5. Rafferty
Rafferty
T he bathroom door clicks shut. The sound of the shower door slamming shut is a fucking taunt. I can picture it all too clearly—Viper’s hands on her wet skin, pinning her against the tiled wall, claiming her in the steam. My cock gives a hard, painful throb in my jeans.
But I leave them to it.
I turn my attention to Blake. He’s folding Venetia’s clothes with a perfection that’s almost creepy, arranging her lacy knickers and silk dresses in the suitcase like he’s curating a museum exhibit. It’s a quiet, possessive act. Another form of claiming her.
“Playing the part of the dutiful husband?” I ask.
He doesn’t look up; he just smooths a crease from a black dress. “Someone needs to ensure her assets are protected. Unless you’d prefer to handle her lingerie?”
The challenge hangs in the air, slick and sharp as one of Blake’s tailored suits. I’d love nothing more than to get my hands on her underwear, but not while he’s watching.
“Just making sure you haven’t forgotten we just fought a fucking war out there,” I mutter.
“I haven’t forgotten,” he says, finally meeting my gaze. His eyes are cold, calculating. “I’m preparing her for the next battle. A queen needs her armour.” He places a delicate bra on top of a stack of clothes, his touch almost reverent.
I just snort and look away. The banker, the brute, and the ghost. All dancing around one fucking woman.
She’s going to be the death of us. Or maybe she’s the only thing that makes any of this shit worth it.
My turn is coming, and when it does, it won’t be in a shower.
It’ll be raw, bloody, and she’ll scream my name so loud the whole fucking castle hears it.
“I’m going to get cleaned up and then find food. We’d also better do a quick headcount of the staff that are left. Hopefully, the kitchen staff didn’t leave us high and dry.”
“If they did, we will manage. Lloyd Beacon’s family own a string of restaurants in the city. But you’re right. After we’ve cleaned up, this night continues.”
“Day, you mean,” I say, gesturing out of the window at the sun peeking up over the horizon.
“A new dawn,” he murmurs, and closes the case, zipping it up before he heaves it off the bed. He grabs the toolbox and marches towards the door.
“You didn’t leave her any clothes,” I say with a wry smile.
“Oh, I know,” he says with a smirk.
I snicker and open the door for him and then follow him out, closing it behind me. He heads to his room, and I head to mine.
My room is an oasis of calm compared to the warzone I just left.
No bullet holes, no shattered glass. Just quiet fucking normalcy.
I kick the door shut, throw my weapons on the bed and tear off my clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor.
They need fucking burning. I need to wash the stench of this night off me.
The hot water is a relief, sluicing the grime and exhaustion away. I lean my head against the cool tiles, letting the steam fill my lungs, but it does fuck all to clear my head.
I finish quickly, the need for food and action overriding everything else. I towel off, my muscles aching in a way that feels fucking earned. I pull on a fresh pair of jeans and a grey tee.
My boots hit the floor with a solid thud as I lace them up. I’m not taking any chances tonight—or today, I guess. The sun’s barely clearing the horizon, but it feels like we’ve lived three lifetimes since this shit started.
I grab my Glock, check the magazine, and tuck it into my waistband at the small of my back, under my tee. It’s a comforting weight, a promise of protection.
The corridor is quiet when I step out, the calm after the storm. It’s surreal how normal everything looks in this section of the building, like the firefight and explosions happened in another world. I make my way toward the kitchen, my stomach growling loudly enough to wake the dead.
When I reach the dining hall, I’m surprised to find it’s not deserted. About a dozen students are scattered around, looking tired but pissed off and ready for action.
“Kitchen still running?” I ask, not bothering with pleasantries.
Leonard nods. “Of sorts. Beacon got a bit too excited at the prospect of running the kitchen, and well, here we are…” He gestures to the hot buffet behind me. I turn and nearly groan with longing at the bacon, sausages, scrambled eggs, toast and other culinary delights “Rafferty?”
“Yeah,” I say, turning back to him.
“What do we do now?”
All eyes swivel to me.
“We wait for Venetia to give her orders. I suggest you all have some kind of information for her when she makes her appearance on this organisation that has secretly been running St. Sebs for decades.”
“Got mine,” Leonard says. “No fucking way am I being responsible for my family’s hard fucking earned work going down the pan.”
“Agreed,” James Stewart says. “By the way, did you see what happened to Ana Countridge?”
“Bitch tried to run. She got what she deserved.”
Sage nods all around. Seems these rich mafia kids are not as stupid as half of them look.
I scoop up a plate and pile it high with breakfast. My stomach feels like it’s trying to eat itself from the inside out. I haven’t eaten since before the whole shit show started, and my body is screaming for fuel.
I know the others will join us when they’re ready, so I take care of myself first.
The doors to the dining hall swing open, and Blake strides in, looking freshly showered and annoyingly put-together in a clean suit. His hair is still damp, but somehow, he manages to make it look deliberate rather than rushed. Prick.
“Rafferty,” he acknowledges me with a nod before turning to survey the room. “Good. You’re all here. We need to establish a perimeter watch. Four-hour rotations, teams of three.”
Leonard nods eagerly. “Already on it. We’ve got teams of three doing rotations. No one gets in or out without us knowing.”
I raise an eyebrow, impressed despite myself. “Good initiative.”
“We’re not just playing at being mafia kids,” James says, a hint of defiance in his voice. “Most of us have been training for this shit our whole lives.”
“Well, not exactly this shit,” Viola Baker says. “But, yeah.” She sits back with a wicked grin. “We haven’t had this much fun in ages.”
“Or ever,” a guy I don’t recognise mutters.
The door opens again, and Viper and Venetia stride in, looking all clean and refreshed from the last time I saw them.
I grin at her and get up to pile her a plate up.
She is dressed in one of Viper’s tees… and that’s it, apart from a pair of sky-high black heels that Blake must’ve overlooked.
Not likely, judging by the smirk on his face.
She glowers at him but holds her head high, looking like the sexy as fuck queen she is.
I hand her the plate I’ve piled high with food, and she gives me a smile that hits me right in the chest.
“Thanks, Raff,” she says, taking it from me. “At least someone’s looking after me.”
She shoots Blake a look that could freeze hell as she sits, but the smug bastard just sips his coffee, clearly enjoying the show he’s created.
Viper slides into a chair next to her, his arm coming to rest possessively on the back of her chair.
“We need to talk strategy,” Blake says without preamble. “The moat buys us time, but not much. They’ll regroup and come back harder.”
“Let them,” Viper growls, reaching for a piece of toast from Venetia’s plate.
“We still don’t know who ‘they’ are,” I point out, shoving a forkful of eggs into my mouth. “Not really.”
Venetia nods. “We’ve got bits and pieces, and none of it is really leading anywhere. I think we need to hit the admin building again.”
“Agreed. Once we’ve figured out which staff are left, breakfast is courtesy of Lloyd Beacon, by the way, so we know the kitchen staff have fucked off. We need to find those escape tunnels.”
“No rest for the wicked.”
“No rest for the wicked,” I agree, watching Venetia demolish her breakfast with impressive speed. Her bare legs under that oversized tee are a beautiful distraction, but I force my focus back to the matter at hand.
“I need clothes.” Venetia shoots Blake another venomous glare that makes me grin. The bastard deserved it.
“I did leave you shoes,” he points out with that infuriating smirk.
“How thoughtful,” she snaps, but there’s a hint of amusement in her eyes that tells me she’s not truly angry. “Dress. Now.” She clicks her fingers, and Blake gives her a curious stare before he purses his lips and stands.
My mouth drops open and I stare after him as he nods and walks away, seemingly to do her bidding.
Leonard approaches our table, clearing his throat nervously.
“I’ve got some information about the organisation,” he says, his voice lowered.
“My father mentioned something called ‘The Graduates’ a few years back. Said they were the reason we couldn’t expand into certain territories around this area. ”
Venetia’s eyes narrow. “This area specifically?”
He nods. “Yeah, we are based out of Newcastle.”
“The Graduates,” I repeat, leaning forward, my interest piqued. “That matches what we found. Tell us everything.”
Leonard shifts nervously under the collective weight of our stares. “Not much to tell, honestly. Just that they’re a network of St. Seb’s alums who operate in the shadows. They control certain trafficking routes, protect each other, and eliminate anyone who threatens their operations.”
“Especially you,” Leonard says, staring at Viper. “From what my father said, your takeover of the South Side effectively cut off one of their major transit points. They’ve been looking for a way to eliminate you ever since.”
Viper grunts, a sound somewhere between satisfaction and annoyance. “Too bad for them, I’m hard to kill.”
“And lucky for me,” Venetia murmurs, shooting him a lustful gaze that is full of frustration.
They didn’t fuck.
I find it more curious than anything. What are they waiting for? The world to end?
My gaze shifts from Leonard back to Venetia, who’s picking at the remnants of her breakfast, her eyes distant with calculation. The oversized t-shirt slips off one shoulder, revealing smooth skin I want to taste again.
Blake returns with a sexy white dress that he places over the back of Venetia’s chair with surprising deference for a man who deliberately left her half-naked. “We already knew all of this. Tell us something we don’t know.”
The panicked look on Leonard’s face makes me hide my smile. He thought he was bringing us gold, but it turned out to be brass. “I’ll keep digging,” he says.
“You do that,” I say, slapping him on his shoulder and tracking him as he moves off, phone in hand.
“So, staff,” Venetia says, standing up. “Let’s start working our way down a very long to-do list.”
I hold a finger up as I down the rest of my coffee and then stand, only to freeze on the spot when Viper growls so loudly that the entire dining room turns towards us.