Flame (Dragon Triad Duet Book 2)

and true instincts. His nearness inspires a million nuanced reactions I’ve never acknowledged before. My frantically beating heart, the rapid breaths causing my chest to rise against the fabric of my shirt. His shirt. The rough cotton teases my nipples, hardening them.
And the worst part is that I’m sure he noticed every little detail before I ever did.
“Thank you,” I blurt in a rush, still eying the floor.
“Don’t.” He lumbers into the hall, and I follow him, watching as the pale light emanating from the storefront plays over his skin, reflecting off the subtle hints of gold in it. “Just keep the place spick and span, and I’ll… Shit—” he stops short, his shoulders tensing. “Get back.”
In a fluid motion, he surges forward, blocking me from view. Through the glass in the door, I can make out the shape of an approaching figure on the other side. Someone tall, wearing a signature shade of navy blue...
My worst fear escapes my lips, uttered in a whisper, “Branden—”
“Hannah,” Rafe snaps. “Get back.”
His voice knocks some sense into me, and I manage to lurch deeper into the hall, just as he wrenches the door open.
“Officer?” Rafe greets tersely.
I strain my ears to catch the officer’s reply, biting my lower lip to choke down any sound I might make. It’s Branden.
“Morning,” a man replies—but his voice is deep. Too deep to be my brother’s. Relief hits me like a bucket of ice water, both bracing and chilling—it’s not him. But then who? The silhouette of the figure flung over the far wall is too slender. Not Liam either, but another member of the force. “Are you Rafael Wei-Shen?”
“Figures,” Rafe says with a chuckle. “They’d send some newbie who doesn’t even fucking know me by name.” He laughs again, but the gruff sound triggers an instinctive tug in my stomach. The one that reacts to danger.
Whoever the officer is, he doesn’t seem shaken. His shadow doesn’t waver, his voice resonating crystal clear. “Are you familiar with a club named Stella’s?”
“And if I am?” Rafe replies, but the deliberate second he hesitated before answering alludes that he wasn’t expecting this topic to be the cause of the visit.
“Well, are you aware that sometime after one a.m. this morning, a fire was reported at the club?”
“No. But that sounds like a damn shame, officer.”
“It is,” the officer replies, nonplussed. “Especially considering the club wasn’t empty at the time. A man is currently in critical condition, a second barely escaped with minor injuries. And a family of four in a nearby tenant building reported to the hospital for smoke inhalation. Their newborn required oxygen therapy. So you can imagine our alarm that, according to preliminary analysis, it looks like the cause of the fire may have been arson, Mr. Wei-Shen—”
“Wow. That sounds like a real damn shame, officer,” Rafe snipes. “And not to be rude, but I’ve got some shit to attend to, and it sounds like you’ve got some sick motherfuckers to track down. If I have an epiphany, I’ll let you know.”
“Do that,” the man says. “You can also ‘let me know’ if you recall anything about a young woman named Faith Wen. Her body was found last night. I’m guessing she doesn’t ring a bell?”
Rafe says nothing this time, but I can feel his tension even from here.
“I thought so,” the officer admits. “Several other women have gone missing under similar circumstances. Were you aware of that?”
“No,” Rafe growls.
“When was the last time you recall seeing Faith?”
“Can’t remember,” Rafe snaps. “Is that all?”
“Strange. Seeing as how you and Faith were so close, at least according to what we’ve heard. What happened to that poor girl was a real damn shame. We’ve yet to locate her cell phone either, but you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Rafe scoffs. “That’s a really interesting investigation tactic there, officer. Letting a suspect know that you’re missing a key piece of evidence.”
“Ah, but I didn’t say you were a suspect, did I? Have a good day, Mr. Wei-Shen.”
As the officer leaves, Rafe slams the door, forming a fist. Without warning, he draws back and slams it knuckles-first against the wall. Again. “Damn it!”
Panting, he pulls away, storming in my direction.
“Did you do it?” I’m standing in his way, but I can’t seem to move. A sense of dread pools in my chest. Or maybe it’s relief? I should be begging for a reason to hate him. Doubt him.
Will he lie to me? Did he lie to me?
“Did you set the fire?”
“I don’t know…” He takes another step, towering over me, his gaze unreadable. “Did I, rabbit? Would I be sloppy enough to set a fucking fire that would bring the cops right to my doorstep? Or would I be a little bit smarter than that?”
His gruff tone differentiates this anger from his usual temper. Rather than rage and shout, he has his jaw clenched, his eyes distant. He’s just as on edge as I am.
Why? His wary glance toward the front of the shop might give me a clue. “Those motherfuckers,” he hisses. “What the fuck are they up to…”
It hits me—if his uncle’s men were behind the attack, he didn’t know. And the prospect caught him off guard. Did the older man leave him out intentionally?
Or was Rafe the one who stayed away?
The questions mount, but all I seem capable of doing is sighing, still clenching his broom.
Eyeing him, I press the bristles to the floor. “When do I start?”
“Huh?” He blinks and shoots me an odd look, only to recover a heartbeat later. His slanted smirk contains a mere fraction of his usual smug persona, however. He’s distracted. “You start now,” he says. “But change first. I’m not running a fucking skin bar.”
He boldly rakes his gaze down to my bare legs before starting for the stairs. I follow him into the apartment and approach the clothing stacked on top of the boxes at the end of the hall. I grab a skirt and sweater only to