The Visitor From Z
Iknow the second the car pulls up outside. The engine doesn’t idle like a neighbour’s. Too smooth. Too quiet. The kind of sound that doesn’t belong in this neighbourhood at all.
Brooklyn is still in the kitchen, rinsing dishes with Kate, laughing too hard at something that isn’t funny. Her laughter always sounds different when she’s trying to hide.
But I hear a knock.
Sharp. Twice.
Not polite.
My blood goes cold before I even open the door. Because I know the rhythm. I know it in my bones.
Rafe.
He leans against the frame when I swing it open, cigarette hanging lazily from his mouth, eyes gleaming like the devil himself just walked up my driveway. His suit is too sharp for daylight, and his grin is too wide.
“Dean,” he says, like we’re old friends instead of two men who’ve bled each other enough to know better. “Didn’t think I’d find you playing house.”
His eyes flick past my shoulder. Into the kitchen. Toward her.
I blocked his view, but not fast enough.
I see the shift in his smile.
And I know right then this is the start of a war I can’t hide her from.
Rafe doesn’t wait for an invitation. He brushes past me, smoke trailing in like a storm cloud. I should throw him out. I should put him on the ground and make sure he never stands again. But the kitchen door swings open at the wrong moment, and Brooklyn’s head tilts around the corner.
Her eyes meet his.
For one second, the world stops.
His smile sharpens.
Her breath stutters.
I step into his path so fast the cigarette falls from his lips.
“Not here,” I snarl. “Not her.”
Rafe smirks slowly and cutting. “Her, huh? That’s interesting. Considering the kinds of places you and I do business, I didn’t think you kept… attachments.”
Brooklyn’s hand is white-knuckled on the doorframe. She doesn’t know what to do—whether to back away or to step closer. I see her chest rise too fast, her pulse jumping in her throat, and, fuck, she doesn’t realise she’s showing him just how tempting she is.
“Kitchen,” I bite out, not taking my eyes off Rafe. “Now.”
Her lips part, trembling with something she wants to say, but she nods and disappears back inside.
Rafe chuckles under his breath. “Oh, she’s sweet. That blush. That shake. Dean, you’ve always had expensive taste. But this one? This one’s dangerous. You don’t get to play house with someone like her. The club eats little birds like that alive.”
I shove him against the wall so hard the frame rattles. “If you so much as breathe in her direction again, I’ll end you where you stand.”
And for once, Rafe doesn’t laugh. He just smiles, slowly and knowing, like he’s already won something I haven’t figured out yet.
Rafe dusts off his jacket where I shoved him, cigarette dangling forgotten from his fingers, ashes scattering across my porch. His grin is lazy, but his eyes—those are razor sharp.
“You forget who I am, Dean?” he says softly, like it’s just us, like Brooklyn isn’t only a door away. “You don’t get to threaten me. Not after what you owe. And not after you disappeared from Z like you’d found something better.”
I don’t blink. I don’t give him the satisfaction of twitching. But inside, the word owe burns like acid.
He leans close, voice dropping. “Does the girl know? Does she know what you are when the mask is on? Or does she think she’s just fucking her friend’s daddy, neat and clean?”
My fist curls, aching to end this.
“Stay away from her.”
He tilts his head, predator amused. “You’re not listening. I can’t stay away from her. Not when you’ve already dragged her into our world. I saw her outside the club, Dean. Crying. She saw enough to choke on. She’s already ours now.”
My jaw locks. “She’s mine.”
That earns a low laugh. “That possessive streak—fuck, I missed that. But mine, yours, doesn’t matter. Sooner or later, Club Z takes everything. And if she doesn’t belong to me, she’ll belong to someone worse.”
The kitchen door creaks again. Brooklyn’s shadow stretches across the floorboards. I flick a glance over my shoulder and catch her wide eyes, her trembling lips. She’s heard too much.
Rafe follows my gaze and smiles wider, teeth flashing like a wolf. “See? She’s already breaking. Doesn’t even know which one of us she should fear more.”
I step closer, blocking his view of her. My voice is steel. “If you so much as breathe her name inside that club, I’ll put you in the ground.”
For the first time, he doesn’t smile. He just flicks the cigarette into the dark and whispers, “Tick Tock, Dean. You can’t keep her safe from Z. Not even from me.”
And then he’s gone, swallowed by the night.
Behind me, Brooklyn’s whisper is raw, breaking: “What the hell was that?”
She’s trembling in the doorway, arms crossed tight against her chest like she’s holding herself together with nothing but bone and fear. Her eyes are still wet from earlier, cheeks flushed, mouth parted like she’s choking on words too sharp to swallow.
“What the hell was that?” she whispers again, louder this time, voice cracking.
I stalk toward her, shutting the door behind me with a slam that rattles the glass. The sound makes her flinch. I hate that she flinches, but I don’t stop. I cage her against the wood, hands braced on either side of her head, my body blocking out the world.
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
Her chest rises fast, frantic. “Don’t lie to me. You think I didn’t hear? He said my name, Dean. He said—he said I’m already theirs. What does that mean? What the fuck does that mean?”
I lean closer, nose brushing her hairline, my voice dark and low so it sinks into her skin.
“It means he’s trying to scare you. That’s what men like him do. They see something pure, something they can ruin, and they circle it like vultures.”
She swallows hard, gaze darting to the door as if Rafe might appear again. “Why me? Why is he—why are you both—”
I cut her off with a sharp tilt of her chin, forcing her eyes onto me. “Because you don’t belong in his world. You belong in mine. And if you ever run again, if you ever even think about walking out on me, you’ll crawl right into their hands. Is that what you want?”
Tears sting her eyelashes. “No—but I can’t breathe like this, Dean. You’re—” Her voice falters. “You’re suffocating me.”
My thumb drags down the damp track of her cheek. “Good. If you’re choking, it means you’re still mine to keep.”
She lets out a broken sound—half sob, half laugh. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” I murmur, lips brushing the corner of her mouth. “But I’m the only thing standing between you and the wolves. And I’ll burn Club Z to ash before I let them touch you.”
Her body trembles against mine, but she doesn’t push me away. She doesn’t run. She just breathes me in like poison she can’t quit.
Tremors wracked her body as she leaned against the door, her quiet words swallowed by the house’s silence. Silence that isn’t really silence—because I can hear Kate’s faint laughter from down the hall, muffled through her bedroom door, the clatter of a suitcase she’s still unpacking.
Every second Brooklyn raises her voice risks exposure. Every word about Rafe feels like a bullet I can’t let land.
“Keep your voice down,” I snap, my palm flattening over her mouth before she can argue. Her eyes go wide, tears shimmering, the sound she makes small and furious against my hand.
Kate’s footsteps echo faintly upstairs. My chest knots, rage and hunger tangling together as I press harder into Brooklyn.
“Don’t,” I whisper against her ear, voice laced with steel and want. “Don’t make me explain myself where she could hear.”
Her muffled protest vibrates against my hand, and I drag it away just enough for her to speak. She spits the words like venom.
“I saw enough, Dean. I saw who you are. That man outside—he knew my name. He knew me. And you’re acting like it’s nothing?”
My grip on her jaw tightens, forcing her gaze onto me. “It is nothing if you let it be nothing. But if you keep screaming, if you keep doubting me in this house, you’re the one who’s going to bring danger to our doorstep. To Kate’s doorstep.”
That slices her. I see it in her face—the way guilt coils low, the way her mouth trembles around words she can’t let out because Kate’s right upstairs.
“I can’t do this,” she whispers. Her voice shakes, but it’s soft now, ragged, terrified. “I can’t be this secret in the shadows while you—while you do whatever the hell you do at that club. If she finds out…”
I lean in so close she feels the scrape of my stubble against her skin. “If she finds out, then she finds out. But it won’t be because of me.” My lips ghost her temple. “It’ll be because you can’t stop screaming when I touch you.”
Her knees nearly buckle. I catch her hips, holding her steady, pinning her between the wood and my chest. Upstairs, Kate’s footsteps cross again, the floorboards groaning. Brooklyn freezes, eyes darting toward the ceiling.
I smirk against her cheek. “Quiet now, baby girl. You wouldn’t want your best friend coming down to find out why her father’s got you shaking in his hands, would you?”
Her breath stutters—half terror, half desire—and I know I’ve got her cornered, trapped, tethered to me even tighter.
Her lips are inches from mine, words trembling through the sliver of air between us.
“Dean…” It’s broken, ragged, barely audible.
My thumb grazes the corner of her mouth, forcing her whisper to stay caged. “Not now. Not loud. Not when she’s here.”
Brooklyn shakes her head, tears still streaking hot down her cheeks, dripping onto my wrist. “I hate this,” she breathes, chest heaving against me. “I hate sneaking. I hate that man knowing my name. I hate—”
“Shhh.” My mouth brushes the shell of her ear, every syllable timed to her stuttering breath. “You don’t hate me. You hate that I own you where no one else can see. You hate that I make you forget her upstairs while your body begs for me down here.”
Her nails bite into my shirt, fisting the fabric like she wants to shove me away—but she doesn’t. She drags me closer.
“You’re wrong,” she whispers, so faint I feel it more than hear it. “I don’t forget her. I think about her every time your hands are on me. Every time I let you—” Her voice splinters, throat closing around the truth.
I cage her tighter, forehead pressing to hers, my whisper a dark snarl. “Every time you let me what? Say it, Brooklyn. Say it to me, even if you choke on it.”
Her jaw trembles. Upstairs, Kate’s laugh floats down again, careless, oblivious.
Brooklyn squeezes her eyes shut, mouth trembling open on a whisper so soft I almost miss it.
“Every time I let you ruin me.”
My chest heaves. My control shreds. The need to devour her here, now, claws at me like an animal straining against the leash.
But Kate’s shadow stretches over every sound, every breath, every whisper.
So I graze my lips against Brooklyn’s damp cheek, my voice a vow wrapped in a threat.
“You think you’re ruined already? Baby girl… you haven’t even begun to break.”
She whimpers—soft, strangled, swallowed into silence. Upstairs, a door shuts.
And all I can think is how close we are to being caught. How much closer I want us to get.