s murder?

  He’s opening up, little by little. Don’t push it. Let him come to it in his own time.

  Getting dressed and going to work feels weird. Too normal after all that has happened. My mind is firing in a thousand different directions, swinging between memories of Rafe making love to me, kissing me, holding me, asking me to be his—and the images from the murder.

  Plus, I’m worried. Who knows if his uncle gets violent, or if he has violent friends with him? Or if one of the guys loses his cool and it all goes to hell? Too many awful scenarios flashing through my head.

  Please, don’t let Rafe get hurt worse than he already is. Let him get the shop back, and come back to me.

  Guess I always fear the worst.

  Which has to be why, when Rafe calls me much later, my hand shakes as I connect the call.

  “Meg,” he says, his voice warm over the line. “Meg, we did it. We got the paper and destroyed it, and the tattoo shop is still mine.”

  “That’s amazing,” I whisper, smiling. “Really amazing. So happy for you.”

  “Yeah.” He pauses. “Is everything okay?”

  “Perfect.”

  “Awesome. Is it okay if I pick you up after you finish work?”

  If it’s okay? This time my smile is wider. “Yes, I’d like that.”

  I’m still smiling when I put away my cell—but I’m also still jittery.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’m relieved beyond belief. But something’s wrong. I can feel it in my bones. I can hear it in Rafe’s warm voice, I can sense it in my clumsiness as I serve the tables at the café.

  Something bad’s about to happen.

  Oh no, you don’t, I tell myself, glaring at the table I’m cleaning. Don’t go imagining things. You’re not a seer or an oracle. Fine, so you can sense when Rafe’s watching you—that happens to lots of people. You can’t predict the future.

  Even if experience has taught me to trust such instincts. This is how I felt the night Mom’s asshole of a boyfriend went batshit. The night my life changed and I decided to leave Philly and everything I’ve known all my life.

  Not this time. It won’t happen again. I’m just depressed after reading about the murder. God, that was so awful.

  But everything’s fine now. Rafe will be okay, and so will I. So will everyone. Better believe it, Meg, my girl. We all deserve to be happy, even you.

  ***

  After I finish my shift, I untie the apron from around my waist, grab my bag and head out. A black Mustang is parked right outside, and I grin.

  Rafe climbs out, all six feet of handsome, muscled boy, dressed in a leather jacket and jeans, blond hair falling in his face. He’s smiling, flashing those killer dimples at me, and my heart skips a beat when he strides up to me and wraps his arms around me.

  “Meg.” He lifts me up in a bear hug and swings me around before placing me back down on my feet. “Hey, girl.”

  My arms wrapped around his neck, I smile up at him. “Hey.”

  “Ready to go home?”

  I laugh at his eager expression, but when he walks me backward until I’m up against the car and he presses between my legs, I have to swallow a moan at the feel of his thick length.

  “My place or yours?” I breathe, looking up into his luminous eyes.

  “I don’t care.” He leans down, brushes his mouth over mine and my knees go weak. “Home is where you are.”

  I bury my face in his chest, not knowing what to say. Philly isn’t home anymore. Mom isn’t home. But Rafe… Rafe is everything.

  “Your place,” I finally say, my voice muffled against his leather jacket. “Let’s go to your place.”

  “My place it is.” He kisses me thoroughly, leaving me breathless and totally aroused, before he steps back and opens the door for me. He winks and shoots me a wicked grin. “Good choice. I have a bigger bed.”

  ***

  Rafe’s bed is bigger. Double the size of mine, in fact, and made up in dark colors—a dark blue quilt and pillows. Huge black and white posters from rock concerts cover the walls. A few black lacquered shelves on one side hold books and a few framed photos.

  I’m standing at the door to his bedroom, feeling unaccountably nervous. That’s not normal, right? We slept together more than once already. But it was always at my place. Being here feels…serious. More intimate. This is his man-den, his most private space, and he’s let me in.

  Crap, I’m overthinking this, and it isn’t helping with the stupid nerves.

  Even less when he comes into the room, brushing past me, pulling off his sweater and T-shirt and letting them fall to the floor. He places a condom package on the small bedside table—yeah, he’s serious about this, all right—and switches on a spotlight over the bed. He turns it facing upward, so that it illuminates a poster of the Sex Pistols.

  He fiddles with the spotlight, and I study his broad back, entranced, caught in the play of muscles along his shoulders and across his ribs. There’s the thick scar running the length of his shoulder blade, as if the knife cut downward, scraping the edge of the bone.

  Oh shit. I lean against the door frame as the images of the murder come rushing back. I open my mouth to ask him about it, tell him what I know, except I can’t imagine how that will help him.

  He chooses that moment to turn around, and the question dies on my lips. Muscles ripple on his powerful chest and arms, and the V leading down into his pants is pointing to that bulge between his thighs that shows me how excited he is.

  God, he’s beautiful. Golden and bright, with a core of fire. Blond hair falls in his eyes and he shoves it back, shooting me a smile. His amber eyes are bright, warm. Trusting. Then they dip down to my breasts, the pupils dilating, swallowing the amber.

  “We need to talk, you and I,” he whispers, his voice sending bolts of desire into my belly. He rubs the back of his head, and I watch, mesmerized, the play of his biceps under colorfully inked skin. “Meg…”

  He stalks toward me, and I’m frozen on the spot, caught between the intensity in his gaze, the animal grace of his movements, and his words. Talk?

  Then he’s grabbing my hands, pulling them around his neck, and kissing me, pushing me into the door frame.

  “God, you’re so pretty,” he says, lips trailing over my mouth to my cheek. “I’ve wanted you for so long, and now you’re here, and you’re so much more than I expected. You’re sexy and you’re smart. You’re kind.” He runs his hands over my hips, then behind, over my ass. They curl under my thighs and he lifts me against the wall, pressing between my legs.

  A moan leaves my lips and my eyes flutter close. “God, Rafe…”

  “I wanted you, but I never thought I’d need you so much.” He kisses my neck, buries his face there. “Every morning I wake up and wish I could be next to you. Every night I go to bed and imagine you there. I know you need a nice guy in your life, not someone like me, but I feel so good when I’m with you. Like I can breathe again, like…like I look forward to tomorrow.” He huffs. “I’ve scared you a few times, and I’m not easy to be with, but…”

  “Hush one second.” I wrap myself around him, my heart thumping. “Are you asking me out, Rafaele Vestri?”

  He chuckles, a deep, delicious sound, and pulls back just enough to look at me. His lashes lower. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. Will you go out with me, Megan Durant?”

  He knows my family name! No idea why this little fact makes me giddy. I’d laugh, but his gaze is strangely unguarded and full of emotion. Full of hope and need and that ever-present pain.

  “Yes,” I say and smile, my heart fit to burst. “Yes, I’ll go out with you.”

  He gives a slow grin, and his eyes brighten. “Damn.” He swipes his mouth over mine and my breath catches. “Does this make tonight our first date?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It matt
ers.” He picks me up clear off the floor and carries me to the bed. He puts me down and pulls me until I’m straddling his lap. His hands frame my face. “It matters because I promise I’ll tell you everything from now on. I won’t have secrets from you. I’ll be there for you if you need me. I’ll do anything, if it means you won’t run away.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “Please don’t leave, Meg.”

  “I won’t leave.” Why is he concerned about that? I hug him. “I promise.”

  “God, girl…” He kisses me, then tugs on my sweater, pulling it off me. “Need you naked, right now.”

  Can’t deny I want the same. Need to feel him, skin to skin. Love you, I think. I’m all yours. Take me.

  And he does.

  He tears at my clothes, rips my bra off, and his mouth lands on my breasts. Bending me backward, he licks and sucks on the achy tips until I can’t stop myself from moaning out loud.

  He leaves a trail of hot kisses down to my bellybutton, and he reaches up to undo my jeans. He tugs them down, together with my panties, and I wiggle to help him. I’m laid bare in front of him once more, lying on his bed, and his gaze glides over me like hot melted caramel.

  “Ragazza…” When he looks up, his cat-like eyes glimmer. “Sei bellissima. Unica.”

  I think I know what he’s saying, and my cheeks burn. Don’t know why hearing him speak Italian turns me on so much. “Yours.”

  “Oh fuck, Meg…” he says hoarsely. “When you say that… Shit.” He reaches down to adjust himself inside his black pants, and the tip of his cock peeks out.

  Raising myself up on my elbows, I take him in, flushed and panting, head bowed forward. My gaze inevitably returns to his package and the evidence of his arousal.

  I want to unwrap him, lick him all over, go down on him until he comes hard. But he doesn’t give me a chance to say or try any of that. He has his face between my legs and his tongue inside me so fast I drop back on the bed, breathless. He teases, jabs and circles my clit, sending pangs of need to my core, then uses his clever fingers to thrust deeper inside me until I think I’m going to lose my mind.