Always you

Chapter 35

Rafe sat alone in the dimly lit study of Tannyhill, the silence around him broken only by the faint hum of the overhead fan. The house was unusually quiet, with most of the family in their rooms for the night. Sasha had fallen asleep hours ago after her conversation with Sarah and Wheezie, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing inside Rafe's mind.

He leaned back in his chair, his fingers running over the edge of his phone as he stared at the contact list. The name staring back at him was one he hadn't thought about in months: Vincent Moretti.

Rafe clenched his jaw as he finally hit call. The line rang twice before the familiar gravelly voice answered.

"Well, if it isn't Rafe Cameron," Vincent drawled. "To what do I owe the pleasure? I thought you were done with our business."

"I need answers," Rafe said bluntly, his voice cold and firm. "About Alaia. About the men who've been following me—and Sasha."

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Vincent let out a low chuckle. "Alaia? Well, well. I figured she'd come crawling back to you eventually. What's the matter, Cameron? Your past catching up to you?"

"Just tell me what's going on," Rafe snapped.

Vincent sighed. "Fine. But this goes back to our little arrangement, doesn't it? You remember that night, don't you?"

Rafe didn't need the reminder; he remembered it all too well.
                                                                                          ~

It all started the summer before Rafe was supposed to go to college. For most of his life, he had relied on Ward Cameron's deep pockets to get whatever he needed—or wanted. But when the time came to take the next step, Ward had made it clear he wasn't going to fund Rafe's every whim anymore.

"You're about to step into the real world, son," Ward had said, sitting behind his massive oak desk. "It's time you learned how to stand on your own two feet. I'll cover the basics—tuition, room, board. But anything extra? That's on you."

Rafe hadn't taken the conversation seriously at first. But when he realized his credit card had been frozen, his requests for money ignored, and his appeals to Rose shut down, panic had set in. He'd racked up a considerable amount of debt over the past year—mostly from partying, bad investments, and trying to keep up a lifestyle he couldn't afford.

Desperate and unsure of what to do, Rafe started looking for ways to make quick money. That's when he met Vincent Moretti at a high-stakes poker game in Charleston. Vincent wasn't playing; he was watching. And when Rafe lost nearly everything that night, Vincent was the one who approached him with an offer.

"You've got potential, kid," Vincent had said, leaning against the bar with a knowing smirk. "But potential doesn't pay the bills. Lucky for you, I know how to turn things around."

Rafe had been skeptical. "What do you want from me?"

"Nothing too complicated," Vincent replied. "I'll clear your debts and give you some extra cash to get back on your feet. In return, you owe me one favor. Doesn't matter when or what it is. Just one favor, and then we're square."

It sounded simple enough. At the time, Rafe had been too panicked and naive to question the fine print. He'd signed Vincent's contract, and just like that, his financial troubles seemed to disappear.

For a while, life had been good. He'd paid off his debts, gone to college, and managed to keep his lifestyle intact. But a year later, Vincent had come calling.

The call came late one night. Vincent's smooth, cold voice on the other end sent a chill down Rafe's spine.

"Time to repay that favor, Cameron," Vincent had said.

"What do you need me to do?" Rafe asked nervously, gripping the phone tightly.

Vincent's instructions were simple but unsettling: transport a package from Charleston to a private dock just outside the Outer Banks. No questions, no deviations.

At first, Rafe thought it was a small, harmless task. But when he opened the trunk of the car Vincent had provided, he found a duffel bag filled with cash—and another with weapons.

His stomach dropped. "What the hell is this, Vincent?"

"None of your concern," Vincent had replied coolly. "You do the job, and we're even. That's the deal."

Rafe had wanted to walk away, but Vincent's tone made it clear there would be consequences if he did. So he'd done it—loaded the car, made the delivery, and handed everything off to a group of men at the dock.

What he didn't realize at the time was that those men weren't just random clients. They were part of a dangerous gang operating out of Charleston, known for their violent dealings and ruthless tactics. And Rafe's involvement with them wasn't going to end with one delivery.

Alaia had been one of the gang's associates, someone who acted as a middleman between Vincent and the clients. Rafe had met her during one of his deliveries, and she'd immediately struck him as someone who thrived in chaos.

At first, their interactions were professional. Alaia was sharp, efficient, and always one step ahead. But over time, she began to rely on Rafe more and more, calling him for help when deals went sideways or when Vincent needed someone to clean up a mess.

It wasn't long before Alaia started making moves of her own. She cut side deals with rival groups, keeping some of the profits for herself. When the gang found out, they'd turned on her, threatening her life and demanding repayment.

That's when she'd disappeared, leaving Rafe to deal with the fallout. The gang assumed he'd been involved in Alaia's schemes, and their anger turned toward him. The men who had followed Sasha and attacked Rafe were part of that same group—looking for revenge and answers.
                                                                                                                                              ~

Now, sitting in the study, Rafe listened as Vincent continued speaking.

"Alaia," Vincent said, his tone amused, "was your connection to the Charleston crew, remember? She helped coordinate the shipments. She knew the players, the routes, everything. And she was good at it—until she wasn't."

"What do you mean?" Rafe asked, his grip tightening on the phone.

"She got too close to someone she shouldn't have," Vincent explained. "Tried to cut her own deal with the gang to get out. Didn't work. They've been after her ever since. That's why she's back, Cameron. She's hoping you'll clean up her mess."

Rafe's stomach churned. Alaia had always been unpredictable, but this was a new low. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Because it wasn't my problem anymore," Vincent said casually. "You wanted to be done with our business, remember? Well, congratulations—you were."

"And now?" Rafe pressed.

"Now?" Vincent's tone turned dark. "Now it's your problem again. Those men after Alaia? They're the same ones who came after you. They think you know where she's hiding whatever she promised them. And if you don't... well, they're not exactly known for their patience."

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, his heart pounding. He hadn't just put himself at risk—he'd put Sasha in danger, too.