Disarm / Rafe Cameron

00. You Get What You Give

"What the hell are you guys doing here?" she threw the sponge down on the ground, pocketing her phone and wrapping up her earbuds.

"Saving you," John B smiled, and Layne shook her head, taking the bucket of—now bloodied— water off the boat and giving it to JJ, who emptied it in the water. "Well, 'save me' by helping me pump out," she nodded her head to the empty bucket. "Fill that with water," she ordered as she put on her gloves. "Yes ma'am," JJ saluted, and Layne rolled her eyes.

"You look red as hell," John B teased as Layne unraveled the pump from a few feet away. "Shut up and unscrew the cap," she pushed his shoulder before turning on the hose valve. It was quite, save for the humming of the pump engine, before Layne noticed the sound of a boat arriving way too close to the dock. JJ returned with the bucket of water like he just cured cancer, and Layne handed off the hose to John B. "Who the fuck is that?" she muttered, narrowing her eyes a bit to make out Rafe Cameron and his gang of dickheads stumbling around the outside of his daddy's yacht and heading towards the marina. Layne shook her head. "Motherfuckers. Hold this. Once you see no more waste coming through, turning this valve off and place the tip of the pump in the water and replace the cap, alright?" she pat John B on the back, who stared at JJ who was too busy cracking his knuckles as if he was going to fight the kooks in their own territory. Layne pushed his head away. "Relax, McGregor. Go help Johnny Boy,"

"Don't call me that!" John B yelled out after her, as she jogged toward the space to which Rafe planned on docking the boat, and she waved her arms to stop them. "Hey! Hey! Stop!" she called out, making a cutting motion to her neck. "Turn the goddamn boat around! You can't dock here!" Layne cupped her hands around her mouth, but none of them listened. Rafe stood at the end of the boat, hands crossed over his chest. "Can you help us out?" he yelled, grabbing the rope and tossing it over to the deck, but a boy Layne knew to be Kelce, and the others she didn't recognize, were already tying them down.

"You can't dock here," Layne muttered, her voice a bit lower than before. For some reason her heart stammered in her chest—maybe she was still a tad bit frightened of Rafe. The way he was staring at her also didn't help, his pupils dilated and a sheen layer of sweat over his skin. He kept sniffing and rubbing his face and nose, and Layne tried hard not to look into it. It wasn't unknown that kooks were, for the most part, a bunch of coke junkies—Layne tried not to believe it, but when you have the money for it, it wasn't a surprise. She noticed his chest heaving with rapid breaths. He blinked aggressively.

"What're you staring at me so much for, girl?" Rafe spat, sounding paranoid, and he sniffed harder.

"You—you can't dock here. Like I said,"

He narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms firmly over his chest. "What d'you mean we can't dock here? Do you know who I am?" Rafe fidgeted even more, readjusting his baseball cap on his blonde hair that looked as though someone had poured a bucket of grease over it. Layne was never a fan of him, but still found herself worried he might strangle her if he didn't get his way. Maybe that made her more interested in him, but she'd be caught dead before she ever admitted to it.

"It doesn't matter who you are. Dock's closed,"

"It's 5 o'clock,"

"Exactly,"

Layne shifted to put her hands on her hips, and she noticed Rafe mirroring her. She wasn't sure if it was out of mockery or coincidence, but either way, she wasn't having it. "Listen, the only way you could dock here is if you have your paperwork. I mean, don't you have a dock at your house?"