Deception. Betrayal. Mistrust.
It seems the closer Rayne gets to the truth, the more she finds herself wanting to run away from it. It's complex and terrifying-more than she ever fathomed.
New family members, good and bad, pop out at her like a br...
Ops! Esta imagem não segue as nossas directrizes de conteúdo. Para continuares a publicar, por favor, remova-a ou carrega uma imagem diferente.
TWO WEEKS LATER: 𝗥ueben held the golden-embroidered glass door to the police station open for Rayne before being consumed by the air-conditioned interior himself. Constant chatter, buzz, and the monologue chirp of desk phones greeted them like a well-oiled machine.
He watched the way Rayne's hands ran up and down her biceps, trying to hinder the goosebumps raising along her summer-kissed skin, and somehow, he knew it had nothing to do with the temperature change.
When he lifted his vision, the reasoning had them halting just a few steps away from the door. The tension was palpable—so thick he could slice it with the knife hidden in the sheath above the cusp of his high-top sneakers. Unfamiliar eyes and blame-filled questions slammed into their chests as the faces of sworn officers sneakily shot glares in their direction.
Ever since Niccolió Moreno—formally known as Asher Moore—was outed as the rat, Los Angeles Police had little to no reputation, nor public respect. Having a murderous traitor hidden in their forces, best friends with the late Chief of Police did little to garner anything but trepidation.
And if that wasn't bad enough, every time someone associated with the Torres name walked into this building, they were met with blooming feelings of disgust and hatred, as if they were the sole cause of Jonah Myles's murder—as if his involvement hadn't been personal.
"Ignore them," he whispered.
"Kind of hard when they're glaring."
Rueben shook his head and took a step forward. He could handle being made the villain—he'd done it his entire life, but when they directed that anger toward the people he loved, especially Rayne, who'd done nothing but fight for her brother's life—that was where he drew the line.
"Do you have anything to say?" he spoke to the room, "Because if you don't, kindly fuck off."
"Rueben!" Rayne grabbed his arm, hushing him.
She wasn't quick enough.
At the sound of his voice, interns, complainants, and police officers alike stopped their casual strolling and faced him, not bothering to hide their contempt. Rueben merely crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows, offering nothing more than a dare—a dare to speak up.
"Stop it," a new voice demanded.
Rueben managed to peel his eyes away from the twitching mouths of state workers to view the person who'd broken the silence, even if it was to lessen the tension. Auden gave him a small shake of her head, unnoticeable to anyone but him, before directing her hawk-like stare at the members of her police force.
When Jonah died, as second-in-command, she was acting interim Chief.
"Get back to work, now," she snapped, "And stop patronizing the Torres family."
Rayne twisted her engagement ring and ducked her head, not interested in being the center of attention as Auden beckoned them to follow her. As soon as they passed through the back doors, he slipped his fingers between hers, stopping her hesitation and anxiety before it consumed her.
