Rafe (Inked Brotherhood 5)

Shit. I sit up, pushing the covers away, my stomach roiling. I kneel on the mattress and rub my hands over my gritty eyes. I’m in Meg’s bed, in her apartment. Images from this morning—or yesterday?—flash through my mind.

The phone call that was the last straw. Then breaking stuff in my apartment—destroying my drums, crashing into furniture. Ow, dammit. Is that why everything hurts? Wandering the streets, almost stepping in front of a car…

Holy fuck. I run my hands through my hair, scratch my scalp, trying to ease the pain in my head.

Then Meg was there, and we came up to her apartment, and fucking hell, was that hot. My cock hardens more at the memory of her going down on me in the bathroom, then washing me in the shower, me fucking her against the wall. God, the way she came over my dick. This girl’s a goddess.

Fucking her on her bed, sinking inside her so deep I never wanted to leave. Going off like a freight train off the rails.

Christ. That’s my last memory.

Or not… Wait a sec. She said something about figuring this shit out together. She did say that, didn’t she? I have vague memories of her holding me, waking me up from nightmares, being there with me as I slept, her body soft and warm.

I glance around her bedroom, take in the tiny closet, the thin carpet, the three pairs of shoes sitting under the window. It’s like she never settled down, always ready to leave, return to Philly or move farther away.

Fuck, why is my heart pounding like that when I think of her going away? I get up from the bed so fast I reel, dizzy. Where is she? Need to find her, need to talk to her.

Where are my clothes?

I locate them, neatly folded on a chair by the door. As I pull on my jeans, socks and boots and grab my T-shirt and sweater, I hear the voices again. They’re coming from the living room.

I pause in the act of putting on my T-shirt and sweater, frowning in confusion. It sounds like Zane, Dylan, and…Dakota? Crap, Tyler, too.

Am I imagining things? What’s going on?

Following the voices, I step out of the room and turn left. I pause at the entrance of the living room and blink.

Well, I’ll be damned.

They’re all sitting there, crowding the small room. Dakota and Erin sit on the battered sofa, petting Meg’s ginger kitten—Raf—while Zane and Tyler sit on two kitchen chairs. Dylan is lounging by the window, holding a steaming mug.

What are they doing here? Can’t fit them into the picture. This is Meg’s apartment. We never meet here.

Wait. Is this some weird dream?

A smell of sugar hits my nostrils and I see a plate with cake slices on the low table. My stomach growls loudly. Shit, I can’t remember the last time I ate.

Everyone’s gaze snaps around to me. The kitten meows and leaps to the floor, heading toward me, then suddenly it stops and hisses.

What?

“Rafe!” Erin jumps to her feet but stops short, her dark brows arching. “Oh God, what happened to your face?”

“Nothing.” I touch my swollen jaw gingerly, and the fight in the alley flashes through my memory.

Zane strides over, a huge grin on his face. What the fuck’s up with that? “Fucker. Good morning.”

“What’re you so pleased about?” The pounding in my head is increasing, and my bladder’s screaming at me.

Still grinning manically, he claps me on the back and I flinch and jerk away.

“What the hell happened?” His eyes narrow and he’s about to lift my damn T-shirt, to check me.

“Nothing happened.” I pull away. First things first. “Where’s Meg?”

“Here.” She appears at the door of the kitchenette, cradling a mug. “For you.”

I stare at it, then back at her. She looks good enough to eat, dressed in a flared black skirt and a white blouse that hugs her curves and makes her tanned skin glow.