Page 29 of Rafe: Sins of the Father

“No way. She’s wearing a bra,” one disagrees with him.

“Nah. That’s all her. High and tight. Perky little titties,” Connor whispers.

“Jesus, bro,” one of the others says, cupping the bulge in his pants.

Suddenly, Connor glares over his shoulder at his two friends. “Get lost. Now.”

They step back, grumbling, and Conor hits the button to close the door.

I shrink in the corner.

Where did they come from? Were they waiting around some corner or lurking in the stairwell?

I slip my backpack off my shoulder and unzip it, determined to get to the pepper spray.

We’re between floors when Connor hits the stop button, and my stomach drops.

Oh shit.My hand searches the bag frantically, but I can’t find the spray.

He crowds me into the corner, one hand bracing above my shoulder. “Why you gotta fight it, sweetheart?”

“I’m not your sweetheart.”

He jerks the bag from my hand and tosses it in the opposite corner, then presses his body against mine and kisses me.

I fight him, trying to push him away, but he’s too strong, and I can’t get him to budge.

He grabs both my hands and pins them above my head, securing them there easily with one hand while his other drops to my breast, squeezing.

“Stop. Please stop,” I beg, hating the shakiness in my voice.

“God, you’ve got great tits. You know if you go along, your time here could go really well. I can make it easy for you. This is the best school in the country. This place can get you any of the connections you would ever need to make a good life for yourself. If you know the right people. If you’re nice to the right people. Remember that.” He steps back and hits the button, and the elevator moves again.

It dings for the next floor, and I push past him, grab my bag, and run the minute the doors open.

His laughter follows me down the hall. “Run, little mouse. Run.”

I skip my next class and head straight to my car, pulling out with a squeal of tires. My mind whirls. I can’t press charges. I probably can’t even report him to the dean and get any results. So, where does that leave me?

I’m crying when I step out of my car at the house, and suddenly, Rafe is there, coming to his feet next to the rear tire of my dad’s car and wiping his hands on a rag. I see the spare on the ground, and he’s obviously been sent up here to change the tire.

He steps toward me, and the scent of pine and leather envelope me. It smells masculine, but in a good way, not in a trapped-in-an-elevator-with-a-jerk way. It smells like safety.

“You okay?” his voice is soft and smooth and protective, only he’s no hero. Not with the way his dark eyes glitter.

I shake my head. “No.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing you can help with.”

“Try me.”

I lift a brow. “You know any good bodyguards, biker man?”

His chin pulls to the side, and he frowns. “What?”

“Just what I thought.”

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