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Rafe
I stand in the place that held a dead body I delivered to the Hernandez house not so long ago. Not so much as a stain besmirches the ground, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel the shade that haunts the place where I dumped a body to see my wife.
Willow halts before me, her hands twisting at her front. I can’t see the motion, but her shoulders move. I cup my hands gently around the shape of her in a steadying gesture. I wonder for a second that she won’t find a hidden blade and slice my throat with the thing. We’ve gone from lustful strangers, to enforcer and prisoner, to this awkward peace that doesn’t ring true for either of us.
Maybe it was always meant to be this way. There’s never been a middle ground for us.
That I could take it all back, give her the wedding of her dreams, save her the scars she wears … but then, I wouldn’t be able to support this fighter of a woman who knows her place in the world—on top of everyone in it.
And despite our fights, I’ll kill anyone who challenges her.
That’s the relationship we have, our love language, whether she recognizes it or not. I’ll continue to fight for her even if she gives up one day, though I can’t see that happening.
Willow sucks in a long breath as I inhale her warmth, her closeness. By all that’s unholy, I fucking love this woman. I close my mouth around the slope of her shoulder, sucking her pale skin and marking her, the fact we stand in the middle of the street with absolutely no fucking protection whatsoever be damned.
One arm curves around her stomach and I press a hand there, hoping she’s as knocked up as my sister. The thought of seeing her swollen with our child does something insane to my insides, and I suck on a different patch of skin, marking her a second time while she stares at the imposing building, her head held high.
“Can you wait until we’re in private, Rafe? I have to work with the men in there peering from the windows like little old biddies who haven’t been out enough.” Her words are harsh, but her voice trembles and I know she’s hard-up as I am for her.
A laugh breaks free from my lips. “You know the last time I was inside this shitful building, my father died before my eyes?”
Her body tenses, but she reaches back, curving a hand around my neck and pulling me closer because I, like every man in the vicinity, serve her. “No. The last time you were here you held me in your arms, you kissed me like you loved me, and you brought me home. Do you still love me, Rafe?”
I blink, and cover the slip by licking her skin leisurely. “Fucking forever, Willow. There is no one else.”
Her smile lights up the darkened facade before us, though I can only see her reflection in the darkly tinted windows. “Good. If you said anything else I would have killed you where you stand.”
I collect my jaw from the pavement, follow her into the house—her uncle’s house where he ostensibly abused the fuck out of her—already reaching for her waist, needy and slightly desperate to have my wife in my arms.
“Good to know,” I murmur in her wake, trailing my fingers along the material at her spine.
She pivots at the threshold, her long black hair swaying like an encore’s curtain. “Are you going to tell me where Roman is?”
I swallow. Shit. This wasn’t a conversation I needed to have on enemy territory, and until she consolidated her uncle’s men, I stood on unhallowed ground, at least for a Gallo.
Or unless I consolidated them for her.
There’s a fast track to the top of her forever hated list.
I rock back on my heels. “He’s back home, where you can see him anytime. We’ve been getting to know each other, and he chose his own room, though it’s right at the end of the hall. I suspect he likes the view there best.” And being the fuck away from me. I give her an easy smile. “Wanna go have a chat, Willow? I can wait here if you have family business and don’t want me in there with you.”
My wife specifically asked for my assistance. It might be a dick move withdrawing that support, but it almost one hundred percent ensures I’ll walk through that doorway with her. She glares at me.
Manipulating my wife isn’t what I had in mind.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
I must see inside the house, note who is in there. The vibe. Who I need to kill to keep my woman safe. Fuck it. Maybe I should have brought Diego with us.
“I love that dress. Can I tear it off you later?” I change the subject, tipping my head back and studying the high-arched ceiling with its bare bones, and miss her reaction by design.
Dick move number one hundred and three.
“Are we there yet?” she asks softly, and I swing my attention back to her.
“We are, if you feel safe with me. I never haven’t wanted you since that night in Cyprus.” I squeeze her waist, letting a little of my true need to throw her over the nearest furniture and fuck her leak out. Her tiny squeak gives me the answer that calms my fury, if only for a moment. “I never did get a tour, but I’d like to meet your people. And maybe a look around after, see what changes you want to make?” I step into her space, holding her jade-green eyes, and trail my knuckles along her arm.
