CHAPTER TWO


Five years back and Rafe wouldn't have been able to suppress her savage
curse. Five years forward to the present day—she still had to bite back her
snarl.


Carla didn't go to the kitchen. She didn't go the bar. She didn't go and tend
to any other customers.


Carla went straight to where her adorable ungrateful man sat next to his
rebel buddies. And when Rafe saw her shoulders tense and gesture behind her,
Rafe knew it was time to leave.


'Goddamn…no fucking subtlety. No fucking—let's be obvious and point out
the outsider.'


Rafe slipped through the back door. This one was open to customers, unlike
her first entry, but this one exited onto the opposite road where her car was
parked from. Rafe felt the chill as her foot touched the moistened cement
sidewalk. She felt the cool relief in the air that was left after a quick
shower. Annoyed, Rafe ducked her head and nearly hugged the outside of the bar
as she circled around the block to her first entry point. Just as her head
rounded into the back alley, she threw herself swiftly back as she saw the
skinny Panther dart outside and glance back and forth over his shoulder.


'Dude's scared.' Rafe grinned almost sadistically. 'Wonder why
the fucker's scared?'


And with that—her mind was decided.


'Follow the rabbit and see what hole he brings me.'


He looked over his shoulder once. She melted into the shadows and the guy saw
only darkness. He kept going and so did Rafe.


Rafe was led into a couple blocks of a nice neighborhood where they trimmed
the hedges and mowed their lawns, but he kept going until the last house in the
neighborhood. It was rundown home with a gated fence that was left hanging open.
The lawn held the markings of a child's playground, but the toys had been left
to grow mold and were nearly buried into the ground. Rafe doubted any children
had played with them in the last year.


She paused behind a white truck and watched as he darted up the front stairs,
flew across the chipped painted porch, and banged furiously on the door. Rafe
was forced to stand back until the door was opened to a bare-chested big-boobed
bald guy. No words were spoken between the two until the first skinny Panther
slunk inside and from there—Rafe saw raised hands, heard raised voices, and saw
enough to know an argument had erupted.


A grin of anticipation crossed Rafe's features, but she inwardly cursed as
her phone vibrated against her back pocket. Her eyes were trained on the house
as she pulled it free and checked the front screen.


Coolay.


'Fucker…'


Rafe snapped the phone open and brought it to ear as she shifted more
comfortably against the truck's back end.


"What?" She snarled.


A smooth laugh came across to her ears and for a moment, Rafe struggled to
hide her instant grin.


It always happened. Of them all—he was the one who made her laugh.


"Fucker, talk!" Rafe barked instead and shook her head at her reaction.


"Hey, hey. Don't kill the messenger. I'm looking out for you, you know."
Coolay chuckled, but Rafe heard the relief in his voice. She could picture him:
at the computer, a bag of M & Ms opened and half the contents on the desk,
and with his energy drink right beside him.


"What do you want, Coolay?" Rafe gentled her tone.


"That's it, baby!" Coolay laughed and she heard him pause to take a
drink.


"If that's your fucking energy drink, I'm hanging up right now."


"No, no. It's beer." Coolay knew Rafe's language.


"Better." She approved and didn't hold back the smile this time.


"We both know I'm lying."


Rafe sighed and knew Coolay was stalling. She asked, "What do you want,
Coolay? I'm about to enter a scene."


"Oh?" She heard his chair scrape across the floor and knew he'd bolted
upright, alarmed and possibly excited.


"Cool it. I'm not telling you where I am and I'm not telling who I'm about to
pop."


"Anyone tell you that you're not fun?" Coolay grumbled, but Rafe heard his
chair squeak under his weight. He'd sat back down.


"What do you want?" Rafe repeated, "Because I know that you're not stupid
enough to try and trace my location…are you?"


"Never." Coolay scoffed. Rafe heard the M & Ms thrown in his mouth and he
continued, "I'd ever oo thad."


"You'd never do that?" Rafe translated and pressed, "Because if you do, you
and I are going to have an 'issue' to talk out."


"My god. Not that. Never that." Coolay nearly sniffled in indignation.


Rafe smiled--they tried, one time, to talk through things. It ended with
violence.


A movement jerked her eyes back to the house across the street.


One lone shadow was seen from the curtained living room.


Her skinny Panther had scampered elsewhere.


"I have to go, Coolay, so get to talking." Rafe straightened from her post
and reached behind to the small of her back. Her fingers slid underneath her
tight white camisole and released the 9mm. The inside was warm to her touch, but
the outside was refreshingly cool. She held it against her thigh and waited…


"Okay…look…you gotta come back in." Coolay had hemmed and hawed enough. He
got to work, "Seriously, Rafer. You didn't leave right. You didn't go through
programming and some fishy thoughts are going on with the metal heads. They're
thinking that you skipped for a reason, like you're skipping…to another joint,
you know?"


Rafe rolled her eyes. Coolay never talked their language.


"What the fuck are you talking about?" Rafe snapped into the phone.


"Whatever—they think you're going rogue or with another agency. You got our
secrets, Rafe. They don't like that. You gotta come back in and tell 'em what
you told us. Oh—you know what—you didn't tell us crap. You just skipped
town."


Rafe heard the anger, but she also heard the hurt.


"I don't have time for this." Rafe shook her head and snapped her phone
together. She slid it back in its rightful place while her cold eyes had never
left the house.


A cold breeze filtered through the air and moved back some loose strands that
had fallen to her shoulder. They grazed against her cheek. Rafe didn't feel the
tickle. She never did, not when she was focused on the mission at hand. And this
mission—she'd finally get some sweet satisfaction against the Panthers.


'Fucking panthers. I hate panthers.'


She'd been on her share of missions and seen Jace shirtless—hell, she'd seen
him naked enough, but it was the stark panther tattoo that seemed to stretch up
his back that always set her teeth on edge.


It was bold. The panther was black. And somehow—the eyes never left her.


Rafe hated the tattoo on sight and even when a shirt was fitted to cover the
animal, she always felt the stare from those emerald eyes. They never seemed to
leave her, like it knew who she was—could see through her.


Rafe suppressed a shudder.


"…they think you're going rogue or with another agency. You got our
secrets, Rafe."


Rafe braced herself against Coolay's words. They were true. She hadn't given
some appropriate two week notice. They didn't do that with their work, but she
should've explained.


"I'm leaving the team."


Those had been Jace's words as he stood in front of their small group and
from there—Rafe felt something slam shut. Anything else, nothing else—it didn't
matter. Rafe walked. She hadn't cared who or what thought about it. She left—she
had to leave.


In some part of her—Rafe knew that everyone reeled from Jace's departure. It
wasn't just her—Rafe lifted cold eyes to the house in front of her.


She didn't like to think about that day—not when she had a job at hand.


Her fingers tightened strongly around the gun's barrel and she moved forward,
her body strong, confident, and answering a beat that was beyond her.


Something right filled the air. Rafe felt it. Her head raised. Her eyes were
sharper. And her shoulders straightened perfectly.


She was ready and her gun was at the ready—just how she liked it.


She moved past the opened gate without a shadow. Her foot touched briefly
beside a red toy buried underneath a mound of dirt and then she raised her heel
to touch the first step on the patio—a part of her knew she was going in blind,
but a part of her didn't care.


She had followed the guy.


She had witnessed his argument.


Nothing about him screamed professional and everything about him said
amateur.


Rafe didn't think twice as her foot raised to kick down the front door—she
burst through, turned her gun to the left and thumbed two professional bullets
into the couch behind the big-boobed baldy.


He jumped up, but fell back down. The movement jarred a quilted afghan and it
slipped to fall over the man.


Rafe waited, just briefly and the guy didn't move again. She hadn't hit him.
She was too trained to make that mistake, but when the smell of urine filled the
room—Rafe knew why the guy didn't move.


Rafe asked in a guttural tone, "Where is he?"


"Down the hall. First door on the left." The baldy managed out.


A cooking show played over the television, but Rafe swung her focused gaze
down the hallway and stepped forward into the darkened alien hallway.


Two strands of hair flitted free and ghosted over her face, but one hand held
her gun confidently and the other was at the ready for any surprise attacks. She
tracked past an opened doorway. When the smell hit her, Rafe knew the toilet
hadn't been flushed recently.


She moved past and beyond another opened doorway. She paused, swept the room
with her gun and knew it was an empty bedroom. The king sized bed was rumpled
with the blankets twisted off. Only one corner of the blankets were still on the
bed. A pile of Maxim magazines loitered underneath the bed.


It was a scene that she'd seen too many times. She could've been raised in
this home. It was small, not kept, and more than the dirt gave it a dirty
feeling.


Rafe's jaw clenched tightly.


Rafe turned towards the last doorway in the hallway. The door was closed and
no light shone from underneath. The bass of hip hop reverberated through the
floor and Rafe felt the beat pound into her feet.


'If you're blind, cover your vulnerability first.'


Jace had taught her well, but it was a well known fact—when you're going in
blind, you're always vulnerable.


Rafe slid to a crouch.


'Element of surprise, right Jace?' Rafe thought fleetingly before
she threw the door open and swept inside.


The skinny Panther jumped, startled. He'd been lying on his stomach and for a
second, just a second, Rafe froze at the sight of another Panther tattoo that
stretched from his pant's waistline and ended at the base of his neck. A second
Panther rested around his neck, like the others from the bar, but two paw prints
were tattooed on each hip.


Rafe growled at the sight and snapped to her full height when the guy jerked
his head upright.


He froze and stared at the nose of her gun.


Rafe toed the door shut and moved to ease his window open. She kept her gun
trained on him the entire time.


"Don't move." She commanded swiftly.


The guy nodded, quiet. His eyes were wide, fearful, but he did as he was
told.


Rafe jiggled the screen on his window, but it stayed in place.


'Fuck that.' Rafe raised her elbow and rammed the screen out of
place. She felt the breeze slam against her exposed neck and moved a step
forward.


"You were at Carla's Cats." Rafe stated.


The guy twitched. His dark eyes didn't move from her gun.


Rafe looked him over. His eyes were nervous, but they were guilty. She saw it
immediately. He still sat on his mattress in jeans and no shirt. She could make
out his ribs and a smattering of chest hair, but there were no tattoos. Rafe was
slightly relieved at the sight.


"What's your name?" She prodded.


His eyes darted towards the door and she smiled, "He ain't coming to your
rescue. He's full of piss."


The room was dark, but she could make out his eyes. They now moved to
hers.


A new song burst through the room. The bass jarred against Rafe's nerves and
she gestured towards the radio, "Turn it off."


He nodded, swallowed tightly, and jerkily reached for his remote. His thumb
hit a button and silence filled the room.


A beat later and Rafe heard the outside sound filter through.


"I asked your name." She wouldn't say it again.


"Rooney…" He stammered out.


"You're a Panther?" Rafe asked the obvious, but that wasn't why she
asked.


He gave her the answer how he replied, "I am."


He was proud. He straightened on the bed at his words.


Rafe eyed him intently. The guy seemed to get strength from his
proclamation.


Rafe understood. She always felt the same when she was asked if she was part
of Jace's team or not.


A stab of pain shot through her, but Rafe clamped down on it.


Her eyes blinked and she moved past that thought and asked Rooney, "Do you
know Sarah Sullivan?"


"No." He answered too quickly.


A flare of excitement flashed in Rafe's eyes. She darted forward in a blur
and rammed her gun against his head.


He cried out and reeled backwards from the hit. His hands raised to where her
gun had hit.


Rafe moved back and restated the question, "You know Sarah Sullivan. I know
you know Sarah Sullivan. Don't lie to me again or trust me, I'll enjoy the
torture part of this interrogation."


A look of disgust flashed in Rooney's eyes, but he sat upright again. One
hand cradled his head. Rafe could see a bruise already forming—a part of her was
proud at that fact.


"Yeah, okay?" Rooney growled in scorn. "I fucking know the cunt. Is that what
you want to hear?"


Rafe hated that word, but she wasn't surprised. Still—she warned, "If you
want to live through this, you won't use that word."


He suppressed the hatred that wanted to spew out.


Rafe saw it, maybe she saw it too readily, but she instantly knew what kind
of man he was.


"You're a boy." Rafe declared, "You think you're above women. You think
they're only supposed to serve you."


She halted when his dark eyes flashed approval. He felt understood.


Rafe smiled icily, "I was raised by guys like you. So I'd really love the
excuse to hurt you. If you're a little boy who likes to do the hurting and can't
handle the pain yourself—you better tell me quick and you better tell me
everything. Otherwise, trust me, I have no problem taking out my aggression on a
boy like you."


His eyes held firm to hers. He read the truth and swallowed nervously. Rafe
saw the fear in him now.


Something inside of her smiled at that sight.


"Okay—okay." Rooney rushed out, "Don't…look—okay. Yes. I know Sarah Sullivan.
Everyone fucking knows her, if you know what I mean? She…she got around."


"Where is she?" Rafe demanded coldly.


Rooney winced as a bolt of dull pain shot through him. His head pounded from
where she'd hit him.


'The bitch can hit.' He gave her that.


"Rooney." Rafe's eyes flared in anticipation. Her fingers rolled around the
gun's handle.


Rooney's eyes darted to them.


He looked back at her mouth. They were 'fuck me' lips, but her eyes told a
different story.


She wanted to hurt him. He saw that immediately.


His throat was thick, but he managed to clear it and gutted out, "She…she's
in Pedlam. The last I heard, she'd hooked up with one of those bastards."


"Where?" Rafe asked quietly.


"At the Seven8. It's where everyone goes to hook up in Pedlam."


Rafe knew of the Seven8. It was the club that Jace ran when he ran the Pedlam
Panthers.


"You don't like them?" She asked now and studied him intently.


His eyes betrayed him. Hatred was there, but it wasn't directed at her.
Rooney's shoulders jerked and he said, evasively, "Whatever. It's nothing to do
with your cunt."


Rafe chuckled hoarsely, but she moved before he realized his mistake. She
transferred her hand around the gun's handle, laid it on top of his head, and
held his head in place as she rammed her knee upright.


She heard and felt the crunch of bone underneath her knee.


Rooney shrieked from the pain. He fell backwards and panted as his eyes were
blinded from the tears.


"Holy fuck—you fucker!" He screamed harshly. His voice hitched to a high
note.


Rafe watched him, detached.


'Here come the threats…as if I fucking care.'


"You know who you're dealing with? I'm a fucking Panther, bitch! You don't
mess with us. You'll die because of this. Me and my buddies will hunt you down.
We'll fucking skin you alive. You'll be in blood when I make you cum—I swear to
god. I'll make you pay for this."


God.


Rafe smirked at that thought.


She drawled, "I wouldn't waste your words. I don't think God gives a shit
about you…or about making me pay. Thanks for the information, boy."


"You bitch!" Rooney still couldn't see. Blood and tears kept him blind, but
he gritted his teeth when he heard her laugh.


Rafe shook her head in amusement.


She shouldn't have been laughing. She knew that much because the boy meant
every word he said. He would hunt her down, but whether or not he was able to
make her pay—that was a different matter.


'He can try…' Rafe shook her head at the thought. They always
tried.


"Roones?"


Rafe swung her head towards the closed door. The baldy had finally grown a
pair and thought to check on his buddy.


It was her time to go.


Rafe hoisted herself up in the windowsill and threw a leg through. She pushed
off at the same moment and jumped lithely to the ground outside.


"Dude." She heard from the room inside. Baldy had opened the door, but a
feral grin flashed over her face.


Rafe pushed off from the ground and quickly darted into the darkness.