“Stay,” I mouthed. “Please.”
His hard expression eased. His throat bobbed. He was still covered in blood, most of it from Halden’s soldiers. He glanced down at himself like he was coming out of some kind of fever dream, only just then noticing he still held the gun. His grip flexed once, twice, before he crouched low and set it against the wall beside the cell door, barrel angled away. The sound of it leaving his fingers—just that small click of metal onconcrete—rippled through me harder than any shot he’d fired.
I don’t think, besides that brief moment in the deprivation chamber where he had the pitch black to hide behind, Rafe Creed had ever chosen to be soft.
He hesitated, his eyes darting over the three of us like he was trying to convince himself he wasn’t walking into a trap. Then he moved with caution. One knee bent, then the other, until he was crouched beside the bed. As soon as he was on the ground, the cell door whipped open, all of us jerking toward it and Rafe jumping to his feet. Guards strode inside, grabbed the gun and quickly bolted us back in.
"Fucking assholes," Kane mumbled, lying back down. "Can't even give us the illusion of peace."
Thorne barely stirred, making me envious of his ability to actually rest. He snored beside my ear, and I snorted, Kane flashing me a small wink before he glanced over at Rafe and back at me, his look pointed.
"If anyone can diffuse that bomb," Kane said softly, "it's you. If you want him, he's yours, Arden. All you need to do is show him that you feel the same."
My pulse kicked up. "Why would you say that?"
Kane yawned and shrugged. "I'm just confirming what I know you were trying to eavesdrop on earlier."
My cheeks flushed.
"Do with it whatever you want," he said and closed his eyes. "The choice is yours."
I swallowed, my focus drifting up to the six-five menace still glaring at the door. There wasn't anything besides the glow from the recording lights of the cameras, but I found myselfseeingRafe for the first time. In my head, I'd treated him like a reflection for so long, seeing pieces of myself residing inside him, that I forgot to actually introduce myself to the man he was. My stomach knotted with the thought and my fear, because the want that grew with every passing second was brand new. Thorne had been right. We didn't know if we were in love because we had nothing to compare it to. Any act of kindness felt like some grand, shining thing, and we never took any of it for granted. But watching Rafe that night, I can't quite explain it but something in me shifted—or, well, it was more like something finally clicked into place.
It was him. It had always been him.
I winced in pain as I rolled enough to face Thorne. He was still fast asleep, and I smiled softly to myself, brushing his hair from his eyes. He stirred slightly, waking when I clasped my hand around the back of his neck. His grin matched mine, his eyes hooded and heavy with sleep. As he woke further, his expression eased into something else—a realization—and I was grateful I didn't have to say it allowed. His eyes glistening in the low light, he took my face between his hands and kissed my forehead before pulling back gently and climbing over me, off the mattress. He tapped his brother on the shoulder, and Kane stood without an ounce of hesitation. He picked up my hand and kissed my knuckles before he and Thorne climbed up into their bunks, leaving me alone with Rafe.
Rafe swayed slightly as he watched the bunks creak with Thorne and Kane adjusting their pillows and lying down. His brows drew together but he still didn't look at me. He just stayed rooted to the spot, dragging that damn glare back to the door. I'm pretty sure he had every intention of standing there the rest of the night, right next to my cot, ensuring the guards didn't come back.
I outstretched my hand again, brushing my fingers against his pantleg. His chin dipped, his dark eyes fierce in the dim light. The ache in my chest made my hand tremble, but I held steady. For a heartbeat, he only stared at it. His jaw flexed, his nostrils flared, and his shoulders were so tight it looked painful. Then, finally, he dropped down to his knees and his huge, calloused hand came up, his palm covered in dried blood. He set it in mine with a stuttering exhale.
My throat closed, a quiet sob escaping before I could swallow it.Finally. He was touching me. Not on accident or because I had blood on my lip, but because he wanted to. His palm was heavy and shaking. The tremors were the only sign of how I was affecting him. I curled my fingers around him, gentle, showing him I wasn’t afraid. His dark eyes met mine, and the rage drained, leaving behind something rawer, something closer to grief.
Then he lifted my hand to his mouth, and I held my breath, my heart squeezing.
He pressed his lips to the base of my thumb first, a careful, weightless touch that was more breath thankiss. Then he moved to the next knuckle, and the next. By the third, my eyes burned. By the fourth, his did.
He paused over the split skin where the cuff from The Tank and then the bindings from the bed had chewed me raw. Then he kissed the torn place as if it were a wound he could take into himself and carry for me. He didn’t look away while he did it. He needed me to see him do it, and his eyes—God, I couldn't look away either. I felt utterly paralyzed, my entire being resting on the edge of a cliff. Looking back now, I know what it was, and I wish I'd appreciated it more in the moment—I was falling in love. Every inch of my soul was tying itself closer to Rafe each time his mouth neared my skin. It's so fucking rare to have that, let alone to have both people falling at the same time, but that was exactly what happened. He looked at me like I was his entire world, and fuck, I believed I could be.
Another kiss. Slower. He pressed the corner of his mouth to the ridge of my ring finger and stayed there, a long, shaking exhale warming my skin. When he finally drew back, he let his lips ghost over the same places again, a second apology laid directly on top of the first as if repetition could make it hold.
But his brow furrowed, his mouth curled with discomfort, and suddenly, twice wasn’t enough. He worked his way across a third time and a fourth, a vow in fragments: thumb, pause, inhale; forefinger, pause, press; middle, linger; ring,ache. Then he turned my hand and kissed the center of my palm, eyes closing as if he were sealing a wound shut, like we'd both been bleeding out until that moment.
I could feel his meaning in the way his breath steadied, in the brief, rhythmic taps of his fingers against my wrist between each kiss—small, private beats that saidI’m here, I’m here, I’m hereandI’m so sorry.
“Okay?” I mouthed.
He tapped my wrist twice.Yes.
I tightened my fingers around his, a small tug, not enough to pull him onto the bed but enough to draw him closer. His weight shifted as he leaned in. Then he rose until his face hovered over mine, our hands clasped between us. His breath stuttered against my lips. He was rigid, his entire body tensed and still, but he let me close the distance.
My chest exploded with warmth as I did, my hands letting go of his, gripping around the back of his headand dragging him closer, I kissed him. He hovered above, palms braced on either side of my head, but he didn't lean further or try to kiss me back. I pulled away, my stomach twisting with discomfort. My eyes searched his face, wetting my lips when I found his softened, tired,yearningexpression. I slowly dropped my hands from his hair, concerned I'd misread the situation.
But then he shook his head, moved down onto his elbows, and finally kissed me back.
It was quiet—so painfully quiet. A kiss like a secret laid over my mouth, soft and reverent, as though he knew it could never belong to either of us. Not really. His hand framed my cheek, holding me steady, but I felt his desire. We needed each other, and we needed every choice to be ours, even if it was only for one night.
I shifted forward, chasing him when he pulled back. My lips caught his again, harder, a plea pressed against the seam of his mouth. His breath stilled, his hand tightening at my cheek.
