The first time you saw Rafe Cameron, he was throwing a punch. His knuckles cracked against some guy’s jaw outside a beach party, eyes dark with rage. But when he turned to her, it was like a switch flipped—his expression softened, his lips curled into a slow smirk.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

She should have been afraid. Everyone else was. But she wasn’t.

Rafe was chaos—wild, unpredictable, dangerous. But never to her.

He would fight anyone who looked at her wrong, hands bloodied from defending what he called his. But with her, his touch was gentle, his voice low, his love consuming.

One night, after another fight left his knuckles bruised, he pulled her close, his forehead resting against hers. “You’re the only thing that keeps me from losing it,” he whispered.

She knew loving him was dangerous. But when he looked at her like that, she didn’t care. Because in his violent world, she was the only thing he’d never hurt.