Playboy Princes (Royals of Arbon Academy, #2)(13)

“Don’t tempt me,” he muttered.

I shut up after that, enjoying the burn of my thighs as we continued to climb. I’d been neglecting my training way too much since coming here, and my fitness was suffering. I needed to get back into it—at least start jogging again.

The stairs leveled out and we stepped into a room. Though a single room, it was large and sparse. There were two couches, a small fridge, a stylish, eggshell colored rug, an unlit fireplace, and the most incredible view I had ever seen. In my life.

Windows spanned one entire side, and it faced out onto what looked like a picturesque Swiss postcard with snow-capped mountains, trees, and nature as far as I could see.

“This is my spot. If you come here without me, I’ll kick your ass,” Rafe said, crossing his arms. “But you looked like you needed a minute.”

I hated that he’d seen that vulnerable moment with Alex.

“Yeah, something like that,” I murmured, pressing my hands to the glass.

Rafe remained silent at my back, and for some reason, I didn’t mind him being there. The pain in my shoulders had died down, the blood no longer spilling, and for a second I forgot what had caused my injury in the first place.

It wasn’t often that Rafe and I were alone with no distractions and an almost calming quiet around us. In the time I’d known him over the past months, we’d fought a lot, but I’d also noticed the way he could just exist with his own thoughts. No need to fill the silence.

That’s where we were at this moment. Existing. Who would have fucking thought this would ever happen?

“Tell me your story,” he said, and I felt almost offended that he’d broken our silence.

I wasn’t surprised by the question though. I felt the same way about him. Fallen Angel fascinated me, and no one could fight like that without a lot of training. I wanted to know his story too, but as always, Rafe wanted me to be the one to give first.

This time I would—he’d caught me in a vulnerable position.

“It was my third foster home,” I said softly, not staring at him because I wouldn’t get through the story if I did. “I was eight, I think… or maybe a little older. It wasn’t like any of my birthdays were celebrated. I have more or less guessed my age for most of my life.” Derisive laughter left me, but it really didn’t hurt any more. I’d been given a new birthdate the day I was taken into care, one which placed me over eighteen now. That was good enough.

“When I first saw them, I thought they were the prettiest people in the world. All-American, my social worker called them. A true couple of God.” Another forced laugh. “You know the type, both blond, tanned, with smiling blue eyes and lips. In hindsight, if I’d met them after this weekend, I’d have known they were evil incarnate from the first glance... Fuckers looked just like Alex.”

A rumble sounded from the huge mountain of a dude beside me, and I finally turned to see him. Rafe was studying his hands, long tanned fingers clenched slightly. Most people wouldn’t have even known he was upset, but I’d studied him enough to notice when he was working through some emotion.

“What happened?” he pushed his voice into a husky drawl. That caught my attention more than anything because he was never relaxed in his words. He snapped them out, one by one, and sometimes they physically hurt as they landed.

This was the calm before the storm.

“The mother, her name was Gayle, she wanted a perfect blonde doll to dress up and parade about the town. She called me sweetheart and hugged one arm around me when people approached, and then we’d stand there for what felt like hours while everyone gushed over how amazing they were. They talked about me like I wasn’t even there, but I didn’t care. No one had ever called me sweetheart, and I loved it.”

I had no idea why I was giving him the slow buildup, but I desperately needed one person to know everything that had happened, everything that almost broke me. To understand why I was back in that fucking room again, even now.

“The first month passed in a blur of happiness, and I was so stupidly na?ve that I missed the darkness brewing in the wings.” I took a moment and forced the next words out. “I broke her lamp.”

The silence felt both tense and confused, but Rafe didn’t push again. He let me find the words myself.

“It was this ugly-as-fuck lamp that she had in the front room, a room I wasn’t allowed in because it was only for when they entertained important family. But I’d heard a noise, and because I was a kid and didn’t always think things through, I decided to explore. The noise ended up being the neighbor's cat, but that didn’t mean anything after I broke the lamp.”

Rafe could have been a statue—there was no emotion on his face at all.

“They locked me in a closet for three days, and I almost died.” I said it succinctly, like it was no big deal. But it was a big deal. I’d been struggling with myself ever since. And no matter how much therapy or training I’d been through, nothing ever let me forget the hunger and thirst. Fuck, the thirst had been the worst.

“I remember my throat closing over,” I whispered. “Or that’s how it felt to me because my tongue was so thick I couldn't swallow. I couldn’t breathe. I was literally dying when they finally opened the door and dragged my body out.”

His fists tightened further, veins standing out, but his expression remained neutral. It was only because I was trained to notice minute movements of the body that I even saw his hands shift. I was dying to know what he was thinking, but I had to get this story out first.