Blue | Rafe Cameron

xx

Grant was undeniably a corrupt pig.

I sat on a plush armchair in a secluded back room, my eyes fixed on the scene unfolding outside the opaque window. Rafe Cameron stood there, his voice hushed and his face stern as he flicked through the stack of cash in his hand, before handing it to Grant.

A fucking payoff.

And it took everything in me not to add attempted murder to my ongoing charge list.

I huff with frustration, leaning back in the chair, my right leg tightly crossed over the other, my gaze burning a hole through the door before me. It had only been ten minutes since I arrived in this simple, minimalist room, a far cry from the extravagant Gentleman's Room where I had been unceremoniously expelled.

The walls bore a worn beige hue, and a large four-by-four window stretched along one side, letting in the muted light. Apart from the armchair I begrudgingly occupied, there was a small coffee table and another sofa, their tones harmonising with the subdued colour scheme of nudes and browns.

Not exactly a jail cell, but hardly the same level of luxury that Figure 8 was accustomed to.

My gaze snaps back to the door as I hear the distinct click of the doorknob turning. Grant walks in, his expression grave and unimpressed, with Rafe following closely behind, his face a mask of neutrality.

They both stared at me, waiting, silent, tense.

"Miss Huntington, you are free to go. Mr North will not be pressing charges against you and has expressed a desire for this whole ordeal to be dropped," Grant stated, his voice rough with age and authority. I couldn't help but sneer at the blatant lie he spewed. "Consider yourself very lucky, young lady- "

"Lucky?" I snort, cutting him off with veiled anger and a hint of amusement as I sit up, straightening my back "Too bad your professional dedication and care for this community doesn't extend to protecting young black boys from being violently assaulted on these grounds. Would he be lucky too, if only he had come to you with a stack of cash? Would that have motivated you to do your damn job?"

"Now, listen here- "Grant stepped forward, his face reddening and his chest puffing up, a mix of humiliation and rage emanating from him as he glared at me. However, a strong, veined hand adorned with a ring clamped down on his shoulder, instantly quelling his movements.

"That will be all, Grant. We're grateful for your diligent service," Rafe drawled, his tone bored and blasé. His firm grip on Grant spoke volumes, prompting the aged officer to sneer at me once before gritting his teeth, nodding curtly, and swiftly exiting the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Diligent service my ass," I hiss, rising stiffly from the chair, my eyes fixed on the closed door, a gaze so intense it could have melted steel. Despite feeling his eyes wholly on me, I refuse to look at Rafe and relinquish the composure I had regained over the past ten minutes.

My fury toward Topper had consumed me, fuelled by the pain he had inflicted upon Pope- but it was Rafe who had hurt me the most because I expected more from him, stupidly, I expected more. I longed to believe in something greater in him, yet once again, I found myself disappointed.

"Insulting the man who just saved you from arrest and protected your reputation doesn't seem like the smartest move-"

I ignored his words, the way they stung and ignited some deep churning ache within me. I began to walk, my body rigid, fists clenched, eyes cast downwards. I couldn't bear to look at him- I needed to put as much distance between us as possible.

As I try to make my way past him, desperate to reach the exit, Rafe's hand closes around my wrist. At that moment, a surge of electricity shot through me, igniting a tempest of emotions- sparks, fireworks, tingles.