When we’d arrived, Rafe had moved through the security process with the kind of confidence only aristocrats possessed, as if submitting to having his pockets emptiedand his body scanned was a choice he was graciously allowing rather than a requirement. Even here, in a place specifically designed to restrain and control, Rafe Sterling somehow managed to look like he owned the building.
The same could not be said for me. My hands had trembled so badly during the biometric verification that the officer had been forced to scan my fingerprints three times. The whole experience was almost too much – the clanging of heavy doors, the echo of voices in cavernous spaces, the watchful eyes of the guards. It felt too oppressive.
“I’m fine,” I whispered back to Rafe, my eyes fixed on the institutional green wall opposite us.
Rafe’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking at the side. “I’m getting really fucking tired of you telling me you’re fine when you’re not.”
I bit my lips between my teeth to stop my instinctive apology. Rafe sighed.
“Sorry,” he muttered and I blinked at him in shock. “I’m being a pillock.”
Then, despite the intimidating environment, despite my rampant nerves, I let out a small snort of laughter. Rafe’s head whipped round to stare down at me in surprise and then his face lit with a pleased smile as he squeezed my hand. He opened his mouth to speak but a buzzer sounded, and I flinched again. The overhead speakers crackled to life, “Visiting session starting in ten minutes. All visitors to the main hall.”
“Last chance to change your mind,” Rafe said, but he was already standing, helping me to my feet with a gentle tug on my hand.
“You’ll be there the whole time?” I asked, hating the desperate edge to my voice.
Rafe’s expression softened as he looked down at me. “I’m not letting you out of my sight, darling. The second you’ve had enough, we’re gone.”
I nodded, swallowing around the lump in my throat.
We followed the other visitors through a series of security doors into a large room filled with small tables, each with a chair on either side. Guards stood at regular intervals along the walls, arms crossed, expressions blank. Prisoners in identical grey tracksuits were being led in from another entrance, their eyes scanning the room for their visitors.
I spotted Ruben immediately. At six foot three with broad shoulders and our father’s intimidating presence, he was difficult to miss. When his eyes found mine, I was shocked to see relief flood his features.
Rafe’s hand settled at the small of my back as we approached the table, a silent reminder of his presence. When we reached Ruben, my brother stood awkwardly, his expression now uncertain. It was jarring. I’d so rarely seen my older brothers or father look anything less than supremely confident.
“Hey, Little Mole,” he said softly, no accusation in his tone. I blinked at him in surprise.
“Hi,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper as I sat down. Rafe took the chair next to mine, angling it slightly so his body partly shielded me from my brother. His hand found mine under the table.
Ruben’s eyes flicked to Rafe. “Alright, mate,” he muttered. Was I in an alternate universe? Where was Ruben’s animosity towards me and Rafe?
“Mason,” Rafe said in a tight voice.
“I know what you did,” Ruben said, still looking at Rafe. “And I want you to know I’ve got no beef with you for it. Should have done it myself years ago.”
I frowned, not understanding the subtext. Rafe merelyinclined his head slightly, neither confirming nor denying whatever Ruben was implying.
“How are you?” I asked, changing the subject. It was a ridiculous question under the circumstances, but I didn’t know what else to say.
Ruben let out a short, humourless laugh. “As well as you’d expect.” He gestured around. “This is Wandsworth, not a holiday camp. But I’ll manage.” He paused, scanning my face. “You’ve lost more weight.”
I shrugged. “I’m fine.”
Rafe gave my hand a squeeze but he didn’t say anything.
“Is Zach okay?”
“He’s safe,” Rafe answered before I could. “He’s living with us.”
Ruben’s eyes widened slightly. “You’ve got Zach at yours?” When I nodded, he visibly relaxed. “That’s... good. That’s good.”
An awkward silence fell between us. I broke it, finally asking the question that had been plaguing me since we received his request. “Why did you want to see me, Ruben?”
He looked away for a moment, then cleared his throat before he looked back at me. “I want you to know, I tried,” he told me, a broken quality to his voice now. “I tried to protect you and Zach. I?—”
“You failed,” Rafe said, cutting him off. Ruben’s eyes flashed and I got a glimpse of the old Ruben. The one who wouldn’t tolerate disrespect. The scary motherfucker who could make men piss themselves with just a look. Then he rubbed his hands down his face and the look was wiped clean, leaving an unfamiliar, defeated expression.
