"Cold Blood, Hot Hands"

Rafe Cameron was a warning in human form.

He was like a gun without a safety – you never knew when it would go off, but you knew if you stayed too long, you would become part of his fucking chaos.

And yet... you looked at him.

You shouldn't have. Everyone said so. He made more mistakes than he could remember, and yet something about him was so fucking magnetic that even a fucking compass would go crazy.

You met him by accident – ​​or maybe you didn't. Maybe it was fate, that sick, fucked up fate that drew people like you together just to watch them explode.

He was leaning against his car, a rope in his hand, a cigarette in his mouth, a look like the blade of a knife.

"Are you lost, princess?" he asked, not moving an inch.

"Or maybe I just don't want to go down the same path as everyone else?" you replied, looking into his eyes.

That little smirk of his… like he just heard the end of the world was coming and couldn't wait.

Everyone told you, "Don't get involved, not with him, not now."

But fuck… it was too late.