Flame (Dragon Triad Duet Book 2)

loud at the idea of it. How pathetic was that? To pin my entire success on a whim. My “talent.” Scoffing, I flip the book open and scan the pages. All those pretty, carefully penned words read flat. Empty. Useless, emotionless lies. For the first time in my life, I’m numb as I stroke my thumb along a page. There is no spark.
But one person ensured that I wasn’t without this possession anyway—an amount of caring that contrasts sharply with the dark-eyed figure dwelling inside my head. The creature capable of sowing the heavy footsteps I catch advancing up the rickety staircase leading to the apartment’s entrance. I know even before the door opens who is behind it. I can smell him—ash and smoke.
His very presence is heralded by a shift in the air, like a drop in temperature warning of a storm. Rafe.
“You’re awake,” he grunts in acknowledgment while closing the door behind him. He’s wearing a pair of gray sweats and a white beater top—a casual alternative to his usual jeans and black leather. In his hands is another brown paper bag and a faint aroma emanates from it, making my stomach rumble.
“Come here.” With a curt nod, he beckons me into the kitchen where he unloads the contents of his bag on the counter—two steaming breakfast sandwiches wrapped in paper. He hands one to me, claiming the second for himself. As our eyes meet, his expression softens, his lips quirking into a frown.
“You bruise fucking easily, rabbit,” he says, stroking my cheek with his thumb. His eyes travel down to my throat, fully exposed by the wide neckline of the shirt I’m wearing now—an oversized black one of his. The earnest sympathy in his tone makes me stiffen self-consciously. Apart from last night, I have no fresher mental image to compare my appearance to.
I can’t even look in the mirror.
“Is it that bad?” I ask.
“Damn right,” Rafe says, whistling through his teeth. “I doubt even the old ‘sunglasses’ trick will help you, bunny.”
I brush my fingers along my jaw and barely feel any pain. It’s like I’m numbed to everything but the here and now. His smell takes precedence over any other sensation, his nearness overwhelming.
Whenever I try to think about the million other pressing concerns in my life, only a few stick out.
“I have to work today,” I say absently, though panic sets in at the thought of leaving. Branden will be looking for me, for one. My lease runs out by the end of the week thanks to his efforts. I have no idea how to navigate my usual routine, taking all of that into account. “That’s what I’m worried about,” I add with a tattered laugh. “I have to work today.”
“I’ll talk to Zhang,” Rafe says, referring to my boss. He turns away from me and rummages through the fridge, withdrawing a brown bottle of beer. Despite the early hour, he pops the lid off on the edge of the door and takes a deep swig, throwing his head back.
For the first time, I step outside of my own worries and put myself in his shoes. He looks almost as bad as I feel. I have a sinking suspicion as to why.
“The missing girl. Faith,” I say thickly. “You knew her.”
“Yeah…” He swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, his gaze distant. “She was a good kid. What happened to her is fucked up.”
He sounds genuinely upset, and I hate the jealousy that unfurls when I try to imagine why. Just how well did he know her?
No better than Branden, a part of me snarls in response. He’s the one who had her hair clip, you idiot.
Ashamed, I focus my attention to the window as another car drives past. A sharp pain in my hand makes me realize that my fingers are clenched, the nails cutting into my palms. “Do… Do they know what happened to her?” I whisper.
Maybe I’m a masochist, feeding off the weight of the heavy sigh he releases. His obvious regret drills in this reality like a hammer on a nail—this is real.
“Not yet. They found her body on the outskirts of the city, and—” he breaks off with a grimace. “I’ll spare you the details.”
Traffic is still moving down below, and another car zips by too quickly to inspect in full. I tear my gaze away and find myself staring down the hall instead, toward a stack of boxes. Tell him, my conscience warns. Tell him now.
“She was in trouble,” I say, skirting around the truth again. Trouble that wound up with her dead and a piece of jewelry hidden among my belongings. My palms grow slick with sweat at the memory, my pulse increasing. “H-How?”
Rafe grunts, and I turn to find him taking another sip of beer. “She got caught up with the wrong motherfuckers and paid the price for it. And I couldn’t help her…”
“Her friend,” I say. “The one we saw the night of the vigil. She claimed a man, DW, was the one bothering her—” Not Branden for whatever it’s worth. “Do you know who that is?”
“No,” he growls. “If I did, I’d be ripping the sick fucker apart, wouldn’t I?”
“And Faith never told you anything?”
“I know he’s a cop,” he says in an icy tone. “And that he was using her somehow. As a drug mule? An informant? I don’t know. It’s not like I can go ask Gino about it, now can I?” He slams the bottle onto the counter and takes a bite from his sandwich, an obvious clue that he’s done talking about it.
For now.
But I can fill in some of the blanks on my own. Faith fell in with his rival Gino—a thug who owns what Mara deemed a “tittie bar.” There she met a monster who supposedly made her do awful things.
A monster who found her silence well worth killing her for.
But that doesn’t explain why her hair clip is in a shoebox in this very