A meticulous level of cleanliness alludes to the care of its owner. Or a desire for control—Branden keeps his the same way.
“Get in,” Rafe demands, revving the engine.
Finally, I comply. “Fine. Where are we going?”
“Do you want to buy yourself more time?” He shoots me a searching glance I can’t decipher, and I remain silent even as he starts to drive.
Eventually, we reach the city’s outskirts, where the close-set buildings give way to sparser winding roads. Our final destination makes me do a double take.
“A bus depot?” I question, reading the sign affixed to the front of a nearby building. “What are you—”
“Wait here.” He exits the car, slamming the door in his wake. All I can do is stare as he crosses the street to a row of metal bus shelters. They’re mostly empty save for a lone woman slumped against a wall of Plexiglass, a duffel at her feet.
Rafe approaches her, reaching into his pocket. A second later, he withdraws what looks like cash, along with something else that triggers a glimmer of recognition—my phone.
The woman accepts both, tucking them into her duffel as Rafe returns to the car.
“What was that about?” I ask as he starts the car and takes off, heading toward the city.
“That?” He chuckles, his eyes glinting mischievously. “That was a fucking reprieve, bunny. How do you think ‘Bran’ will like Minnesota?”
It takes a second for it to click, just what he’s done. I’m startled by the laugh that escapes my lips, but there’s more pain mixed into the sound than amusement.
“That won’t fool him for long—”
“It’s not meant to,” Rafe snaps. “But now you have time. Fucking time. So, use it wisely, bunny. Break away from him. He can’t control you anymore. Even if it’s only for a day, you’re free.”
How do I choose to spend the first ten minutes of said freedom? Seated beside him, my mind reeling as he drives us back to his shop. He parks in the alley but doesn’t leave the car right away. Instead, he sighs, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles bulge.
“So why lie about him, huh?” he asks, his voice cold. “Did you get off on it? Watching me fucking squirm? Throwing it in my face that you were—” he breaks off and whirls to face me, jabbing his gaze into my own. “That seems to be your fucking favorite game—playing with fire.”
“It wasn’t like that,” I stammer, though honestly, there isn’t a better way of phrasing it. I lied to him, and the guilt feels way worse than expected. “I didn’t mean—”
“Then what fucking was it?” His voice is deep enough to penetrate my skin and the bone beneath. “Did you like fucking with my head, is that it? By pretending you were fucking your brother. You know how sick that sounds? God, you sure played me like a motherfucker—”
“How do you think it sounds to say out loud that my brother controls my life?” I bite back, startled by my own ferocity. “That he makes me take pictures of myself every night? That he hid a camera in my bedroom? That he haunts me. That he took away the one piece of power I’ve ever had over him. That he has me trapped! How do you think that sounds?”
My own high-pitched voice mockingly holds the answer. It sounds insane. It sounds pathetic.
It sounds like a living nightmare.
“I’m sorry.” Rafe brushes my shoulder, but I cringe from his reach. In this confined space, however, there’s nowhere to go. Persistent, his fingers slip through my hair, easily finding my chin. “Look at me.”
In the end, he has to grip my jaw and compel me to. His eyes gleam in the glow of a nearby streetlight, his face bathed in shadow. The lack of lighting denies him of his usual swagger. Armed with dark irises and an earnest tone, he’s harder to write off. Ignore.
“He hurt you.” He enunciates every word as if teaching me a foreign language. “I want to hear you say it. Right now. He hurt you, and you don’t owe him a damn thing.”
“He’s my brother,” I blurt out instead. “I do owe him. And…”
“And what?” Rafe demands, his eyes slits. “And you deserve to have him beat the shit out of you? Track you? I know men with records who aren’t that fucking crazy.”
“And… I’m afraid of him—” a ragged exhale robs me of breath. Admitting the truth feels comparable to ripping away the veil I’ve chosen to live under. As a result, I’m naked in the aftermath, at the mercy of his scrutiny.
“Tell me,” he says.
“I’m terrified,” I hear a stranger with my voice confess. “He hasn’t come after me yet, and I don’t know what that means. I don’t.”
When Branden stews, trouble always follows.
“You’re afraid,” Rafe repeats, his tone softer. “So, what are you going to do about it?”
What could seem like a cruel line of questioning at first, becomes something else the second I see his face. A dare lurks in his stern expression, one that makes me shudder even before he voices it out loud.
“I can help you be ready for him the next time he shows up.”
“How?” I croak. “You teach me how to fight? How to shoot a gun? Very funny.”
But he doesn’t laugh, and as the seconds tick by, I start to remember something Gino insinuated about his father. Your uncle is one cold son of a bitch, though he has nothing on your daddy. You should know that, though. Aren’t you the one who turned his ass in?
“I’ll teach you whatever it takes for you to not be afraid of him,” Rafe declares.
The intensity in his voice takes my breath away.
“You’re being ridiculous.” I can’t even face him, so I stare through the windshield instead, watching the orange glow play
