「 ✦ ASSULT WITH A CLUB✦ 」

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THE HOUSE WAS QUIET,  but MJ's mind was screaming. Every nerve in her body buzzed as if electricity coursed through her veins, sharp and erratic. The drugs hadn't just dulled her senses; they'd warped them. Her vision blurred and stretched, shadows in the corners of Rafe's pristine living room seemed to flicker and breathe. She dug her nails into the couch cushions, trying to anchor herself, but the velvet felt like sand slipping through her fingers.

Rafe stood up, pacing the room. His movements seemed to blur, his figure stretching like a nightmare. MJ couldn't tell if it was the drugs or if something about him truly loomed darker tonight. His voice came through, muffled and distorted like he was speaking underwater.

"Do you even know what you took?" Rafe asked sharply, his face twisting with a mix of anger and curiosity. When MJ didn't respond, his jaw tightened, and he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Rosemary, answer me."

Her eyes fluttered, unfocused, her breathing shallow. "I don't—" she stammered, her words slurring. "Zaza... Kenyon... I didn't want to, but they—"

"They pressured you," Rafe cut her off, his tone mocking. "Is that the story you're going with? Or was this just you being stupid?" He released her chin, shoving her face back toward the cushions. She felt like a doll in his hands, her body limp and unresponsive. "Do you even realize how close you are to an overdose right now?"

His words barely registered. Her heart felt like it was beating out of her chest, and yet, at the same time, everything felt agonizingly slow. MJ whimpered, clutching her arm, the pain from her earlier injury flaring up as the drugs made her hyper-aware of it.

"I can't... I can't breathe," she gasped, clawing at her throat, her pupils blown wide.

Rafe crouched in front of her, gripping her shoulders. "Stop it," he snapped, shaking her lightly. "You're breathing. It's the drugs messing with your head. You're not dying. Not yet."

Her head lolled forward, and she leaned into his chest, her body trembling violently. For a moment, Rafe didn't push her away. His hand came up, almost instinctively, to steady her. He rubbed her back, the gesture mechanical and cold, like he was calming a wild animal.

"You're a mess, you know that?" he muttered, his voice laced with disdain. "But I'm not gonna let you die in my house. Not tonight."

MJ's vision doubled, then tripled. The walls seemed to ripple like waves, the expensive paintings and decor warping into grotesque shapes. "Rafe... they're here," she whispered, her voice hollow and trembling. Her gaze darted to the doorway, where she swore she saw figures standing, their faces shrouded in shadows.

"There's no one here," Rafe said firmly, his voice cutting through her delusions.

"They're here," MJ insisted, her voice rising in panic. She tried to push herself off the couch, her movements erratic and uncoordinated, but Rafe shoved her back down.

"Enough," he growled, pinning her in place. His grip was firm, and for a moment, his eyes met hers. Something was unsettling in his gaze—part frustration, part something darker.

The drugs surged through her again, a fresh wave of nausea and euphoria mixing in her stomach. She turned her head and vomited onto the floor, the acidic taste burning her throat. Rafe recoiled, swearing under his breath as he stood up.

"Christ, Rosemary," he muttered, grabbing a towel from a nearby chair and tossing it at her. "Clean yourself up."

But MJ didn't move. She couldn't. Her body felt like it was sinking into the couch, the world around her spinning faster and faster.

Rafe sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "I should've left you at that party," he muttered, though his tone lacked conviction. He crouched down again, wiping her face roughly with the towel.

As he cleaned her up, MJ's mind drifted in and out of focus. The edges of her vision darkened, and her thoughts became fragmented. She heard snippets of Rafe's voice, sharp and cutting, but the words didn't make sense.

When she finally came to, she was in his bedroom. The dim light from a single lamp cast long shadows across the walls. She was lying on his bed, her body trembling uncontrollably. Her arm throbbed, her veins feeling like they were on fire.

Rafe sat in a chair by the door, his arms crossed as he watched her. His expression was unreadable, a mix of annoyance and something colder.

"Welcome back," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

MJ tried to sit up, but her head spun, and she collapsed back onto the pillows. "Why... why are you doing this?" she mumbled, her voice weak.

"Because, MJ," Rafe said, leaning forward, "you owe people money. And if you don't pay up, they're not just coming for you. They'll come for everyone you care about. Including me. And I don't like having targets on my back."

His words hit her like a punch to the gut. She stared at him, her vision blurring again as tears welled up in her eyes. "I didn't mean for this to happen," she whispered, her voice breaking.

Rafe scoffed, standing up and pacing the room. "Yeah, well, intentions don't mean shit in this world, MJ. You better figure out how to clean up your mess before it swallows you whole."

As he spoke, MJ's mind drifted again, the drugs pulling her back into the dark. But even in her haze, Rafe's words echoed in her ears, a grim reminder of the hole she'd dug herself into—and the man standing over her, holding the shovel.

Morning came slowly, dragging light through the heavy curtains of Rafe's bedroom. MJ stirred, her body aching and foreign, the dull throb of her injured arm the only thing tethering her to reality. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, her mouth dry and bitter. When her eyes finally fluttered open, the room spun slightly, but she managed to focus on Rafe sitting at the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone.

"You're alive, Rosemary," he said flatly, not even glancing up.

The name hit her like a punch to the gut. It was something he called her when he wanted to remind her how far from herself she'd fallen—how much of the girl she once was had withered away.

MJ pushed herself up with her good arm, her body trembling from the effort. "Barely," she croaked, her voice raw.

Rafe stood up, tossing his phone onto a chair. "You've looked better," he said, his tone cutting but not cruel. He crossed the room, handing her a glass of water. "Drink. You'll feel less like death."

She took the glass with shaking hands, spilling some as she brought it to her lips. The cool water soothed her dry throat, but the relief was fleeting. Her mind raced with fragmented memories of the night before—the drugs, the dealers, the suffocating fear. Her stomach churned at the thought, and she set the glass down before she could drop it.

"I can't go back," MJ whispered, her voice barely audible.

Rafe's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

She looked at him, her eyes wide and glassy. "I can't go back to the Cut. I can't let JJ see me like this. He'll know something's wrong, and I can't—" Her voice cracked, and she buried her face in her hands, shaking her head. "I can't let him see me like this."

Rafe stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're a mess, Rosemary. You can't just hide here forever."

"Just for a little while," she pleaded, her voice desperate. "Please, Rafe. I just need time to... to figure things out. To fix this."

He scoffed, crossing his arms. "Fix this? Do you even know where to start? You still owe those guys money, and now they know you're not just a liability—you're a problem. They're not gonna forget about you, Rosemary."

"I know," she said, her voice trembling. "But I can't face JJ right now. Not like this."

Rafe's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. For a moment, it looked like he was going to argue, but then he sighed again, shaking his head. "Fine. You can stay here. But don't think for a second that I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart. You're on borrowed time, Rosemary. You better figure out how to make this right before it gets worse."

She nodded weakly, her eyes filled with gratitude and fear. "Thank you," she whispered.

Rafe didn't respond. He grabbed his phone and left the room, muttering something under his breath about needing a cigarette.

Alone in the silence, MJ pulled her knees to her chest, her injured arm cradled against her body. The weight of her situation pressed down on her like a suffocating blanket. She'd never felt so lost, so broken.

But even in her haze, one thought stood out clearly: she couldn't let JJ see her like this. Whatever it took, she had to protect him from the mess she'd become—even if it meant burying herself deeper in the darkness.

The door creaked open, and Rafe leaned casually against the frame, his sharp eyes locking onto MJ with a look that made her insides twist. She was still curled up on the bed, clutching the blanket like it could somehow shield her from the world—or him.

"Alright, Rosemary," he began, his tone cool and clipped, "here's how this is gonna go. I've got plans today, and I'm not about to let your... little predicament screw with them."

MJ blinked, her head still foggy and pounding from the drugs. "What are you talking about?" she mumbled, her voice raspy.

"We're going golfing," Rafe said simply, stepping further into the room. "Me, you, and Topper. Don't give me that look—it's not up for debate."

Her stomach flipped. "Rafe, I can't—"

"Yeah, you can," he interrupted sharply, his expression hardening. "You're coming. You can either sit here feeling sorry for yourself, or you can get up, clean yourself up, and pretend you've got your shit together for a couple of hours. Either way, you're not staying here. Not my problem if you're in a mood."

"I'm not in a mood," she snapped weakly, though her voice cracked at the end, giving her away.

Rafe smirked, tilting his head. "Sure you're not, Rosemary. But here's the deal: you come willingly, or I make a phone call. Maybe I let your 'friends' know where to find you. Think they'll just forget what you owe them?"

Her breath hitched. "You wouldn't."

He crouched down, levelling her with an icy stare. The smirk faded, replaced with something far darker. "Try me, Rosemary. I don't bluff. Those guys? They know who you are, and they know you're in debt. Do you think you can hide from them? Do you think you're safe on your own? You're not. But lucky for you, I don't feel like cleaning up that mess today. So, you're coming with me. Simple."

She stared at him, her heart hammering. Every word he said struck true. She wasn't safe. Not from the dealers. Not from Rafe. Not from herself.

"Fine," she muttered, the word barely audible.

"Good girl," he said, standing back up. His tone was dripping with condescension, his smirk returning as he crossed his arms. "Shower. Get dressed. And, for the love of God, try not to look like you've just crawled out of hell. We leave in thirty."

The door clicked shut behind him, and MJ let out a shaky breath. Every muscle in her body ached, and the sharp ache in her bandaged arm made her wince. She wanted to crawl under the covers and disappear, but she knew that wasn't an option. Not now.

Dragging herself out of bed, she stumbled to the bathroom. The shower was scalding, stinging her skin as it washed away the grime of the night before. She caught her reflection in the mirror and winced. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face pale and hollow. She barely recognized herself.

When she emerged, dressed in a simple sundress that Rafe had tossed onto a chair, she felt no better. The heavy fog in her chest lingered, the shame and exhaustion woven into her every thought.

Rafe was waiting by the door, golf bag slung over one shoulder. He glanced her over with a quick, appraising look before his lips twisted into a smirk.

"Not bad, Rosemary. You might even pass for a functioning human being," he said, holding the door open. "Let's go."

She hesitated, her feet feeling glued to the floor. But she forced herself to move, shuffling past him and into the blinding sunlight.

"See? Not so hard, is it?" he remarked, closing the door behind them as he led the way to his truck.

MJ didn't answer, keeping her gaze fixed on the gravel. Her arm throbbed beneath the bandage, and her thoughts swirled in chaotic loops. She didn't know how she was going to get through the day—or how she was ever going to fix the mess her life had become. All she knew was that Rafe wasn't letting her out of his sight, and for now, she was trapped in his world, whether she liked it or not.

────

Rafe drove with one hand on the wheel, the other drumming against the side of the door. The radio played faintly in the background, but MJ barely heard it. Her mind was a mess of static, the events of the last 24 hours clawing at her like sharp edges she couldn't avoid.

Her stomach churned as the truck rolled into the country club parking lot. The sight of immaculately trimmed greens and pristine white carts felt almost insulting, a stark contrast to the wreckage of her reality. She glanced down at her bandaged arm, tugging at the sleeve of her sundress to hide it as much as possible.

Rafe parked and got out, tossing the keys to a valet without a second thought. "Come on, Rosemary," he said over his shoulder, his tone carrying that same edge of authority that made her stomach twist.

She trailed behind him, her steps heavy and hesitant. Her head still swam from the lingering effects of whatever had been forced into her system last night. Every noise, and every glare of sunlight felt amplified, grating on her frayed nerves.

As they approached the clubhouse, two familiar figures came into view. Topper was leaning casually against the back of a golf cart, a smug grin plastered on his face, while Kelce was mid-laugh about something MJ couldn't hear. When their eyes landed on her, the amusement froze, replaced by confusion.

"Uh... what the hell?" Topper straightened, his gaze bouncing between Rafe and MJ. "What's she doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, Top," Rafe said smoothly, completely unbothered. He dropped his golf bag onto the cart and grabbed a driver, giving it a once-over before adding, "MJ's joining us today."

Kelce squinted at MJ like she was a riddle he couldn't quite figure out. "Since when does she golf?"

MJ stood frozen, her mouth dry, unsure of what to say. Her presence was clearly out of place, and she felt like an intruder in their world.

Rafe finally turned to her, smirking. "Rosemary here's my guest. She needed a little... fresh air."

Topper's brow furrowed. "You're serious? Her?" He waved a hand vaguely in MJ's direction, his disbelief evident. "She doesn't even look like she knows what day it is, man."

"Exactly why she's here," Rafe shot back sharply, his voice lowering just enough to make both Topper and Kelce flinch. "She needed a change of scenery. You got a problem with that?"

Kelce quickly shook his head, raising his hands in surrender. "Nah, no problem. Just... wasn't expecting her, that's all."

Topper muttered something under his breath, but he let it go, slinging his bag onto the cart and climbing into the driver's seat. Kelce followed, still throwing sideways glances at MJ.

Rafe turned back to her, his smirk returning. "See? They're thrilled to have you." He placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the second cart. The gesture wasn't comforting—it was possessive, a silent reminder of who was in control.

MJ climbed into the cart silently, her head low. Every moment felt surreal like she was watching herself from outside her body. She didn't belong here, not with them, not in this world. But she had no choice. Not with Rafe's threat hanging over her like a blade.

As Rafe slid into the seat beside her, his hand briefly brushed her bandaged arm. She flinched involuntarily, and his eyes flicked to hers, sharp and calculating.

"Relax, Rosemary," he said, his voice dripping with mock reassurance. "You'll have fun. I promise."

MJ didn't answer. The cart jolted forward as Rafe hit the gas, and she gripped the edge of the seat, bracing herself for whatever came next.

The golf cart skidded to a halt at the first hole, dust kicking up around the tires. MJ stumbled out, her legs shaky from both the lingering effects of the drugs and the uneasy ride. Rafe was already unloading his clubs, looking annoyingly at ease, like this was just another day for him. For her, it was anything but.

Topper and Kelce strolled over from their cart, their energy casual, though their sharp stares betrayed the judgment already bubbling under the surface. Kelce gave her an obvious once-over, his lip twitching into something close to a sneer.

"Seriously, Rafe?" Kelce said, loudly enough for her to hear. "You couldn't have left her at the Wreck or something? She's killing the vibe."

MJ's jaw tightened, her instinct to snap back rising like bile in her throat. But she bit it down, knowing Rafe would twist it against her if she made a scene.

"Kelce," Rafe said, his tone low and amused as he pulled a club from his bag. "I don't remember asking for your opinion."

Kelce's smirk faltered, but only for a second. He laughed it off, turning to Topper for backup.

Topper, always one to double down, grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Nah, Kelce's got a point. She looks... rough. Like, it's rough. You okay, MJ? Or did Rafe drag you out of the gutter for this little field trip?"

MJ's chest tightened. "I'm fine," she said shortly, her voice quieter than she intended.

Topper let out a mocking whistle. "Touchy. Someone must've had a long night. Or a long week."

Kelce snorted, clearly entertained. "Don't worry, MJ. We'll keep the pace slow. Wouldn't want you passing out on the green or something."

"Enough," Rafe snapped suddenly, his voice cutting through their taunts like a whip. He turned to MJ, his expression unreadable but his tone sharp. "Ignore them, Rosemary. They're just bored."

"Yeah," Topper muttered under his breath. "Bored of this already."

Rafe shot him a glare, but MJ could feel the tension simmering under his skin. It wasn't anger on her behalf—it never was. It was irritation at the inconvenience, at how their mockery made him look.

"Let's tee off," Rafe said, dismissing the conversation as he strolled toward the first hole. "MJ, you're with me. Topper, Kelce, figure out who's going next."

MJ followed Rafe silently, her head low, wishing she could vanish into the manicured grass.

As she stood by Rafe, watching him line up his shot, Kelce leaned in closer to Topper, speaking just loud enough for her to overhear. "Bet she owes someone. That's what this is, right? She's tagging along because she's in deep."

"Obviously," Topper murmured back. "Rafe's probably bailing her out of something. Fucking Maybanks always. They're like like a stray dog, always crawling back."

MJ's hands clenched into fists at her sides. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to defend herself—but she couldn't. She felt trapped, helpless under their cruel words, like every inch of power she once had had been stripped away.

Rafe straightened after his shot, smirking as the ball landed perfectly on the fairway. "Your turn, Rosemary," he said, holding out the club to her.

MJ hesitated, feeling the weight of all their eyes on her. "I don't know how to—"

"Just swing," Rafe interrupted, his tone cold. "It's not rocket science."

MJ stepped up to the tee, gripping the club tightly with trembling hands. Her vision blurred slightly, her head pounding. She swung, missing the ball entirely.

Kelce burst into laughter. "Oh, this is going to be good. We should've brought popcorn."

Topper smirked, leaning against his club. "Careful, MJ. You might hurt yourself. Again."

"Shut up," Rafe barked, his sharp tone finally silencing them. He grabbed the club from MJ's hands, his grip tight enough to make her wince. "You're embarrassing yourself. Go sit in the cart if you can't handle it."

Her chest tightened with humiliation, but she didn't argue. She turned and walked back to the cart, each step feeling heavier than the last. She climbed into the seat and sat there, staring blankly at the course as the boys continued their game, their laughter and easy camaraderie a harsh contrast to her spiralling thoughts.

She didn't belong here. She didn't belong anywhere. And the worst part was, she couldn't even leave. Not when Rafe held every thread of control over her fragile existence.

MJ sat slumped in the golf cart, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap as the boys' voices carried across the course. Rafe was laughing loudly with Kelce, clearly having moved past whatever momentary irritation her presence had caused. Topper, however, had been throwing sharp glances her way all morning, his smirk cutting deeper every time their eyes met.

Eventually, Topper wandered back toward the cart during a lull in the game, his cocky stride making her stomach churn. She didn't like the way he was looking at her—like she was some sort of punchline, a toy for his amusement.

"So, MJ," he started, leaning casually against the cart, though the malice in his tone was anything but casual. "You just tagging along for the fun, or is Rafe keeping you on a leash these days? What's the deal?"

MJ glanced up at him, her jaw tightening. "I'm here because Rafe wanted me here. Not that it's any of your business."

"Oh, it's my business," Topper sneered, stepping closer, his shadow falling over her. "See, we're all wondering what it is you bring to the table. Because from where I'm standing, you're just dead weight. A little junkie with no purpose."

Her heart pounded in her chest, her fists clenching as she fought to stay calm. Topper tilted his head, his grin widening when he saw the flash of anger in her eyes.

"Rafe might have a soft spot for strays, but not me. I call it like I see it." He leaned in closer, his breath hot and invasive. "And what I see is someone who doesn't belong here. So why don't you do everyone a favour and—"

Before he could finish, MJ's patience snapped. Her eyes darted to the golf club Rafe had left leaning against the cart. Without thinking, she grabbed it, gripping it tightly as she stood up.

"Topper," she said, her voice cold and steady, "you need to back off. Now."

Topper scoffed, leaning in even closer, his confidence bordering on stupidity. "Or what? Are you gonna cry? Maybe run off to Rafe for protection?"

MJ didn't hesitate. She swung the club upward in a sharp arc, aiming directly for his crotch. The sound of impact was sickeningly satisfying, a dull thud that sent Topper crumpling to the ground like a sack of bricks.

He let out a strangled gasp, his hands clutching at his groin as he writhed on the grass. Kelce and Rafe, hearing the commotion, turned just in time to see Topper's collapse.

"Jesus Christ!" Kelce shouted, running over. "What the hell, MJ?"

Rafe approached slowly, his expression somewhere between amused and annoyed. He glanced at Topper, then at MJ, who still held the club like a weapon.

"Rosemary," Rafe said, his voice low and measured. "What the hell was that?"

MJ's chest heaved as she stared down at Topper, who was still groaning on the ground. "He wouldn't shut up," she spat. "He got in my face, and I'm done letting people treat me like garbage."

Rafe studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to her surprise, he smirked.

"Well," he said, "I can't say he didn't deserve it."

Kelce gaped at him. "Are you serious, man? She just—"

"Shut up, Kelce," Rafe snapped, cutting him off. He turned back to MJ, his smirk fading into something more serious. "Get in the cart, Rosemary. Now."

MJ hesitated but eventually dropped the club and climbed back into the passenger seat. Rafe leaned down, grabbing Topper by the arm and hauling him upright.

"Pull it together," Rafe hissed at him. "You're embarrassing yourself."

Topper glared at MJ through watery eyes, but he didn't say a word.

Rafe climbed into the driver's seat and started the cart, pulling away from the scene without another glance at Kelce or Topper. The air between them was thick with tension, but MJ didn't care. For the first time in a long time, she felt a flicker of pride, even if it was short-lived.

"You've got some nerve," Rafe said after a while, his tone almost impressed.

"Yeah," MJ muttered, leaning her head back against the seat. "Guess I do."

────

The sun hung low in the sky as Rafe steered the golf cart onto a narrow path leading toward the beach. The sound of waves crashing against the shore grew louder, mingling with faint laughter and voices carried by the breeze. MJ's nerves were on edge, her adrenaline still simmering after what had happened with Topper.

"Where are we going?" MJ asked, glancing at Rafe.

"Kelce and Topper are down by the beach," Rafe replied, his tone nonchalant. "Figured we'd smooth things over. Can't have you and Topper killing each other."

MJ scoffed, crossing her arms. "He started it."

Rafe glanced at her, his lips curling into a slight smirk. "Yeah, and you finished it. Pretty damn well, I might add."

The golf cart came to a stop just shy of the sandy stretch of beach. Kelce and Topper were a short distance away, their backs turned as they lined up shots with their golf clubs, aiming toward the water. Empty beer cans and scattered bags of chips littered the area, evidence of their makeshift hangout.

MJ's stomach tightened as she climbed out of the cart, following Rafe reluctantly. Topper turned around at the sound of their approach, his face twisting into a scowl when he saw her.

"You've got to be kidding me," Topper muttered, tossing his club to the ground.

"Relax, T," Rafe said smoothly, holding up a hand. "We're all friends here. Let's not make this a bigger deal than it needs to be."

Topper let out a humourless laugh, his eyes narrowing at MJ. "Friends? You bring her here after what she pulled?"

MJ felt her pulse quicken, but she stood her ground. "Maybe if you kept your mouth shut, we wouldn't be having this conversation," she shot back.

Kelce stepped in between them, his hands raised in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, let's not turn this into another scene. We're just here to hang out, yeah?"

Topper wasn't having it. He stepped around Kelce, his glare locked on MJ. "You've got some nerve showing up here," he spat. "You think you can just walk all over us like you did earlier?"

"I didn't walk all over you," MJ said coldly. "I just knocked some sense into you."

That did it. Topper surged forward, his face red with fury. Before she could react, he grabbed her by the arm, yanking her closer.

"Let go of me!" MJ shouted, trying to twist out of his grip.

Rafe moved quickly, stepping in to shove Topper back. "Hey! That's enough," Rafe barked, his voice sharp.

But Topper wasn't done. He lunged again, this time shoving MJ hard enough to send her stumbling backward into the sand. She hit the ground with a grunt, her injured arm flaring in pain.

"You don't belong here, MJ," Topper sneered, looming over her. "You're just a pathetic junkie who thinks she's better than she is."

Something inside MJ snapped. She pushed herself up, ignoring the throbbing in her arm, and swung her fist at Topper's stomach. The blow landed, making him stagger back slightly, but it wasn't enough to stop him.

"That's it!" Topper roared, grabbing her by the front of her shirt.

Kelce and Rafe jumped in at the same time, trying to separate them. Rafe grabbed Topper by the shoulders, pulling him away, while Kelce stood between them, arms outstretched.

"Enough!" Rafe shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Topper, back off. Now."

Topper's chest heaved as he glared at MJ, his fists clenched. "You're lucky Rafe's here," he growled before storming off toward the water.

MJ stood there, her body trembling with rage and adrenaline. Rafe turned to her, his expression unreadable.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low.

MJ nodded, though her arm throbbed painfully. "I'm fine."

Rafe sighed, running a hand through his hair. "This is why I didn't want to bring you here."

MJ shot him a glare. "I didn't ask to come."

Kelce shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he followed after Topper. Rafe stayed behind, his gaze lingering on MJ.

"You're gonna have to deal with him eventually," Rafe said.

"Yeah," MJ muttered, brushing sand off her clothes. "But not today."

She turned and walked back toward the golf cart, her injured arm cradled against her chest. She could feel Rafe's eyes on her as she climbed into the passenger seat, but she didn't care. She was done playing by their rules.

The tension from the beach still clung to the air as Rafe drove the golf cart along the winding paths. MJ sat stiffly in the passenger seat, her mind racing. Her arm ached from the earlier scuffle, but she wasn't about to show any weakness—not here, not now.

Up ahead, a lone figure appeared, walking toward the edge of the dunes. It was Pope, his head down as he carried a backpack slung over one shoulder. MJ's heart sank. She knew Pope didn't stand a chance if Topper or Kelce decided to start something, and judging by the sour looks still plastered on their faces, they weren't done looking for trouble.

"Hey, isn't that your buddy Pope?" Topper sneered from the back of the cart, spotting him.

Kelce laughed, nudging Rafe. "Looks like we found ourselves some fun."

Rafe didn't respond, but he slowed the cart as they pulled up alongside Pope.

"What do you want?" Pope asked, his voice steady but wary.

Topper was out of the cart in an instant, cutting Pope off before he could step around them. "Just wanted to chat, man. You know, clear the air."

MJ tensed, glancing at Rafe. "Don't do this," she murmured, but he didn't even look at her.

Pope tried to sidestep, but Kelce blocked his way, smirking as he twirled a golf club in his hand.

"Look, I don't have time for this," Pope said, his tone sharp.

Topper shoved him hard in the chest, making him stumble back. "You make time when we say so."

MJ's hands balled into fists as the situation spiralled. She wanted to step in, to say something, but her body felt frozen, torn between fear and anger.

Pope stood his ground, glaring at Topper. "What's your problem, huh? You've got everything handed to you, and you still act like a spoiled little brat."

That was all it took. Topper swung first, punching Pope in the jaw. Pope staggered but didn't go down, throwing a punch back that caught Topper off guard.

"Stop it!" MJ shouted, but no one listened.

Kelce moved in next, slamming the butt of his golf club into Pope's stomach. Pope doubled over, gasping for air, as Rafe finally joined in, landing a vicious punch to Pope's side.

"Rafe, stop!" MJ yelled, grabbing at his arm, but he shook her off like she wasn't even there.

Kelce raised the golf club, a wicked grin on his face. "This one's for the Pogues," he said mockingly, before swinging it with full force.

The crack of metal against Pope's face echoed in the air. Pope collapsed to the ground, blood pouring from a gash above his eyebrow.

"Jesus Christ," MJ whispered, horror clawing at her throat.

Rafe grabbed her wrist, pulling her back toward the cart. "Get in, Rosemary," he said sharply.

She hesitated, her feet rooted to the spot as she stared at Pope's crumpled body. He was barely moving, his breaths ragged and shallow.

Kelce and Topper were already climbing back into the cart, laughing like it was all a game. Rafe's grip on her wrist tightened.

"MJ, let's go," he demanded.

Her heart pounded as she glanced back at Pope, then at the guys in the cart. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to stay and help Pope, but fear and doubt held her back.

"MJ!" Rafe barked, his tone impatient.

She swallowed hard, her stomach churning as she climbed into the cart. Rafe gunned the engine, and the cart sped away, leaving Pope lying in the sand, bleeding and alone.

MJ couldn't stop shaking, her mind replaying the scene over and over. She didn't say a word as the others laughed and joked, their voices grating against her frayed nerves.

But as they drove further away, the sickening weight in her chest grew heavier. She'd made the wrong choice, and now, she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to live with herself.

The golf cart bumped along the uneven path, the tension between them growing heavier with each passing second. MJ sat stiffly, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she stared blankly ahead. Her heart was pounding, and every breath felt shallow. Her mind raced with the image of Pope lying in the sand, blood pooling around him.

"That... that was too much," Topper said suddenly, breaking the uneasy silence.

Kelce turned to him, his laugh sharp and mocking. "Oh, now it's too much? You didn't have a problem throwing the first punch back there."

Topper's face twisted in frustration. "I didn't hit him with a freaking golf club, Kelce! Do you even realize how bad this looks? He could be—he could be seriously hurt!"

Rafe scoffed from the driver's seat, his hands gripping the steering wheel. "Calm down, Topper. He's fine. It's Pope—he'll bounce back. Don't act like you're suddenly the voice of reason now."

"Fine? Did you see his face, Rafe?" Topper shot back, his voice rising. "This isn't some stupid high school fight. We could've killed him!"

Kelce rolled his eyes. "God, you're such a buzzkill, man. Nobody's gonna care about a Pogue. What's the worst that'll happen? He goes crying to his little friends?"

MJ flinched at Kelce's words, her breathing becoming uneven. The world around her seemed to blur, her vision tunnelling as their argument grew louder.

"Stop it," she muttered under her breath, but no one heard her.

Rafe slammed on the brakes, the cart jerking to a stop. He twisted in his seat, glaring at Topper. "You need to get a grip. This is on you, too, so don't start pointing fingers now. You're not innocent."

"I didn't smash his face in with a golf club!" Topper shouted, his face red with anger.

"You're acting like a little bitch, you know that?" Kelce sneered, leaning forward. "What's done is done. Just let it go."

"Let it go?" Topper's voice cracked, his tone incredulous. "You two are insane!"

"STOP!" MJ's voice cut through the chaos, shrill and panicked. All three boys turned to look at her, their expressions ranging from annoyed to startled.

She was shaking violently, her hands clutching at her hair as she gasped for air. "I can't—this isn't—I can't do this!" she cried, her words spilling out in a frantic rush.

"Rosemary," Rafe started, his voice low and warning, but she didn't let him finish.

"No! Don't call me that!" she screamed, scrambling out of the cart. Her legs felt like jelly as she stumbled away from them, her breaths ragged and uneven.

"MJ, get back here!" Rafe barked, starting to climb out of the driver's seat, but she was already running.

She didn't know where she was going; all she knew was that she had to get away—away from their voices, their laughter, their cruelty. Her feet carried her toward the tree line, her vision blurry with tears.

"MJ!" Rafe's voice carried after her, but she didn't look back. She pushed through the thick brush, branches scratching at her arms and face as she ran.

She finally collapsed in a clearing, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. Her entire body was trembling, the adrenaline and fear coursing through her veins like poison.

The weight of everything hit her all at once: Pope's bloodied face, the laughter of Rafe and Kelce, the guilt that clawed at her insides. She pressed her hands to her temples, letting out a strangled sob.

How had it come to this? How had she let herself get dragged so deep into Rafe's orbit, where violence and chaos were the norm?

The sound of distant voices made her flinch, and she scrambled to her feet. She had to keep moving. She couldn't let them find her. Not now. Not after what had just happened.

For the first time in a long while, MJ felt utterly, hopelessly lost.