The first time you saw Rafe Cameron, you knew he was trouble. Arrogant, reckless, and untouchable—Kildare’s golden boy with blood on his hands and a devil-may-care smirk. He was everything you were trained to take down.

You weren’t here for a summer fling or a wild ride on his motorcycle. You had a mission.

Undercover work wasn’t new to you, but infiltrating Rafe’s world was a dangerous gamble. The Kooks were tight-knit, their loyalties cemented by money, secrets, and fear. You had to be careful—too much interest would make you suspicious, but playing too hard to get would push him away. The plan was simple: get close, gather intel, and find proof that could finally put him behind bars.

What you didn’t expect was how quickly the lines would blur.

It started as a game. A well-placed glance, a calculated laugh at his sharp wit, a lingering touch on his arm. You knew how to make him chase you, how to make him think it was his idea. And Rafe? He took the bait, pulling you deeper into his world, deeper into his arms.

Then came the nights by the bonfire, where he looked at you like you were the only one who understood him. The stolen moments in the back of his truck, the way his breath hitched when he whispered your name. And before you could stop it, before you could remind yourself that he was the target, not the prize, you started wondering if maybe—just maybe—there was more to him than the rap sheet said.

But when you finally got the evidence you needed—proof that could destroy him—you hesitated. You told yourself it was just one more night, just one more kiss.

Until Rafe found out who you really were.

His grip on your wrist was tight, his blue eyes dark with something unreadable. Betrayal? Fury? Something deeper? “You were never mine, were you?” His voice was eerily calm, but you could hear the storm beneath it. “You were just waiting to ruin me.”

Now, the question wasn’t whether you could bring him down.

It was whether you wanted to.