Chapter 19 Riley
RILEY
My fist slams against the door for what feels like the hundredth time, and my voice comes out raw and hoarse when I shout his name again.
"Rafe!"
And there’s still no fucking answer, just the same oppressive silence that's been keeping me company since he locked me in here last night. My throat aches from screaming, my knuckles are bruised from pounding, and I'm so angry I can barely think straight.
I had good news—progress to report. I'd finished the November files ahead of schedule, found a workaround for the encrypted backups that would save us days of work, and I was actually excited to tell him.
Like some kind of pathetic puppy waiting for approval from the man who's been holding me captive for weeks.
And he didn't even let me speak. He locked me in here like I'm a bad child who needed to be punished.
I lean my forehead against the door and close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing.
My chest feels constricted, and there's a burning behind my eyes that I refuse to acknowledge.
I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to give him that satisfaction.
But the hurt is there anyway like a heavy lump in my chest threatening to drown me.
That wasn't him last night, the way he manhandled me, the way he spoke to me.
It felt wrong, harsh in a way that didn't match the man who brought me coffee in the mornings or kissed me slowly in the dark or told me I was doing well when I finished a difficult section of code.
That Rafe was careful with me and saw me as more than just a tool.
Or maybe I was fooling myself the entire time.
Maybe all of this—the softness, the vulnerability, the moments where he looked at me and I thought I saw something real—was just him playing a game. Keeping me compliant. Making sure I'd keep working for him without the need for threats or violence.
I step back from the door and walk to the bed, sinking down onto the edge of the mattress. My hands are shaking, and I press them flat against my thighs to stop the tremors.
I chose this. That's the part that makes me feel sick.
Yes, he threatened my family at the start.
Yes, he gave me no choice when his men shoved me into that SUV and brought me to his house.
But everything since we came to the safehouse was me.
I deleted his files that would've taken him down and rebuilt his records of my own free will because he said he needed me in his life. And I was stupid enough to believe him.
God, I am so angry with myself.
I was foolish enough to let him under my skin. To think that the connection between us meant something. To imagine that maybe, when this was all over, he'd find a way to let me go where I'd be safe and be able to go home to see Lila and my parents.
The knock on the door startles me, and I look up as it swings open. Rafe stands in the doorway holding a mug of tea, steam rising from the surface. His jaw is tight, and he doesn't say anything as he steps into the room, but he also doesn't look me in the eye. Which isn't like him.
"Get out," I tell him coldly, after banging for forty minutes. But I never wanted him in here. I just didn't want the door locked. I wanted to get out.
He pauses mid-step and sighs hard. "Riley—"
"I said get out. You're not welcome in my room."
"This isn't your room. It's a room in a safehouse I'm paying for."
"Then consider it my prison cell. Either way, I don't want you in here."
Rafe's head cocks to the side as he purses his lips in annoyance, but instead of leaving he moves closer, stalking barefoot across the floor until he's standing in front of me.
"I brought you tea," he says.
"I don't want it."
"You need to drink something. You've been shouting for hours."
"And whose fault is that?" I look up at him with the angriest stare I can muster, but somewhere inside me, the flame of rage is dying down.
Being so close to him ruins me, and I hate it.
I hate that he does this to me. I'm supposed to hate him for how he behaves and instead, I'm staring up at him realizing I must've scared him in the middle of the night and set him off, and now he's come to offer an olive branch.
The sweet, kindhearted man who brings me snacks and beverages while I work is back and the machine that demands perfect obedience is gone.
He exhales slowly and sets the mug on the nightstand. The porcelain clinks against the wood as he does something I don't expect. He kneels in front of me, his hands resting on his thighs, his eyes level with mine. It takes him from towering over me to being at eye level, which is unnerving.
I pull back instinctively and cross my arms over my chest. "What are you doing?" I ask.
"I was a fool," he says.
The words stop me cold. I stare at him, searching his face for some sign that he's mocking me, but his expression is serious. Almost contrite.
"Last night," he continues, his voice low. "The way I grabbed you. The things I said. I was wrong."
I don't know how to respond to him at all. That's not an apology, but it might be the closest thing I get to one today after the way I've been screaming at him all morning.
"When I heard that crash," he says, "when I thought someone had broken in, all I could think about was what would happen if they got to you.
If they hurt you. And then I walked in and you were fine, but you were still working at two in the morning, running yourself into the ground, and all I could see was you making mistakes.
Getting sloppy. Putting yourself at risk. "
"So you locked me in a room."
"I panicked and my temper got the better of me."
"You don't panic, Rafe. I know you…" Rolling my eyes, I turn away so I don't have to look at him. But I keep him in my periphery so I can see what he's doing.
His jaw tightens, and he looks down at his hands. "You said you wanted to go home and I got angry. It reminded me that when this is over, you won't need to be here anymore. You'll want to leave…" I sigh hard because that should always have been obvious. "I can't let you leave, Riley."
"Why?" I ask quietly. "Why can't you let me go?"
His hand rests on my knee now, while behind his eyes his brain is spooling up some other lie.
I feel too guarded to let him closer to me right now.
He's still holding to the disgusting loyalty he has to the men who force him to be a monster he isn't. I've seen his kind heart. What they make him do… it's unholy.
"I took you with the intent to get rid of you," he says. "You'd seen the banker's body. You knew too much. I was going to use you to fix my problems and then eliminate the risk. That was the plan."
My stomach churns, but I force myself to stay still and listen.
"But something changed—" He stops, his throat working. "You know I care about you, Riley. I don't know when it happened but it's there, and I can't make it go away. And I can't let you go home because of it…"
My heart is pounding so hard I think he can probably hear it. I don't like anything he's saying except the part where he's admitting to having feelings for me, even if he won’t say aloud that he loves me. But it's not fair, that because he has feelings for me, I have to sacrifice my entire world.
Shouldn't it be the opposite? He gives up everything to see me be happy?
"Last night," he says, "when you said you wanted to go home, it hit me that I'm going to lose you. When this is over, when you don't need to be here anymore, you want to go home, not stay with me, and I don't know what to do about it."
"So you locked me in a room and told me I belong to you."
He closes his eyes, and I see the regret etched into the lines of his face.
"I know. I was an idiot. I let my temper take over, and I said things I shouldn't have.
But I meant what I said about the risk. If I let you go right now, my uncle will have you killed.
And if he doesn't, the Feds will arrest you.
You're in too deep, Riley. We both are."
I don't know what to say. My mind is spinning, trying to process everything he just told me, and I can't land on a single coherent thought. He has feelings for me. He's afraid of losing me. He locked me in here not because he wanted to control me, but because he didn't know what else to do.
It doesn't excuse what he did. It doesn't make it okay, either, but it reminds me that he's human, just like me.
"Say something," he says, and I hear the desperation in his voice. "Please."
I open my mouth, but no words come out. What am I supposed to say? That I understand? That I forgive him? That I have feelings for him too, even though every rational part of my brain is screaming at me to run?
He watches me for a moment longer, and then he leans forward and kisses me.
It's not aggressive or demanding. It's tentative, almost asking for permission, and I feel my defenses crumble. My hands come up to his shoulders, and instead of pushing him away, I pull him closer.
The kiss deepens, and I feel all the anger and hurt from last night dissolving into something softer.
He shifts, moving onto the bed beside me, and his hand comes up to cup the back of my neck.
I lean into the warmth of his body, and I let myself stop thinking about what's right or wrong or logical.
I just let myself feel.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, and I can feel his breath coming fast against my skin.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "For last night. For all of this. I'm sorry."
I close my eyes and press my hands against his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath my palms. "I finished the November files," I say quietly. "I found a workaround for the encrypted backups. That's what I was trying to tell you last night."
He pulls back just enough to look at me, surprise flickering across his face. "You did?"
"Yes. We're ahead of schedule now. I can have everything done before Christmas."