Rafael's eyes were wild.
Rain soaked through his shirt, plastering it to his chest, his gun still raised and smoking from the kill. Aurora couldn't move — not because she was afraid of him, but because she'd never seen him like this. Unhinged. Animal.
He stepped over the corpse like it was nothing.
Grabbed her arm.
Dragged her out of the warehouse and into the storm without a word.
She stumbled to keep up, half-naked, blouse torn open, feet slipping on wet concrete.
"Rafael—" she gasped.
"Not a word," he snapped.
The black car was still idling. He threw the door open and shoved her inside, slamming it behind them. The driver was gone — probably already dead.
The door clicked shut. Lock engaged. Silence.
His hands were shaking.
He stared at her, chest heaving, hair dripping. And then he did something terrifying.
He laughed.
Low. Broken. Cold.
"You almost let him touch you," he said, voice flat.
"He tricked me—"
"I gave you a choice," he said, cutting her off. "And you left. You chose to walk away from me."
Her eyes filled with tears. "You told me my father—"
"Fuck your father!" Rafael exploded, slamming his palm against the dash. "You think I give a damn about him? I killed a man today because he looked at you. Touched you. Do you even realize what that means?"
She did. And it terrified her.
"You don't own me," she whispered.
He leaned in, so close their lips brushed. "Don't I?"
His mouth crashed into hers, and it was war. Teeth. Tongue. Vengeance. He kissed her like he needed to destroy her to prove a point. Like if he could just sink deep enough, she'd stop haunting him.
His hands yanked open what was left of her blouse. Her breasts spilled free, nipples hard and exposed, and he didn't hesitate. He sucked one into his mouth, biting down until she gasped.
"You're mine," he growled against her skin. "Say it."
"No," she hissed.
He shoved her down across the back seat, ripped off her ruined panties, and spread her legs wide. She was already wet — from fear, from adrenaline, from him — and he knew it.
He dragged his tongue up her slit, slow and punishing.
"Liar," he said.
She arched, trying to resist the pleasure, but he pinned her hips down with brutal strength and kept licking. Deep, slow, deliberate. She writhed, fists pounding the leather beneath her.
"Stop fighting it," he murmured, sliding two fingers inside her. "You're soaking for me."
She hated that he was right.
Her orgasm slammed into her like a punch — sudden, violent, humiliating.
She screamed his name.
And he smiled.
Then unzipped his pants.
"No foreplay?" she panted, dazed.
"That was foreplay," he snarled, and thrust into her hard.
She cried out, body stretched and full, barely able to take the size of him. He gave her no time to adjust, fucking her like he wanted to erase every trace of the man who'd dared to touch her.
Her legs wrapped around his waist. Her nails clawed at his back. He thrust harder, deeper, groaning against her neck.
"Say it," he growled.
She shook her head.
He grabbed her throat again — not to hurt, just enough to own — and pounded into her with such force the car shook.
"Say it."
Her voice broke. "I'm yours."
He came with a growl, spilling deep inside her as her second orgasm ripped through her body like fire. They collapsed together, gasping, sweaty, still tangled.
The storm still raged outside.
But inside that car, everything was still.
After a long silence, he finally spoke.
"I'm taking you home."
She blinked up at him. "Home?"
"My home," he said. "You'll stay in my bed. Eat at my table. You don't leave. Not again."
Her heart twisted. "And if I refuse?"
His eyes darkened. "I won't let you."
She wanted to protest. To say no. To scream.
But the truth sat heavy in her bones.
She didn't want to leave him.
Not because he was kind. Not because he was good.
Because he was him.
And she was already lost.
—
The car pulled up to his estate. Guards opened the gate without question. Everything about the place screamed money and control. Security cameras. Steel doors. Power.
Rafael led her inside, his hand tight around hers like a leash.
He brought her upstairs. Past the guest rooms.
To his bedroom.
"I'll have your things brought," he said, letting go of her hand.
She stood frozen by the window, staring out at the grounds. She could see the iron gates in the distance. The rain had stopped, but her thoughts hadn't.
"I don't know who I am anymore," she said softly.
He came up behind her. Rested his hands on her waist.
"You're mine," he murmured into her hair.
She closed her eyes.
But her mind wasn't still. Not entirely.
She had felt it.
When the fake driver said he was the man Rafael had been hiding her from.
He hadn't meant Rafael.
He had meant someone else.
Someone worse.
Someone who was still out there.
And if that man had found her once…
He'd do it again.