Rafe (Inked Brotherhood 5)

—and almost crash into a huge guy who’s dragging someone by the hair in the snow.

Goddammit.

“Nobody fucking comes in here without an invitation,” the giant growls, throwing down the man he’s been dragging like a sack of potatoes. “Keep the fuck away from this place or you’ll regret it, got it?”

And I’m standing just a few feet away, gaping like an idiot. My feet have taken root in the slush.

Move it.

I shake myself and resume walking. Keeping my head down, pretending to be fascinated by my boots, I hurry past the two of them and don’t look back until I reach the end of the street and turn the corner.

Then I break into a run.

Holy motherfucking shit. That was close. I run and run, my heartbeat thundering in my ears, and I’m shaking with delayed reaction.

“Nobody comes in here without an invitation.”

How the fuck did Ash get in?

Connections, I think, still running like mad. His dad was a boxer. Probably knew people. I need a way in.

This is crazy. If I make it into the club, I’ll be chasing phantoms. I’ll get involved in illegal business, get the shit beaten out of me, and that’s assuming I will be let in and not end up as an anonymous corpse somewhere.

But what if he is my guy? I need this. Need to aim my anger at something concrete, use up this antsy energy, or I’ll turn it on myself. I know how my sick mind works.

I need a direction.

Yeah, a direction, I think. Slowing down, frozen to the bone and desperate for an answer, I decide I’ll do it. I’ll ask Ash if he can get me into the fight club.

With this decision, the weight of guilt that’s been resting on my shoulders for so long lifts a little, and my breath catches.

Revenge. Give pain for the pain he caused. And maybe, finally, after all these years, find out the truth. Why my family was targeted. Why that asshole did what he did, why… why I was left alive. Alone. This thin hope that there was a reason for all that happened, that it wasn’t just a random hit. That there is an explanation.

When I finally come to a complete stop, it takes me a moment to orientate myself. The lights in the coffee shop across the street flicker in my eyes.

Grind and Brew reads the sign over the door.

Isn’t that the coffee shop where Megan works? My heart does a weird double take, and I hesitate for a second, knowing this is a fucking bad idea, especially with where my mind is at now.

But the pull is too strong—the promise of rest, warmth, and above all seeing Megan—and my defenses are low, crumbling and crashing.

I need. Something. A reprieve, a scrap of pleasure. Anything.

And more than anything, I need her. Just the thought of her turns my cock to rock and my mind to mud. Turns my evening to gold.

So I clench my jaw, jog across the street and push the door open.

***

The door swings shut behind me, and I’m enveloped in the hubbub of low voices. The warm air washes over me, burning my frozen skin, making it ache. The tables are full. Can’t see a single empty chair.

I spot a bar at the back and make my way to it, winding between tables. The lighting is low. Waiters and waitresses are dressed in white shirts and black pants, overlaid with long gray aprons. I scan their faces as I reach the bar, but Megan isn’t among them.

Disappointment hits me like a punch.

Why the hell am I so drawn to her? I’ve never been pussy-whipped. Never followed a chick around like a puppy, and I’m not gonna start now. Those crumbling walls… I have to rebuild them fast, before I follow them to the ground.

There’s a reason I keep apart from the others. Subtly, of course, always on call when my friends needed me, always around—and yet not there. My defenses are low, and I can’t let anyone see how weak I am inside.