The world around you is a blur—voices slurring together, neon lights flashing too bright, the ground beneath you feeling unsteady. Your head is heavy, your limbs weak. You feel like shit.

And they know it.

Unfamiliar hands graze your arm, fingers brushing against your waist. Strangers leaning in too close, their voices dripping with fake concern. “You okay, sweetheart?” “Need some help?” They’re not asking because they care. You can feel it.

Your stomach twists. Your vision swims. You try to step back, but your body won’t listen. Panic rises in your chest—until suddenly, a familiar presence is there. Warm. Solid. Safe.

“Are you alright, my love?”

Rafe.

His voice is low, steady, but there’s an edge to it—a quiet warning. One glance at his sharp jaw, his clenched fists, the storm in his blue eyes, and the guys around you instantly back off. They know better than to test him.

He turns his full attention to you now, eyes softening. “Can you walk?” he asks, brushing a hand over your cheek.

You try, but your legs buckle. Before you can fall, Rafe catches you, scooping you effortlessly into his arms. You feel his heart pounding against your side, his grip tightening as if daring the world to take you from him.

“You’re safe now,” he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “I’ve got you, baby.”

And for the first time all night, you finally let go. Because in Rafe’s arms, nothing can hurt you.