TWENTY-SIX
BELLAMY
Rafe swipes underneath his nose,spitting blood onto the pavement. His eyes don’t move from Crowe.
The wrench drags along my jaw in a deliberate taunt. Rafe’s gaze drops to it for exactly one second.
Fear is an interesting emotion, one I’ve become well-acquainted with over the years. It has different flavors though, based on the situation and the level of terror.
Elias Crowe doesn’t even crack my top twenty.
And with Rafe standing in front of me, looking like some kind of dark avenger? Shit, Crowe’s little stunt is a blip on the map.
“Get your fucking hands off her,” Rafe warns, “or I’ll make sure you never use them again.”
A shiver skates down my spine at the promise. My heart thunders in my ears, and my mouth suddenly feels dry.
Crowe laughs, but his grip on me tightens, which tells me everything the laugh is trying to hide. “I don’t think you’re in a position to tell me what to do, Calloway.”
Rafe rolls his neck once, slow, like he’s working out a kink. Then he takes one step forward. Crowe’s arm goes rigid against my collarbone.
“Last time,” Rafe says.
His voice hasn’t changed. That’s the part that makes the hair on my arms stand up. No escalation or warning register. Just the same even tone, like he’s already decided how this ends and is giving Crowe the courtesy of a countdown.
Crowe shifts his weight behind me. I feel it in the way his balance redistributes, heel to toe, and I know before it happens that he’s about to make a move.
So I do the only thing I can do: I drop like a stone.
I go dead weight, bracing myself for impact. It’s the only way it’s effective—the only way to give Rafe an opening.
“You bitch,” Crowe growls, hands swiping at me.
But he doesn’t get purchase, and I hit the pavement on one knee.
“Fuck,” I breathe out through the shock.
Rafe is already moving—not toward Crowe, toward me, one hand closing around my arm and yanking me up and behind him in a single motion.
“Okay, baby?” he murmurs over his shoulder, never pulling his attention from Crowe.
“Fine,” I pant, pressing my forehead to the middle of his back, to ground myself. Blood trickles down my shin, but I ignore it.
“Wait here, yeah?”
I nod against his back, and a second later, he steps forward.
“Right or left?” Rafe asks.
“Don’t come any closer.” Crowe points the wrench at Rafe like it’s a sword.
His eyes dart around, and I chance a look over my shoulder to make sure the other two guys are still on the ground. They’re not unconscious, but they’re fucked up. They’re not getting up any time soon.
“C’mon, Crowe. You know how this goes, right?” Rafe circles him. “You touched something that belonged to me. I warned you, but you didn’t listen. So now, you have to pay the consequences.” Rafe stops in front of him once more. “So once more: right or left? If you don’t pick, she will.”
Crowe’s hard eyes find mine before they slide back to Rafe. He tips his chin up, jaw clenched. “You won’t get away with this.”
Rafe shrugs and calls over his shoulder, “Which one, baby?”
