Bound By Lies - Rafe Cameron

Chapter 33

Rafe's POV

I feel the itch before I even walk through the door. The need—the desperation—to get out of my own head for just a few minutes. To forget everything that's been eating me alive, gnawing away at my insides until there's nothing left but the raw, bloody mess of my thoughts. The moment I step into Barry's place, the familiar scent of smoke and stale beer hits me, and I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

This place is a fucking dump, but right now, it feels like a sanctuary.

"Rafe!" Barry calls out from behind the bar, a wide grin spreading across his face as he spots me. "Hey man. Need a little pick-me-up?"

I nod tightly, shoving my hands in my pockets to keep them from shaking. I don't say anything as I walk up to the counter, leaning against it. My eyes dart around the room, making sure no one's paying too much attention. Not that they would. Everyone here's got their own shit to deal with.

Barry turns his back, reaching under the counter to grab a small baggie. When he hands it to me, I take it with fingers that feel too cold, too numb. It's pathetic, but the sight of those tiny white crystals is almost a relief. Like they're some kind of fucking lifeline.

But before I can slip the baggie into my pocket, a heavy hand clamps down on my shoulder.

"What the hell are you doing here, Rafe?" Ward's voice is low, menacing. My body goes rigid, a cold dread washing over me. I turn slowly, heart pounding, to find him standing there, his eyes blazing with barely-contained fury.

"Dad," I breathe out, the word more like a curse than a greeting. "What are you doing here?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" he snaps, his gaze flicking to the baggie in my hand. His lip curls in disgust. "What, this is how you're handling things now? Getting high like a fucking junkie? Again?"

"It's none of your business," I mutter, but he's already grabbing my arm, yanking me away and shoving me toward the door.

"Outside. Now."

I don't have much of a choice. I stumble out the door, feeling every set of eyes in the place on me. They all know who I am—who my dad is. But none of them say a word. None of them would dare.

Outside, the night air is sharp and cold. It bites at my skin as Ward shoves me against the side of the building, his grip on my arm painful. I wrench away, glaring at him with all the hatred I can muster.

"What the fuck is your problem?" I growl, my voice low and dangerous.

"My problem?" he hisses, his face inches from mine. "My problem is that you're out here, throwing your life away, getting mixed up with scum like Barry. And for what? Because you feel a little guilty?"

"Shut up," I snap, shoving at his chest. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Ward's eyes narrow, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "I know exactly what I'm talking about. You think I can't see it? You think I don't know what's eating away at you?"

"Don't," I warn, my throat tightening with panic. He's too close—too fucking close to saying it out loud. "Don't say it."

But Ward doesn't back down. He steps closer, his eyes boring into mine with a kind of furious desperation that makes my chest tighten.

"You killed her, Rafe," he spits out, and the words hit me like a punch to the gut. "You killed Peterkin. And now you're shacking up with her niece."

My breath catches, a red haze filling my vision. I don't think—I just react. I grab his collar, slamming him against the wall, my voice a low, feral growl.