Page 33 of Rafe: Sins of the Father

“I think the one who should be done is this asshole Connor. Maybe I should pay him a visit.”

“Lots of luck with that. His father is the governor.”

“No shit?”

“That’s what I was told.”

“Wait a minute. This guy, this Connor—is he the reason you were crying when you came home? When I asked if I could help, you asked if I knew of any good bodyguards.”

She nods.

My God. “He’s been tormenting you from the first day of class?”

“Pretty much.”

Fury runs through my body, and I’d like nothing more than to go find that asshole right now, but I need to take care of Tori. I put an arm around her. “Come on. Let’s shut the house up and get you a drink.”

“I don’t want any water.”

“Darlin’, I was thinking more along the lines of a shot of whiskey. Surely your father has some somewhere in this house.”

“The study.”

We go downstairs, and I lock up the house and settle Tori on the couch.

“Is that fireplace wood-burning?”

“Yes.”

I kneel and use my flashlight app to find some wood near the hearth, then start to stack it in the grate. I wad up some newspaper, shove it underneath the stack, and pull a lighter from my pocket. I get a good flame going, and soon it's licking up the logs.

I take in Tori in the light of the fire. She’s beautiful, but looks fragile and vulnerable. Stepping to her, I cup her chin and tilt her face to me, studying it. There’s a slight brushing along her jaw. “You sure you’re okay?”

She nods.

“I’m gonna kill that motherfucker,” I swear to her. “No one touches you like that.”

Her eyes glaze, but she shakes her head. “I don’t want you back in handcuffs because of me.”

Her reference to our initial meeting tightens my jaw. “I hate you had to see that. I hadn’t done a damn thing.”

She stares at me, and I wonder what she’s thinking. Her gaze drops to my leather cut. “Well, I finally got to read the patches on your back. Evil Dead MC. Who are they?”

“You don’t need to be afraid of me, Tori,” I say quietly.

“I’m not. Not anymore. Maybe I never was.”

“The Evil Dead is a motorcycle club. It’s my club.” When she doesn’t say more, I glance toward the hall and the study across from it. “I’m going to get that whiskey, okay?”

She nods, but she looks a little nervous about me leaving her alone, even if it’s only twenty feet to the study.

“You want to show me where it is?” I ask, giving her the opportunity to stick by my side.

“Sure.” She bolts to her feet, and her shoulders slump in relief. She leads us into the study, and I use the flashlight on my phone to illuminate the room. She goes right to the side table where a dozen bottles and crystal glasses sit.

I set an index finger on the cap of one bottle. “What’s your poison?”

She shrugs. “I’m not much of a drinker.”

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