Page 91 of Break the Ice
A man with a scowl etched deep into the lines of his face stands waiting for us. Mitch, the same guy who’d shown up at the suite the night Hawk died. Rafe’s hopped out of the limo before I barely have a chance to brake. He strides straight over to him with unmistakable familiarity.
The two men spend a moment exchanging words. None of which I catch.
I’ve put the limo in park and stayed strapped in by my seatbelt. I weigh the pros and cons of getting out and inserting myself even more into the situation. Driving Rafe to dispose of Mr. Blackman was enough. This is his mess to clean.
…but he helped you clean up yours.
I sigh at the dissenting little voice.
“For his own amusement,” I mutter. “He wasn’t trying to help me.”
…but he killed Mr. Blackman. After he was threatening you.
“More like he was pissed because Mr. Blackman sent goons to attack him. It had nothing to do with me. He can’t be trusted.”
…but what if he can? What if this is different?
I squash the rest of the dissent and make a snap decision.
I get out of the limo, but not because I’m helping Rafe. Because I’m curious and want as much info as possible to make my next move.
The forest is steeped in enough darkness that I’m able to remain unseen on approach. The shadows of the night engulf me as I ease toward Rafe and his trusted confidant, Mitch. The two men are engaged in a conversation about what happened with Mr. Blackman.
I catch the tail end of what they’re saying.
“Really, Alpha? You couldn’t walk away?” the man rasps. From what little I can see of him in the dark, he’s got a grit about him. Leather skin and a protruding jaw. Naturally narrowed eyes and silvery hair. He fits the stereotype of someone you’d expect would be out in the middle of nowhere in the afterhours disposing of a dead body…
Rafe remains unapologetic, though his tone’s hardened. “You already know what the deal is, Mitch. Quig wasn’t about to back down—so I made him.”
“There were other ways.”
“He was bragging about how Marisse’ll be framed for what’s happened. He had to fucking go. Do your job and make him disappear.”
Mitch opens his mouth to speak, then finally catches sight of me. His gaze connects with mine from beyond Rafe’s shoulder and he chews on his jaw, immediately vexed.
“We’ve got company.”
Both men direct their uncomfortably undivided attention my way. While I can tell Mitch is pissed, Rafe’s more ambiguous. His expression’s tight and unreadable, though I catch a flicker of… something.
He didn’t want me listening in after all.
“How will he be disposed of?”
“None of your concern,” Rafe says. “Go back to the limo.”
“You brought me along.”
“You invited yourself the moment you opened the limo door.”
I fold my arms and stand my ground. “I could say the same to you about that night.”
Tension freezes in the air between us, circling us like the mist in the forest. Mitch hangs back, irrelevant as Rafe and I enter another one of our fierce standoffs.
Rafe’s an intimidating force even when standing still, simply peering over at me—the night’s shadows and the headlights from the limo play with the masculine dimensions of his face. Every attractive feature is more defined, from his chiseled jawline to the hollowing of cheekbones. His signature stray lock of hair hangs over his brow, the gold in his eyes gone.
They’re dark. Darker than the night.
A shiver runs through me. Possibly from the misty chill or from the sexy six-foot-tall man who stands opposite me in a blood-soaked white t-shirt. He exudes the alpha energy for which he’s nicknamed after—and it excites me in a way I’d never want to admit to him.
