Page 38 of Disciplined: His Forbidden Crush

“Special” wasn’t the word Rafael would have chosen for Summer, but he didn’t disagree. Instead, he just stared at Coco, his dark eyes unreadable.

“Summer’s had a sheltered life,” Coco continued, her voice softer now. “He’s soft. He doesn’t understand how the world really works. You know, the dark shit.”

If Rafael hadn’t known she had guessed what he was, this would have made it clear. But it was also clear that she knew nothing about Summer’s past.

“Summer knows enough,” he said, his voice low and firm.

This time when he turned away, she didn’t try to stop him.

On the stairs, Rafael mulled over what she’d said. It was true that Summer had grown up in the middle of a violent cartel, but he’d also been sheltered from the worst of it. That dichotomy—knowing the ugliness of their world but never truly experiencing it—made Summer both tougher and more delicate than Rafael had ever really considered.

It made sense. He was the way he was because of this. And to grow up in that world a lover of men and fine things…Rafael swore under his breath. No wonder Summer was so desperate to get out.

These thoughts consumed him on the walk back to the shitty car. The streets were darker now, tending toward sunset. Rafael should have been on guard, but his thoughts distracted him. If he’d been paying attention, he might have had some warning.

But the first hint of trouble he caught was a voice calling “Medina!” from a slow-rolling car beside him.

His blood ran cold as he recognized the sneering face of Alan Voigt hanging out of the passenger side of the vehicle. Voigt was a tall, broad-shouldered man with an SS lightning bolts tattoo on his neck. A white nationalist Aryan, and an all-round prick.

“Voigt,” Rafael acknowledged cautiously, trying to keep his expression neutral.

They’d clashed in prison, hated each other on sight. Once, Rafael had walked into the showers only to find Voigt waiting for him. They’d fought then, a brutal, bloody struggle that ended with Rafael choking Voigt until he passed out. Another time, Voigt had tried to shank him in the line for dinner. Rafael had flattened his nose for him. By the look of it, he had never got it fixed.

“Still alive, huh?” Voigt taunted with a scowl. “Well, we can fix that.”

“We’re both on parole,” Rafael said cautiously, deciding to take the high road. “Neither of us wants to get sent back.”

“Aw, don’t tell me you’ve gone soft, Medina,” Voigt sneered, leaning out the car window. “You scared?”

“Even if you beat me, Los Hermanos will find you,“ Rafael warned in a low growl. “You won’t last long.”

Voigt laughed, a cruel sound that iced Rafael’s gut. “Not if we kill you before you squeal.” Two more men climbed out of the car, cracking their knuckles menacingly.

“Shit,” Rafael muttered under his breath, cursing himself for leaving his gun in the car. The odds were against him, but he had no choice. He clenched his fists, adrenaline surging through him. This was it. This was real life, the kind Coco had been talking about.

Rafael’s life, and he could never escape it.

As the two men flanked Voigt, Rafael’s instincts kicked into high gear. There was no room for error in this fight, and he knew that to survive, he had to be merciless.

The first thug lunged at Rafael, swinging a wild punch that Rafael deftly ducked under. Using his opponent’s momentum against him, Rafael grabbed the man’s arm, twisted it sharply, and kicked out his knee. With a sickening pop, the man’s knee dislocated, sending him howling to the ground.

Without skipping a beat, Rafael turned to face the second attacker, who came at him with a flurry of vicious blows. Rafael couldn’t dodge them all, the guy was too fucking fast. He took a hit to the mouth, another to the cheek. But Rafael managed to land a strike to the man’s jaw, sending him reeling backward. A hard blow from behind made Rafael stagger—Voigt had punched him in the kidneys like a coward. Rafael swung wildly, and Voigt skipped back a step, grinning like a madman.

“Slow, bitch,” Voigt said.

Rafael said nothing, merely set his feet. He had to keep an eye on the other guy, who was circling round, waiting for an opening.

Voigt came for him. Rafael skipped sideways. He felt the other man duck behind him, his arms coming around to grab Rafael. But this was not the first time someone had tried that. Rafael seized the man’s arms and braced his feet, slamming his skull into the man’s face. Then he bent his knees and his back, shifting their center of gravity, and reached up to flip the guy over his shoulders.

The man’s head hit the concrete with a sickening sound, and he went still.

“Is that all you got?” Rafael growled, glaring at Voigt, blood dripping down his chin. The pain in his kidneys would hit later, but for now adrenaline washed it away.

Voigt sneered, his eyes filled with hate. “You’re going to regret this,” he spat before launching himself at Rafael.

They traded brutal punches. Despite the pain, Rafael felt alive, invigorated by the violence. It felt so familiar, it was almost good. But he knew he couldn’t afford to let this fight drag on any longer.

And then Voigt caught him in the skull. He felt a struck bell, his vision gone shaky and wild. Rafael stumbled. He shook himself, feeling the shadow of death over him. If he faltered now, Voigt would kill him, he knew it. He would never see Summer again.

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