Page 90 of Break the Ice
It’s our dark little secret.
Rafe’s thinking the same. I’m not sure how I know this, but as his molten gold eyes meet mine, I sense he gets it.
He feels the same draw. The same twisted intimacy that we’re often acting on but has yet to be solidified aloud.
I focus on the road up ahead. We’ve turned onto the freeway, speeding away from the distant city lights.
Miles go by and we sit busy in our heads.
“Are you going to tell me what’s up with you?” I ask into the silence. I don’t dare check the rearview this time. “How the hell do you have a guy that disposes of bodies on call? And how many bodies do you get rid of? Is this a regular thing for you? Is that why Blackman’s been after you? You’ve been involved in some shady activity?”
Rafe lets out a solitary laugh. “Everybody wishes they were lucky enough to have a Mitch—he’s an associate that gets paid very, very good money to make what I want happen. You better believe there’s plenty of rich and famous people who have a guy like Mitch. Somebody like Blackman would have several.”
“So that’s a yes,” I say. “You do regularly dispose of bodies.”
“Don’t put your fuck up on me, Sugar. Hawk was all you.”
My nails bite into the leather material of the steering wheel. “That’s not true. If I did do anything he… he had to have attacked me. I defended myself.”
“That excuse lost its value a long time ago. You had no defensive marks on you.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. You suggested we dispose of him.”
“You went along with me,” he snaps. He sits up from his half relaxed position in the back and folds his elbows against the base of the partition that separates us. “Besides, I don’t regret helping you. Even when you drive me fucking crazy, making my life difficult. You keep things interesting.”
I don’t bother with a response. A strategy I’ve learned works. Rafe can’t stand being ignored. For an attention seeker like him, there’s nothing worse. We drive on for several miles and he eventually throws himself back onto his seat.
Mr. Blackman’s dead body lies in a pool of blood on the floor of the limo.
Rafe blows out a sigh. “You don’t get my world, Sugar. You’re sitting there in silence judging me. Mitch’s a necessary evil. Without him, I’d be dead already.”
“Mr. Blackman isn’t the first person to send goons to off you?”
“The world’s divided into two groups of people—predators and their prey. My family’s been targeted our entire careers.”
“Since your father…”
He nods, folding his hands behind his head and closing his eyes like he’s about to go to sleep. “If we didn’t start playing dirty, then we would’ve been taken out a long time ago.”
I gasp as it hits me. “Your brother’s injury!”
“He’ll never sauce another puck again.”
“I had no idea.”
“Most people don’t,” he says. “They think what happened to Colt was an accident.”
“And your father…”
“His herniated disc says enough.”
I let the revelation sink in for a second. My throat feels thick as I try to swallow.
We fall into our final stretch of silence. The hour-long drive winds down. Soon Rafe’s directing me to brake and pull off the main road. Pebbles crunch beneath the limo’s wheels as the headlights lead the way. The night’s darkness masks everything else.
I can only faintly make out the silhouette of trees in the dark and smell the wet earth and pine.
Then, emerging from between trees, we pull into a clearing where another car sits parked.
