Rafe knew you were fond of those fucking pogues, but Jesus fucking Christ, he never knew you'd be so stupid. To betray his family? To betray him? He—it was their fault. Those lowlifes, those Pogues. They corrupted you, they made you just as bad as them.

Maybe he was acting too much like his father. God, he knew he was acting too much like his father, he shouldn't—But it was the right thing to do, Rafe presumed.

"Them?" He could've cried, his blue eyes lingering on yours as he cradled your face in a tight grip, having you pinned against the wall. "You—you're not fucking dumb, honey, you're not," he tapped your forehead with his finger, "That fucking head of yours," he breathed out.

The thought of locking you in one of the rooms passed his mind, but he doesn't think he could bring himself to stoop to the level of his father literally.

"You can't do this shit," he slammed his hand against the wall, letting out a bit of a scream as he then runs his hands through his curls, "we would've been perfect. Us! The gold, the fucking cross, baby."

Rafe would've gone on his fucking knees to beg you to go back and not have done what you'd done. But he loves you, and he can't stay mad, but—you were practically a traitor.