Rafe

Part One

Prison—you’re falling inside

Poison—you’re drowning in lies

Belly of the beast, you twist and writhe

Never free, never free

You walk in the dark,

hand in hand with your fears

Guilt swallows your tears

You walk in the dark

Glass pane—I see right through you

Mirror shard—I see myself in you

The enemy is yourself, there’s no escape

Never free, never free

You walk in blood

You fall into the well

The past is your own hell

You walk in blood

‘Enemy within’ by Rafe Vestri

Chapter One

Megan

Friday evening, and I’m standing outside Asher and Audrey’s apartment, clutching the gift I’ve brought like a lifeline.

It’s Audrey’s baby shower. Tessa and Audrey invited me, and I should be glad to finally be included in the girls’ group, after being on the outside for more than a year now.

Honestly, I am glad. Since I moved to Madison a year and a half ago, I’ve barely made any friends. I don’t have much time and energy to spend on socializing, and I consider myself lucky I at least have Zane, who’s looking out for me. And Greg, of course, but Greg… Yeah, he’s out of the picture now.

So, let’s recap. I’m glad to be here. Zane is great, but having some girlfriends would be awesome.

But I’m also nervous. Audrey is pregnant, and pregnancies… make me nervous. Very nervous. Just the thought sends flashes of red through my mind. Memories of blood pooling on the floor, dread and ice-cold fear. My heart beats too fast. Sweat trickles down my back, and a chill runs through me.

More than a year has passed, and I still can’t shake the images. Can’t shed the terror of that day, and with it the fear that Carson Ames, Mom’s ex-boyfriend, will find me and finish me off one day.

Oh God… Stop it.

Maybe this is a bad idea, after all. Besides, although I’ve met the girls a thousand times over the past year, we never really got to talking. Except for that one time with Tessa a couple of months ago, when she was trying to figure out Dylan, and boy was that a disaster. I bet she invited me tonight because she still feels bad about reminding me I’m pining for someone I probably will never have.

Rafe Vestri.

Not that I could ever have him. That’s ridiculous. It’s just that he’s so gorgeous a girl can’t help but look, right?

So gorgeous and so damaged. And if it’s his pain that attracts me to him, that reminds me of my own, more than the beauty of his face and that sculpted body, well… That’s something I don’t want to think about—and in any case, why am I thinking about him now?

I’m outta here. This was a mistake.

After a moment’s hesitation, I place my wrapped gift—baby clothes, and even buying those almost sent me into a panic attack—on the doormat and turn back to the stairwell, prepared to make my getaway.

Fate has other plans for me tonight, though. A familiar slender figure is climbing up the steps, blocking my way.

Megan! Dakota grins widely, her arms full of a huge package. Her dark hair has pink highlights, and she has a nose ring I’m pretty sure is new. I wasn’t sure you’d come by.

I wouldn’t miss it, I say, my lips numb. I force a smile.

Her big blue eyes narrow. Girl, are you okay? You don’t look so hot.

I’m fine. I back away from her, letting her pass, and step on the package I left on the mat. Damn.

Megan…

I said I’m fine. I pick up my package. The paper has torn, allowing a glimpse of powder-blue baby clothes.

You got her blue? Dakota’s brows lift. What if it’s a girl?

Audrey has refused to find out the sex of her baby. She wants it to be a surprise for everyone, including herself.

I think it’s a boy, I say.

You don’t know that.

I have a feeling.

She doesn’t look convinced. Why would she? She barely knows me, and even I don’t know why I listen to my gut. I just know it often proves right. Call it intuition or sixth sense, whatever. Grandma Anouk’s fault, according to Mom. New Orleans magic.

Oh God, I should have gotten Audrey a baby rattle, or something neutral like that.

Come on. Dakota gives me an uncertain smile as she rings the bell. She eyes me under her lashes as we wait, and I wonder what she sees and how much she guesses.

I’m hard to place. Long dark hair that curls at the tips, dark eyes, skin like coffee with milk. My nose is narrow, my mouth small, my cheekbones sharp. My features don’t belong to any tribe. I don’t belong anywhere.

That point was driven home pretty hard when I lived in Philly. Back then, I thought that by leaving I’d find myself, find my place in the world. But I’m still looking for both. Still rootless. Still drifting, lost as ever.

The door clicks open, held by Tessa. She squeals like a little girl when she sees us and claps her hands. You made it!

I let her pull me inside.

Tessa has changed a lot in the past months, and I’m not only talking about her style. True, she now favors ripped jeans with cowboy boots and red sweaters that light up her face. She has added dark streaks to her blond hair, and outlines her blue eyes in black shadow. Today, huge silver hoops are dangling from her earlobes, and she’s twisted her hair up in a messy bun.

She’s never been prettier.

But the main change is the light of happiness in her eyes, a far cry from the sorrow I glimpsed in them in the past. Being with Dylan, the love of her life, has transformed her completely, giving her a halo of joy so bright I can’t help but smile as she ushers us inside the apartment.

Soft Celtic music drifts from the speakers in the corners of the small living room. There are maybe twelve girls packed in the small space, lounging around, talking. The only familiar faces, except Dakota and Tessa, are Erin and Audrey who are sitting on the sofa, poring over a catalogue of—what else?—baby stuff.

We place our gifts on a table laden with packages, and I keep my smile on as we make a beeline for the couch.

I bend over to kiss Audrey’s cheek. She’s radiant, and oh wow, she’s so big I wince inwardly in sympathy. Can’t be easy to move about like that. But she’s obviously content, and I’m happy for her—so why does my mind keep replaying images of blood, twisting my stomach with fear?

Damned brain, mixing memories with the here and now. I fight a shiver.

You okay, Megan? Audrey is reaching for me, concern in her eyes, and I jerk back.

Knowing my face is an open book, and that I surely look like a deer caught in headlights, I mumble something about being thirsty and make my hasty retreat before anyone else gets a good look. I feel like I’m suffocating.

It’s the lack of oxygen in here, I tell myself as I elbow my way through the giggling girls in search of the kitchen. Too many people. The fact I work in crowded places every single day without freaking out should tell me what a lame excuse this is, but I’m sticking to it.

Can’t allow myself to believe I’ll be freaking out whenever I see a pregnant woman, or blood, or… No, I’m stronger than that. The past is behind me, and it’s not the reason I sigh in relief when I finally find the kitchenette and slump against a counter, still in my coat, still clutching my handbag like a weapon.

Like a shield against the world.

When my frantic heartbeat calms a little and my stomach settles, I look in the cupboards for a glass. Water sounds good, after all, and besides, it would look weird if anyone walked into the kitchenette to find me standing there, doing nothing.

Have to keep the pretenses, at least.

I frown as I fill up the glass from the tap. I’m fine. Just need a few minutes to collect myself and then I won’t have to pretend any longer. I’ll have fun, meet people, and won’t need to hide. Just a moment to breathe and convince myself everything is fine.

But I don’t get a moment. Murphy’s Law is at work. Someone enters the tiny space, and there’s nowhere to hide anymore.

I turn around and find Tessa.

What’s wrong? she asks, the light gone from her eyes, replaced by concern.

Shit, I’ve worried her, too. This is a party to celebrate something wonderful and joyful, and here I am, spoiling it for them. They invited me, going out of their way to make me feel welcome, and I’m hiding in the kitchen, for God’s sake.

Nothing’s wrong. I search deep inside me for good memories—and I find an image of Rafe from the other day, when he looked up at me, a fire in his eyes as I placed his drink on the table. A thrill runs through me, and I manage to dredge up a genuine smile. I was thirsty.

I’ll consider later the fact that Rafe was the first to pop up in my mind, the one to make me smile. Or maybe I’ll manage not to consider it—or him—at all.

Wishful thinking, of course. Even as Tessa starts chattering about the present she got Audrey, and about how excited she is for Audrey and the baby, all I can think of is him. His amber, cat-like eyes, the shaggy blond hair, the devastating dimples he flashes the rare times I’ve seen him smile, the powerful shoulders and droolworthy body.

His pain. His bloody past.

And then we’re thinking of going for drinks, Tessa concludes whatever it was she was saying, beaming at me.

I blink. Tonight? I clearly missed a good chunk of what she was saying. But—

"Not tonight. Next Saturday, after the concert. You are invited. You haven’t forgotten, right?"

Concert? I make an effort to focus on what Tessa is saying. I honestly like her and it’s not her fault I keep spacing out on her.

Deathmoth will be singing at Halo. You know, Deathmoth, Dakota and Rafe’s band?

His name brings me back to earth with a thump. Right. Deathmoth.

Halo isn’t far from where you work. Say you’ll come, please, please, please? She bats her long lashes at me, and I can’t help it: I laugh. She’s so cute.

I don’t know if I can, I begin, and she lifts her hand to stop me from going on.

Yes, you can. I’m giving you a week’s warning. What in the world can keep you from going out on a Saturday night?

I roll my eyes at her. How about work?

Get someone to cover for you.

I bite my lip before I tell Tessa she knows nothing of the real world. I mean, I just landed this job. The coffee shop is classier, the salary better, but the boss is stricter, too.

I don’t say it, though, because it wouldn’t be fair. Her life has changed. She doesn’t depend on her parents’ money anymore. She’s put college on hold, got a job, and helps Dylan take care of his two little brothers. She’s a working girl, like me.

I sigh. I’ll see what I can do. Then her words finally sink in, and realization dawns. Rafe will be playing?

He’s the drummer. Can’t have a punk rock concert without a drummer, can you? Ah, I guess I should have just said he’ll be at Halo next Saturday, then you’d have said yes from the start. She winks, seeing right through me, and grabs the still full glass from my hand. Thinking of Rafe makes a girl thirsty, doesn’t it?

I snort as she sips at the water, wagging her brows. My cheeks heat up. Shut up.

Imagine him all sweaty and shirtless, banging on the drums. You know how he loses himself in the rhythm, going faster and faster, and— She slaps a hand over her mouth but a giggle escapes her. Oh God, that sounded different in my mind.

Yeah, I bet it did. God, if I splash my face with cold water now, I’m sure it will evaporate on contact, because the image she’s painting is enough to set my blood on fire.

Get a grip on yourself, Megan Durant.

What’s wrong with imagining a gorgeous guy banging the drums? You’re single, he’s single. You want him, he wants you.

Yeah, about that… Not so sure.

He’s always looking at you.

He does? I’ve caught him looking a few times, but I thought it was all in my mind.

Yeah. And he’s always searching for you. Like, if he doesn’t immediately see you, then he asks where you are.

This is news to me. Still… Maybe he just likes looking. He has barely said a word to me all this time. I run a hand through my bangs. It doesn’t matter.

Why not?

I’m with Greg, I blurt out.

A lie, of course, but maybe it will keep everyone off my back for a while. They seem set on getting me and Rafe together, and well, no matter how heated the looks Rafe sends me are, that doesn’t mean he wants anything from me.

Or I from him, I tell myself. Because, no matter how handsome he is, how his pain speaks to me, makes me want to help him, save him—it’s all a bad idea. I tried saving my mom, and look where that got me.

Greg, Tessa repeats, her face blank. The guy who used to hang around the café-bar where you worked in the summer?

Yeah. That’s the one.

Oh. She makes a face, but quickly recovers. Well, it still wouldn’t hurt to come and ogle Rafe. Loads of girls will be doing just that. No harm no foul.

A stab of almost physical pain rips through me. Other girls, looking at him. Of course there will be. How can I be jealous when there’s nothing between us?

I’ll come, I hear myself saying, as if from a distance. What time?

At nine. I’m to give her a call when I arrive, so we can meet in the crowd. I hear all this through a buzzing in my ears.

Dammit, what have I gotten myself into?

The rest of the evening goes surprisingly well, considering I avoid looking at Audrey, the center of attention tonight. Plus, when my gift is unwrapped, everyone starts muttering. Apparently it’s not up to me to decide the sex of the baby.

But after my second glass of red wine, I find myself chatting with a copper-haired girl who says her name’s Ev and she knows Zane and the Damage Boyz. She works with runaway youth and homeless people, and as it turns out she’s head over heels for one of Zane’s fellow tattoo artists, Micah.

Everyone’s in love these days. There must be something in the air. Then again, the guys of the Inked Brotherhood are all gorgeous, and apparently like attracts like, because the Damage Boyz are also to die for, as are all their friends and acquaintances.

Sounds ridiculous, but there you have it. These guys have a following. They’re hot and badass, and total chick magnets. It’s a fact of life. Which is why next Saturday there will be plenty of girls waiting for a chance to ogle and chat up Rafe.

Again that stab of jealousy.

Goddammit. I haven’t fallen for Rafe. I can’t have. It’s not possible. We haven’t even talked, for chrissakes. I don’t know anything about him, apart from rumors and gossip. Gossip about his past—the gruesome murder of his family when he was fifteen—and rumors about his kindness when it comes to others.

So I have absolutely no right to be upset. Then why am I trying to figure out who to ask to take over my shift next Saturday night, and what I can wear to the concert?

Holy crap, I’m not even trying to get out of it. I’ve really made up my mind to go.

What harm would it do? a teeny tiny voice in the back of my mind whispers. Just watch him play. Just see his beautiful face again, his strong body. See him lose himself in the rhythm, like Tessa said. Try to understand what makes him tick, what makes him who he is.

Even if he’s not interested in me. Nothing has happened between us, I expect nothing and therefore I can’t get hurt. Right?

Boy am I a bad liar. I can’t convince even myself.

Chapter Two

Rafe

The crowd is trickling in, slowly filling up the bar. Halo is the Brotherhood’s latest favorite spot, and my gaze skids over the familiar, cheesy decorations of cherubs and wings covering the walls.

I return my attention to my drum kit, setting it up, while Luke and Quinn check the sound of their guitars. Even Riley is here, unpacking his bass—ahead of time, which is a miracle. Koko—Dakota—is talking to Zane in a corner.

At least that’s what she said she was going to do. Looks more like mouth to mouth to me, but hey, that’s none of my fucking business. Good for them.

This is a familiar place, with familiar faces. A familiar situation, preparing for a concert, going through the motions. My friends have found their soul mates and are okay for the first time in ages.

Then why am I on edge?

Closing my eyes, I drag my drumsticks over the cymbals, then tap them lightly on the snare drum, feeling the vibrations travel up my arms. Trying to find my headspace. Loud noises always startle me, but the steady beat of the drum, the fact I’m the one producing the loud bangs, and drumrolls, and rattle steadies me most of the time.

Not tonight.

Shit. Something’s triggering this. I’ve been taught to identify the triggers before it gets too bad, but right now I can’t pinpoint what’s bothering me. A smell? A noise? A set-up?

I put down the sticks and listen. Just the chatter of the crowd, the strumming of guitars, Riley’s bass joining in. Then I inhale. A mixture of perfume, styling products, and hot cables.

Nothing. All in my mind. Goddammit.

I’m about to get up, head to the bathroom and splash some cold water on my face, when I realize I’m staring at the flat screen TV mounted high up on the wall. It’s been playing all along, on mute. Halo isn’t technically a sports bar, but lots of guys hang out here and they like to watch their football and basketball.

A presenter is talking, a pretty brunette, her hair pulled up, dark-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. Her face is earnest as she gestures at a house behind her. The neighborhood looks familiar somehow.

The crawl running at the bottom catches my eye—or maybe I’ve been reading it all along. Breaking news, it reads. Man murdered in Madison.

The hairs on the back of my neck lift. That’s the only warning I get before I find myself in my parents’ house four years ago, cowering in a corner. The walls are splashed with blood, the copper tang so strong I can taste it at the back of my tongue. Makes me gag. Makes me dizzy with fear. A massive shudder rips through me.

Not real, I tell myself. Not real. You know that. It’s a memory. A flashback set by the news about the murder. It’s a trigger.

Need to ground myself. I’m still in the house, can still smell the blood. I need something to distract me, bring me back to the present. Blindly I put my hands forward and knock into something. My drum set, I realize, when the cymbals clang. The jarring sound jerks me out of the memory, and I blink, dazed.

The bar. The stage. My drums, still wobbling from my shove, the cymbals jingling. I look down at my hands. They’re trembling. My heart is thudding so hard it’s knocking against my ribs.

Then I feel it—the silence, spreading in circles. I look up and find people staring at me, eyes wide. The crowd jostles closer, to see what’s happening.

Fuck.

From the corner of my eye I see Koko heading my way like a small dark whirlwind, elbowing people to reach me, and I’m not sure I can take it. Not sure I could even stand to be touched right now.

So I jump to my feet, grab my jacket from the back of the chair and head the other way, searching for the back door. I need out. Need fresh air.

Need a moment to put the pieces of myself together again.

I’m none too gentle as I shove a path through the milling customers, not even stopping to pull on my jacket in my rush to get out of there.

I push, and the crowd pushes right back. Disoriented, I turn in a circle, trying to get my bearings, and the emergency exit sign winks at me. I shove my way to it, press down on the metal bar and stumble out onto an empty side street.

Cold air hits my face. I take a few steps and bend over, hands braced on my thighs, drawing in breath after shuddering breath.

Fucking hell.

Lately, I don’t have it all together. Not since I thought I saw… That guy. The guy with the tattoo that’s branded in my memory with blood and fire.

Can’t be, though. My mind was probably playing tricks on me. It often does, doesn’t it?

I’m so tired of fighting. Fighting a war against myself and losing. A war against my own mind. I train to be ready—for what? How can a strong body help against a gun? Against a knife? Against anything?

Still I can’t help myself. I can’t stop. It’s all too much.

The anniversary is coming up fast, I can feel it in my bones, and the news my uncle gave me a couple of months ago about the tattoo shop is tearing at my mind. I need to find a solution, but I still don’t know how.

As for the man I saw…

What if it’s true? Almost five years ago, the killer walked free. The police never caught him. I’m the only witness. No fingerprints, no DNA traces, nothing. Except for my one, brief glimpse of his face and a tattoo I’m not even sure I saw.

And yet… And yet, what if last summer, passing right outside the building where Ash used to fight in the illegal underground cages, I saw the murderer of my family?

When I walk back inside Halo, my face is composed, my mask firmly in place, and my hands are steady. My cheekbones hurt from the cold, and the blast of warm air as I enter is more than welcome.

I have no clue for how long I stayed outside, but as I approach the small stage, I find there not only the members of the group, but also Zane and Dylan, arguing over something, gesturing at the crowded bar.

As I step onto the stage, they turn toward me and freeze in mid-gesture. Zane’s brows lower and he opens his mouth to say something.

Dakota hurries toward me and grabs my arm, tugging me toward my drum set. There you are. I was telling the guys you stepped out a second to make a phone call, but they were worried. Come on, time to start.

Letting her drag me to my place, I take in the situation. Koko is covering for me. She knew I went out, but obviously she also knew it wasn’t to make a phone call. Was Zane arguing with Dylan about me?

Feels weird to be the focus of this little theater act. To be the focus of Zane’s, the whole damn Brotherhood’s, concern.

After all, I’m the one who rescued Zane from the downhill slide back when we were at school, and together we took care of the others. Together we opened Damage Control and took in the Damage Boyz. I’m one of the founders, the protectors of the Brotherhood. I can’t break apart.

I won’t. I’ve got this.

Settling on my stool, I nod my thanks to Koko, expecting her usual wink and whispered ‘you owe me’, but instead I get a frown. In her eyes I see the same worry I saw on Z-man’s face.

Awesome. I so don’t need this right now. If they wait for me after the concert for a group hug, I’ll break out in hives.

Making a mental note to jump off the stage and disappear the moment the music stops, I grab my drumsticks and make one last-ditch attempt to empty my mind.

Zane and Dylan step away from the stage. Riley, Luke and Quinn are looking at me expectantly. Koko grabs her mike and fluffs up her wild, dark hair with her other hand. Her combat boots squeak on the floor.

Ready? she asks.

In reply, I bang my drums and the crowd whistles and applauds. I think I recognize the voices of our friends—Zane, Dylan, and Tyler, Tessa and Erin, the boys from the shop—Micah, Jesse, Seth, Shane and Ocean. I haven’t seen Ash and Audrey, but last I saw her she was so big with the baby, she probably needs her rest right now.

All is as it should be. All is great. I take a deep breath and drumroll into the first song.

Showtime.

As the first notes from the bass hit the air, as Koko’s powerful voice fills the hot, still air, as the guitars strum and whine, the world narrows. It’s a return to a primitive state of the mind, where I’m alert in the dark, blind of sight, immobilized and highly aware of sounds and vibrations.

A rustling. An animal roar. The crack of a twig. The sound of distant thunder.

Beware, a whisper thrums through my head. Beware.

Koko screams her rage into her mike, her mane lifting with static. Quinn growls into his own mike and bends over his guitar. Riley throws his head back, then his hair flops over his face again as he caresses the bass.

Shadows