A couple of them scoffed at the insult. Rafe heard the abrupt scrape of a chair in the instant he turned his attention away from them. He knew the attack was coming even before he felt the shift in the air as one of the Breed males launched himself at him from behind.
No surprise, it was Big Mouth. And shit—the asshole had a knife. It would have been buried in Rafe’s back if he hadn’t dodged the strike in the same moment his attacker lunged. Rafe grabbed the male’s wrist in the vise of his fist and twisted hard.
The male screamed and let go of his weapon.
Rafe caught the blade in his free hand, using the other to wrench his assailant’s arm around to his back. He could have snapped the limb with a flex of his wrist or turned the knife on its owner, but he wasn’t looking to do real harm to the Darkhaven punk or his friends, no matter how satisfying it might be.
He had escalated the situation for an audience of one.
And he had the guy’s full attention too.
While half of the bar cleared out in a hurry, a few panicked tourists shrieking as they fled to the street outside, the gangbangers remained. From Rafe’s peripheral, he saw their goateed leader watching as he calmly continued his game at the pool table.
Rafe increased the pressure on Big Mouth’s elbow joint, making him squawk for good measure. And yeah, because the bastard deserved a little pain.
He was just about to toss the male back at his companions when the bar’s front door opened. Another pair of Breed males strode inside, no doubt alerted to the trouble by the crowd pouring out of the place moments ago.
Rafe groaned inwardly.
Ah, fuck. Just what he didn’t need.
Jax and Elijah.
His two teammates—former teammates, as far as they knew—were suited up in patrol gear and armed to the teeth. Whatever they thought of him now, they were clearly shocked to find Rafe standing in the middle of Asylum holding a whimpering Breed civilian in one hand and a dagger in the other.
“What the fuck’s going on in here?” Eli’s low, Texas-tinged drawl was practically a snarl.
Jax’s ebony brows were drawn together over his dark, almond-shaped eyes. “This is the last place we expected to see you, Rafe.”
“No shit.” Last place he expected to see them too.
He didn’t miss the fact that one of Jax’s razor-sharp hira-shuriken glinted in the warrior’s hand, ready to let fly. The move to palm a throwing star was pure reflex for the lethal male, but this was the first time Rafe had ever stood in the crosshairs of his comrade’s cold skills.
Fortunately, the pair had arrived without Nathan, the team’s captain. As much as Rafe dreaded the thought of a confrontation with Eli or Jax, his odds of walking away in one piece would diminish drastically if the former Hunter were standing here with them.
“Good thing you showed up,” the bartender muttered from behind the counter. “This one’s been itching for a fight with someone since he got here.”
Rafe couldn’t deny it. The plan had been to cause a ruckus in front of the gang, make it known in a very public, even violent, way that he was no longer on the right side of the law.
He kept his hold on Big Mouth, only because his mind was busy formulating the best way to defuse the situation without unraveling his sole purpose for being there tonight.
Meanwhile, he was caught in an unwanted standoff with the two warriors he still considered his brothers.
“Let him go, asshole!”
The shouted command didn’t come from Eli or Jax, but rather one of Big Mouth’s buddies.
And the dumbfuck had the poor judgment to draw a gun from somewhere on his person. The shiny stainless-steel semiautomatic pistol wobbled in his grasp as the civilian vaulted up from his chair and squeezed the trigger at Rafe.
Or, tried to.
In that same moment, Jax’s hira-shuriken zipped through the air. It ripped into Dumbfuck’s forearm, knocking his aim off. The weapon fired a short spray of rounds toward the ceiling, the ricochets ringing over the beat of the music thumping on the sound system.
The two Order warriors moved quickly on the table of Darkhaven males. In seconds, they had them rounded up and searched for other weapons.
Eli strode up to Rafe and pulled Big Mouth out of his grasp, shoving the male over to his friends. Then he grabbed the dagger from Rafe.
“You’re already walking a razor-thin line, man. Don’t do something you can’t take back.”
His deep voice was level, but there was no mistaking the warning it carried. He turned back to the Darkhaven males. “As for the rest of you ladies, get your asses home before some jackass like the one over here wastes you just for being stupid.”
Rafe watched as Big Mouth and his friends shuffled out of Asylum. Jax followed behind them, but Eli lingered for another moment. He pinned Rafe with a grave stare.
“You know if the command ever comes down from Lucan to deal with you, we’re gonna have to carry it out.”
Rafe held his comrade’s sober gaze. He knew how he had to act right now, what he had to say. But knowing it and pushing the words off his tongue were two different things.
“You think I actually give a fuck anymore?” His mouth twisted from the bitter taste of the lie.
“No, man. I guess I don’t.” Eli frowned, then slowly shook his head on a curse. “So you’d better fucking watch yourself.”
He turned away then, and stalked out of the bar without a backward glance.
A few seconds after the Order was gone, a pained groan drew Rafe’s attention to the area near the pool table. One of the gangbangers pawed at his midsection in a frenzy, his face going ashen with shock.
“Oh, fuck! Cruz, I think I’m hit. Son of a bitch, I’m bleeding!”
The olfactory punch of fresh hemoglobin hit Rafe’s nostrils at the same time the scrawny man tore off his leather jacket to reveal a blooming red stain across his stomach.
Just fucking great.
Rafe’s fangs erupted in response. It was next to impossible for a Breed vampire not to react to the sensory blast of spilled blood. His eyes burned amber, his vision sharpening with the vertical narrowing of his pupils as everything Breed in him came to dangerous life.
The gangbanger’s wailing intensified. A couple of his companions gathered around him, including the one in charge. A few others moved farther away, including the pretty brunette who averted her gaze from her wounded comrade and wheeled away from the others as if she were on the verge of throwing up.
Behind him, the Breed bartender growled through his fangs. “Fucking hell. That son of a bitch is gonna bleed out in another minute.”
Rafe couldn’t pretend he actually cared. He glanced back at the human with the likely mortal gut wound and the grave faces of his comrades. A few more seconds was probably all the life their friend had left.
Rafe had been studying the hard-partying, petty-thieving crew for weeks, looking for a way to win their attention—and their trust. The plan he’d put together with Lucan and Sterling Chase required patience he didn’t really have. Maybe this unscripted opportunity might be his best chance to grease the wheels of his mission.
Rafe glanced down at his hands. He’d been born with his mother’s gift for healing. As much as he hated to use his personal ability on vermin like these, it would all be worth it if it got him closer to his ultimate goal: the destruction of Opus Nostrum and everyone loyal to their cause.