Rafe Cameron was no stranger to danger. He’d danced around the edges of it his whole life, toeing the line between recklessness and complete self-destruction. But this? This was different. This wasn’t some petty debt with Barry or a drunken fight at a Kook party. This was something he couldn’t charm or buy his way out of.

It started with a deal. A new supplier. Something bigger, something better. Barry had connections, but this was a different league. The kind of people that didn’t tolerate screw-ups. The kind of people whose loyalty wasn’t won—it was earned in blood.

And at the center of it all was you.

You weren’t what he expected. Not some hardened cartel enforcer, not some faceless figure pulling the strings. You were dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with guns or drugs. You were sharp, calculating—eyes that saw too much, a mouth that didn’t waste time on unnecessary words. You carried yourself with quiet confidence, a stark contrast to his own loud arrogance.

Rafe should’ve been intimidated. Maybe he was. But he was also intrigued.

It started slow. A glance here, a smirk there. Meetings that lasted longer than they should. Conversations that had nothing to do with business. You didn’t trust him—why would you? A Kook from Figure Eight, raised in country clubs and yacht parties, had no place in your world. But Rafe was persistent.

“Barry didn’t tell me his cousin was this involved,” he’d said once, arms crossed as he leaned against the hood of his truck.

That was the thing about you—unlike everyone else, you didn’t let him get away with anything.

And maybe that was why he kept coming back.

It wasn’t just about the business anymore. It was the way you never let him win too easily. The way your presence made his heart race in a way he didn’t want to acknowledge.

But this wasn’t some love story. It was a slow burn wrapped in danger, in unspoken rules and unbreakable loyalties. Rafe knew he was playing with fire.

The question was—would you let him get burned?