Rafe’s quiet voice interrupted the blissful, orgasmic dream I was having. I whimpered, wishing I could stay in the dream where his magic hands explored every inch of my body. I forced my eyes open and blinked several times, despite the scratchiness of my lids. Ugh. He’d kept me in a state of near euphoria for most of the night, my wrists clamped in one hand while he fondled my breasts with the other. I couldn’t remember the exact moment I’d relaxed enough to sleep, but once I fell into the dark pit of slumber, I’d managed to find oblivion.

Until now.

I sat up, my elbows depressing the mattress, and blinked again. Words spoken in low tones filtered in from beyond the ajar door. Soundlessly, I slid from the mattress until my feet touched the floor. I was naked, my body on full display from the beautiful tattoo that covered my belly to the ugly battle scars of my life, forever etched into my arms. I crossed them and tried to ward off the chill. My body missed his already, especially his warmth because it was freezing in here. I crept across the room, my teeth chattering, and stood like a statue behind the door, my heartbeat accelerating in my ears as Rafe’s words knocked the breath from me.

“Something kept her quiet all those years,” he said. “I’m not convinced she was only thinking of me. She even admitted to getting off on it.”

A few beats of silence passed before he spoke again. “I don’t know, Jax. There’s a fine line between love and hate. She threw me in that place for eight years because he told her to. That’s power.”

He was talking about Zach. I covered my mouth, the full context of his words sinking in. He was talking about Zach and me. Obviously, Rafe still blamed me for the hell I’d put him through. I thought he’d forgiven me, but maybe some things couldn’t be forgiven. I trailed my fingers over my throat, remembering the unrelenting grip of his fingers. His nightmares were my fault, would always be my fault. I pulled the door open and winced at the creak that sounded.

Rafe set his cell on the counter. “Morning,” he said, pouring what looked like strong coffee into a mug. His gaze lingered on me as he took a sip.

Parting my lips, I tried to say something.

What are you not telling me? Why were you talking about my brother?