Page 9 of Disciplined: His Forbidden Crush

“What are you doing here?” Summer asked, trying to maintain some semblance of control over his heartrate.

“What, like you can’t guess?” Rafael replied with a smirk that kicked Summer’s pulse up a notch.

Summer wet his lip, his mind racing. When he’d been younger, he had looked up to Rafael as some kind of hero, the archetype of what a man should be. He remembered how miserable he had been for months after Rafael’s arrest. His father had told him to man up instead of acting like a child, but the ache in his heart had been too powerful to ignore. He recalled spending countless nights crying into his pillow, smothering the sound so his father would never know.

It had forced him to confront reality. He didn’t want to be Rafael. No, he wanted something quite different.

Every night he had been able to picture every detail of Rafael’s face—his chiseled jawline, the rough stubble that adorned it, and the tantalizing patch of skin visible in the open collar of his shirt. Those images had burned themselves into Summer’s mind, igniting a fire under his skin and forcing him to admit to himself that he was, despite how much he’d tried not to be, attracted to men, and men alone.

Now, the Rafael of the present studied him, his intense gaze making Summer squirm. The reality of his presence was like a drug. Summer wanted to grip him and never let go, to confess, I missed you. Are you all right? I’ve never forgotten you.

But—No, he told himself, struggling to maintain some semblance of control. He’s not the same man you knew before. You can’t trust him.

“So, you can’t guess?” Rafael’s smile was darkly suggestive, but Summer couldn’t let himself think it meant what he wanted it to. “Why else would I be here, Veranito? What could I possibly want with you?”

Summer shivered despite the warmth of the day. What could Rafael possibly want? What do I wish he wanted?

But that was impossible. Summer fixed Rafael with a sneer. “My father sent you.”

“That’s right,” Rafael said with relish. “I’ve come to take you home.”

A dark cloud of anger settled over Summer as he stared at Rafael. It was as if Rafael didn’t even care that they hadn’t seen each other in five years. Five years. God, it seemed like Rafael hadn’t even missed him at all.

And why would he? I was a child. Why would he care?

Logically, he knew that he had never meant as much to Rafael as Rafael meant to him, but it stung. No, it cut deep, wounding him in a place where he felt it keenly.

The admission that Rafael was only here on his father’s orders to drag him home was the last straw; Summer broke.

“Fuck off,” Summer spat, his voice shaking with rage. “I’m not going anywhere, and you can tell my father to go fuck himself.”

Rafael’s expression sharpened like a knife, and for a moment, Summer thought he saw something dangerous flicker behind those dark eyes. “Watch your mouth when you speak of your father. Show some respect.”

Summer clenched his fists, trying to control his temper. “I’m not going back to Colombia to live in that stifling compound. I have a life here, and I want nothing to do with the cartel any longer. I won’t set one foot outside this apartment, and that’s final.”

The laugh that escaped Rafael’s lips chilled Summer’s gut. With a swift movement, Rafael plucked the keys from Summer’s hand, pocketing them as if they belonged to him.

“Very well,” Rafael agreed, his voice dropping to a deep rumble. “It’s agreed. You won’t be leaving this apartment any time soon, Veranito.”

Summer’s heart leapt, dread clawing at his insides. What could that mean? He won’t kill me. Rafael would never, and my father would never allow it.

But was that true?

He struggled to maintain his composure, glaring at Rafael with all the venom he could muster. “Give me my keys back,” he demanded, his voice wavering just slightly.

But Rafael only smirked, a cruel glint in his eyes. “You said it yourself. You’re not leaving this apartment. Seems to me you don’t need these keys.”

“Give me my fucking keys back, Rafael!” Summer snarled, his anger boiling over as he reached for the pocket where Rafael had stashed them.

Rafael’s hand shot out like a viper, grabbing Summer’s wrist tightly and stopping him in his tracks. The sudden, painful pressure made Summer gasp, and he stared up at Rafael with wide eyes, fear slicing through him like a razor blade.

“Watch yourself, Veranito,” Rafael warned, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re not a child anymore, so don’t act like one.”

“Let go of me,” Summer whispered, his voice shaking. To his surprise, Rafael complied, releasing his grip. His expression remained hard and unyielding, though.

“Sit down on the couch,” Rafael ordered.

“Fuck you,” Summer retorted, lifting his chin stubbornly. “You won’t do anything to me. My father would be furious.”

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