「 ✦ BOYFRIENDS & FIANCES ✦ 」

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RAFE TORE THROUGH THE HOUSE LIKE  a hurricane, his fury growing with each passing second. Drawers were yanked open and dumped onto the floor, cushions flung across the room, furniture overturned as he searched for any clue that might lead him to MJ. His breathing was ragged, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, trying to steady himself.

"Where the hell are you, MJ?" he muttered under his breath, slamming the counter so hard the sound echoed through the empty space.

Then, her phone buzzed on the coffee table. Rafe froze, his sharp eyes snapping toward the sound. He stalked over, grabbing the phone and looking at the screen.

Chasey Harper.

Rafe's brow furrowed, his mind immediately connecting the dots. Chase—the ex-boyfriend. His lip curled in disgust as he answered the call, his voice sharp and impatient.

"MJ?" came a male voice on the other end, sounding confused.

"Not MJ," Rafe snapped, gripping the phone tighter. "Who the hell is this?"

"Uh... Chase. Who's this?"

Rafe's jaw tightened, his frustration bubbling over. "This is Rafe Cameron, her fiance" he growled. "Why are you calling Rosemary?"

There was a pause, and Rafe could practically hear the wheels turning in Chase's head. "Wait—why do you have her phone? Where is she?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Rafe said, his voice dripping with irritation. "You know where she is?"

"No," Chase admitted, his tone growing uneasy. "But... I might know where she could be. There's this place she used to go to when we were kids. Barracuda Mike's. Ever heard of it?"

"Barracuda Mike's?" Rafe repeated, his eyes narrowing. The name was vaguely familiar, something he'd heard in passing but never paid attention to. "Why the hell would she go there?"

"She used to hide out there," Chase explained. "It was kind of her spot when she needed space. I don't know if she'd still go there now, but it's worth checking out."

Rafe didn't trust him—didn't trust anyone, especially some ex who still sounded like he cared too much—but he couldn't ignore the lead. His grip on the phone tightened. "If you're screwing with me—"

"I'm not," Chase cut him off, his voice steady but firm. "Look, I'll meet you there. We'll find her together."

Rafe hesitated for a fraction of a second, then made up his mind. "Fine," he spat. "But if you're wasting my time, I'll make sure you regret it."

Without waiting for a reply, he ended the call and tossed the phone onto the couch. His jaw clenched as he grabbed his car keys and headed for the door, his movements quick and purposeful.

The anger was still there, boiling just beneath the surface, but now it was mixed with something else—a gnawing sense of worry that he couldn't shake. MJ was out there somewhere, and he didn't know what kind of trouble she was in, but he'd be damned if he let anything happen to her.

As he climbed into his truck and revved the engine, his mind raced. Barracuda Mike's. If Chase was lying, Rafe would deal with him later. But if he was telling the truth...

Rafe gripped the wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white.

Rafe sped through the winding roads of the island, his jaw set, his mind focused. He barely noticed the scenery blurring past him—the marshes, the occasional fishermen starting their early day—it was all background noise to the storm brewing inside him. MJ was out there somewhere, and if Chase was right about Barracuda Mike's, she'd better pray she was okay.

He pulled up to the dusty lot outside the dilapidated old shack known as Barracuda Mike's, the faint scent of saltwater and motor oil hanging in the humid air. The place looked like it hadn't been touched in years. The windows were clouded with dirt, the wooden dock warped and sagging from age. Rafe sneered at the sight—this was where MJ used to run to? It was pathetic.

A beat-up Jeep pulled in beside him, and Rafe turned to see Chase climbing out. The guy was tall, lean, with a scruffy, boy-next-door look that immediately grated on Rafe's nerves. Chase shoved his hands into his pockets and approached cautiously, clearly aware of the tension radiating off Rafe.

Rafe stormed toward the back of the dock, every step laced with frustration. His eyes darted over the blanket, the water bottle, the old notebook. Nothing useful. Nothing that told him where MJ was. His fists clenched at his sides as he turned to Chase, the guy standing a few feet back, looking almost too calm for Rafe's liking.

"You brought me here for this?" Rafe snapped, motioning to the pile of nothing. "She's not here. You don't know shit."

"She was here," Chase shot back, his tone sharp. "I told you, this was her spot. I'm just trying to help."

"Help?" Rafe laughed bitterly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, you're a real hero, Chase. Why don't you go back to whatever hole you crawled out of and leave this to me?"

Chase stepped forward, his jaw tightening. "You think you're the only one who cares about her? You don't own MJ, Rafe."

Before Rafe could respond, a loud click echoed through the air. Both men froze, their heads snapping toward the sound.

An older man stepped out of the shadows, a shotgun leveled at them. His weathered face was set in a scowl, his scruffy beard streaked with gray. He looked like he'd been pulled straight out of a bad crime movie.

"That's far enough," the man growled, the barrel of the shotgun aimed squarely at Rafe's chest.

Rafe's lips twisted into a smirk, his head tilting as he stepped forward, completely unbothered by the weapon pointed at him. "Well, well, if it isn't Barracuda Mike himself. What's the matter, old man? Afraid of a little company?"

Mike narrowed his eyes. "Afraid? No. But I don't like strangers sniffing around my place."

"We're not strangers," Rafe said smoothly, his tone dripping with condescension. "We're here looking for my sister. MJ. You remember her, right? She used to hide out here. Cute girl, a sharp mouth. Ringing any bells?"

Mike's grip on the shotgun didn't falter. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Rafe chuckled darkly, taking another step forward despite Chase's warning hand on his arm. "You don't know, huh? Funny, because it looks like someone's been here recently. The beer cans, the ones Luke Maybanks drinks? Don't play dumb with me, Mike."

"I said I don't know anything," Mike repeated, his voice firm. "Now back the hell up before I put a hole in you."

Rafe's smirk grew, his eyes glinting with that unhinged edge that always left people guessing what he might do next. He raised his hands mockingly, his tone casual but laced with venom. "Oh, scary. You gonna shoot me, huh? Go ahead. Do it. I've had worse days."

"Rafe," Chase hissed, trying to pull him back.

But Rafe ignored him, stepping even closer until the barrel of the shotgun was practically touching his chest. "You think you're the big man here, Mike? Let me tell you something. I'm not afraid of you, or that antique you're holding. So how about you stop wasting my time and tell me where she is?"

Mike hesitated, his grip tightening on the shotgun. He wasn't used to people calling his bluff, and Rafe could see it. He leaned in, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper.

"Because if I find out you're lying to me," Rafe said, his smirk vanishing as his face turned stone cold, "I'll make sure you regret it. And I don't need a gun to do it."

Mike's eyes flickered, the tiniest crack in his tough exterior. He lowered the shotgun slightly, his scowl deepening. "She's not here. But... her old man told me about the town council meeting."

Mike's voice was low, almost wary, as he continued. "Apparently, MJ and her brother decided to make a statement. They showed up uninvited to the town council meeting. Didn't like what they were hearing, I guess. Things got... out of hand."

Rafe narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to Mike. "What the hell does 'out of hand' mean? Spit it out."

Mike sighed, his shoulders tensing. "From what I heard, MJ and JJ started a riot. Shoved a council member into a podium, broke a few chairs, smashed half the shop windows in town on their way out. And, oh yeah..." Mike paused, giving Rafe a pointed look. "Your girl set fire to the real estate office."

For a moment, Rafe didn't move, didn't even breathe. Then, his lips parted as he let out a disbelieving laugh, his hands raking through his hair. "She what? Are you kidding me right now?"

Mike shook his head. "Wish I was. That building's been in the Marsh family for decades. Whole town's up in arms about it. MJ's name is on everybody's lips, and not in a good way."

Chase, who had been standing nearby, frowned, clearly taken aback. "Wait, MJ? What the hell is she doing starting riots and setting fires? That doesn't sound like her."

Rafe cut him a sharp look, his jaw tightening. "You don't know her like I do. She's got a knack for chaos when she's backed into a corner."

Chase raised an eyebrow, confused but intrigued. "Since when are you the authority on MJ? Last I checked, she wouldn't even give you the time of day."

Rafe ignored the comment, turning his attention back to Mike. "You're telling me Rosemary—my Rosemary Jane—decided to turn the whole damn town into a war zone and then just... ran off?"

"That's what I'm telling you," Mike said evenly. "And from the sound of it, she didn't exactly do it alone. JJ was right there with her, causing just as much trouble."

Rafe let out a low growl, his fists clenching. "Those two are like gasoline and a match. One bad idea and boom, everything goes up in flames. Literally, apparently."

Mike shrugged, leaning the shotgun against the wall of the boathouse. "What do you want me to say? I'm just telling you what I heard. If you're looking for her, you'd better hurry. People are mad. Real mad. And if someone catches her before you do..." He didn't finish the sentence, but the implication was clear.

Chase's frown deepened as he looked between them. "Wait, you're actually going after her? Why do you even care?"

Rafe shot him a cold glare, his patience wearing thin. "Don't worry about it. Just stay out of my way."

Mike interrupted before Chase could respond, his tone sharp. "You want to hear the rest or not?"

Rafe's head snapped toward him. "The rest?"

"Yeah," Mike said, crossing his arms. "Word is, after the fire, MJ and JJ hightailed it out of town. Last anyone saw of them, they were heading toward the marshes. Might've been looking for a place to lay low."

Rafe's jaw tightened. He didn't say anything, just turned and stalked back to his truck, his movements sharp and purposeful. Chase hesitated for a moment, then followed.

As Rafe climbed into the driver's seat, Chase slid into the passenger side, still watching him warily. "You're really worked up over this. What's the deal? Why do you care so much?"

Rafe didn't answer right away, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. Finally, he muttered, "Because someone has to keep her from getting herself killed."

Chase leaned back in his seat, clearly suspicious. "And why exactly is that your responsibility?"

Rafe's jaw ticked, his eyes locked on the road as he started the engine and tore out of the lot, gravel flying. "Just shut up and let me do what I need to do."

Chase didn't press further, but his confusion was evident. Meanwhile, Rafe's mind raced, the image of MJ's defiant, reckless face burned into his thoughts. He didn't care what Chase or anyone else thought. All that mattered was finding her—before it was too late.

The tension in the truck was thick enough to choke on. Chase stared at Rafe, his arms crossed and an incredulous look plastered across his face. The quiet hum of the engine was the only sound as they tore down the narrow dirt road toward the marshes. Chase had been holding his tongue, but he couldn't anymore.

"She's not your problem, Rafe," Chase said, his voice tight with barely contained anger. "You think you can just swoop in and save her? That's rich, coming from you."

Rafe didn't even glance at him, his hands gripping the wheel as his jaw ticked. "You don't know a damn thing about Rosemary or me, so shut your mouth."

Chase scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Oh, I know plenty. I know she's always hated you. Always hated the Kooks. You think she just magically forgot that? Come on, man. You're delusional."

Rafe's knuckles tightened on the steering wheel, his blue eyes flicking toward Chase for a brief, heated second. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, don't I?" Chase's voice rose, his anger bubbling to the surface. "She grew up on the Cut, Rafe. 

She hates Kooks, always has. And you? You're the worst of them. You think she gives a shit about you? You're just another rich asshole trying to control her."

That did it. Rafe slammed on the brakes, the truck skidding to a dusty stop on the side of the road. He turned toward Chase, his expression venomous. "You don't know shit about her. MJ's changed. She's not some little Pogue girl anymore."

Chase laughed bitterly, leaning closer to Rafe, his face full of disdain. "Changed? That's funny. You think throwing some money around and playing knight in shining armor means she's suddenly on your side? Newsflash, Rafe: people don't change that much. Especially not her."

Rafe leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "She's marrying me, Chase. Me. Not you, not anyone else. So why don't you take your little history lesson and shove it?"

For a moment, Chase froze, his eyes widening slightly before narrowing in anger. "Marrying you?" He laughed harshly, shaking his head. "You're lying."

"I'm not," Rafe spat. "We're engaged. So maybe you should take a good, hard look at where you stand because it's not beside her anymore."

Chase's fists clenched as he leaned even closer, their faces inches apart. "You think a ring changes anything? You think that makes you the better man? She might be playing along now, but deep down, she still hates you, Rafe. She hates everything you stand for."

Rafe's nostrils flared as he glared at Chase, his chest rising and falling with barely restrained fury. "You're just mad she picked me over you. That's what this is about, isn't it? You can't handle the fact that I've got her, and you don't."

"You don't have her, you psycho," Chase snapped, his voice dripping with venom. "You're just a phase, a mistake she's going to regret. If you think she's actually in love with you, you're even more delusional than I thought."

Rafe lunged forward, grabbing Chase by the collar and yanking him close. "Say that again, I dare you."

Chase didn't flinch, his eyes burning with defiance. "She doesn't love you. She'll never love you."

Rafe's grip tightened, his face inches from Chase's. For a second, it looked like he was about to lose it completely, but instead, he shoved Chase back into his seat with a growl. "You don't get it, do you? You're nothing to her now. A footnote. She's mine."

Chase straightened his shirt, his lips curling into a sneer. "You're so full of it. You think she's going to ride off into the sunset with you? Keep dreaming, man. MJ's smarter than that."

Rafe started the truck again, his eyes locked on the road as he pressed the gas pedal hard enough to make the tires spin. "You don't know her like I do."

Chase shook his head, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, right. Because you're such a beacon of love and trust. Keep telling yourself that, Rafe. It'll be fun to watch her leave your ass."

Rafe didn't respond, but the way his jaw clenched and his grip on the wheel tightened made it clear Chase had struck a nerve. The rest of the drive was silent, both men fuming, their hatred for each other crackling in the air like static. 

────

The air grew heavier as Rafe and Chase stepped out of the truck, their animosity simmering just below the surface. The marsh stretched out in front of them, quiet except for the chirping of insects, but the tension snapped into focus when they spotted Sandra standing by the dock.

She stood tall and unyielding, her clipboard tucked under one arm and her sharp eyes locked on them like a hawk. Even from a distance, Sandra's presence commanded respect—or at the very least, submission. But Rafe Cameron didn't do submission, and he wasn't about to start now.

"Cameron," Sandra greeted, her voice cutting through the silence like a whip. Her gaze flicked to Chase with visible disdain, her lips curling in disapproval. "And what the hell is he doing here?"

"I'm here to help find MJ," Chase interjected, his smirk already grating on everyone's nerves. "Didn't realize I needed your permission, Sandra."

Sandra's glare could have burned holes through steel. "Help? You?" She let out a bitter laugh, stepping forward with her chin raised. "The only thing you've ever done for MJ is make her life harder. If I'd known you were coming, I'd have barred you from stepping foot in this county."

Rafe stepped forward, cutting off Chase's retort before it could leave his mouth. His tone was low and authoritative, a stark contrast to Sandra's sharpness. "We don't have time for this," he said, his gaze locking with Sandra's. "I'm here to find my fiancée. Are you going to help, or are you just here to get in the way?"

Sandra's eyes narrowed at his tone. She wasn't used to people talking back to her, but Rafe didn't flinch. "Let's get something straight, Cameron. You might think you're in charge, but MJ is under my jurisdiction. She's still on probation, and her safety is my priority—not your ego."

"My ego?" Rafe let out a humorless laugh, stepping closer until there was barely any space between them. "If you were so concerned about her safety, maybe you should've done your job instead of letting her run off. I'm cleaning up your mess, Sandra. Don't forget that."

Sandra's jaw tightened, her authority meeting his dominance head-on. "You think marrying her gives you control? Think again. MJ isn't some trophy you can wave around to prove you're better than everyone else."

"She's not a trophy," Rafe said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "She's my fiancée. And I'll do whatever it takes to protect her. Even if it means going through you."

Sandra held his gaze, unflinching, before turning her attention to Chase. "And you. You think you're being helpful? MJ doesn't need you dragging her down again. You're the reason she's spent half her life in trouble."

Chase scoffed, his smirk faltering under Sandra's glare. "Don't blame me for her choices. MJ's always been her own person. Maybe you should stop treating her like she's some damsel in distress."

"You don't get to talk about her like that," Rafe snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "You don't know her anymore. She's changed. She's with me now—she's marrying me. Not you."

Chase's expression twisted into something bitter. "Marrying you? That's rich. MJ hates Kooks. She's always hated you, Cameron. You're just another name on a list of things she's rebelling against."

Rafe's composure cracked, his fists clenching at his sides. "She's not rebelling. She's moving on from you. You're stuck in the past, Chase. She's with me because she wants to be. Because I'm not some deadbeat Pogue who couldn't give her what she needed."

Chase took a threatening step forward, but Sandra immediately raised a hand, her voice ringing with authority. "Enough!" She placed herself firmly between them, her gaze switching from one to the other. "Both of you are acting like spoiled children, and I won't tolerate it. This isn't about your little pissing contest. This is about MJ. So grow up, or get out of my way."

Rafe's jaw tightened, but he stepped back, his eyes still burning with fury. Chase, however, crossed his arms, muttering under his breath, "Some things never change."

Sandra ignored him and turned to Rafe. "If you're serious about finding MJ, you'll put that temper of yours on a leash. She's scared, Cameron. Scared people do stupid things. And with the kind of trouble she's in, she doesn't need you making it worse."

Rafe nodded stiffly, his frustration palpable but contained—for now. Sandra gave him one last sharp look before heading toward the dock. "There's a lot you don't know about MJ, Cameron. If you want to help her, start by listening to the people who do."

Rafe didn't respond, but his eyes followed her every move, calculating and unrelenting. The search wasn't over, but the tension between them made it clear—this was going to get worse before it got better.

Sandra's heels clicked sharply on the dock as she approached, her posture rigid, commanding. She wasn't here to mince words. Rafe and Chase both turned to face her, their tension still hanging thick in the air, but Sandra didn't even flinch. She had dealt with far worse than the two of them.

Rafe eyed her, his irritation palpable, but Sandra's sharp gaze cut through it like a knife. "You two done with your little pissing contest?" she asked coldly, her tone one of authority that made both men pause.

Chase clenched his jaw but stayed silent, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Rafe was the first to break the silence, though his words were laced with frustration.

"What the hell do you want, Sandra?" Rafe snapped, his patience wearing thin. He didn't have time for this. Not now. He needed to find MJ.

Sandra raised an eyebrow at him, a look of distaste crossing her face. "What I want," she began, her voice unwavering, "is for you to stop playing the 'savior' and actually start thinking about what's best for MJ. And what I want, Chase," she turned her piercing gaze on him, "is for you to stop pretending like you don't know exactly what happened with that fire. Don't think I don't know your history with her."

Rafe shifted uncomfortably, but Sandra wasn't done. She stepped forward, her presence a force to be reckoned with, and her voice dropped, becoming colder. "Let's get something clear. You're both here because you think you can control this situation. News flash, you can't. MJ's life is not some game you can play by your rules. I've been working with her for years, and I know the damage you've both done."

Chase opened his mouth to speak, but Sandra didn't let him. "No, you don't get to speak right now," she snapped. "You were there the night the fire happened. You were a part of it, whether you want to admit it or not. Don't think for one second you've walked away from that."

Chase's face flushed with anger, but he stayed silent, clearly struggling with her words. Rafe's jaw tightened. He'd always known Chase had something to do with the fire, but hearing Sandra outright accuse him felt like a punch to the gut.

Sandra's voice grew more authoritative. "MJ is not a pawn in your little games. She's been through hell, and now, you think you can just waltz in here and act like everything's fine? She's not your responsibility, Chase. And Rafe," she turned to him now, "you need to stop treating her like she's someone you can fix. You don't get to play the hero just because you're trying to get her back."

Rafe's expression hardened, but Sandra wasn't done.

"Listen to me, both of you," she said, her tone unwavering. "MJ has made her choices. She's been burned before by both of you. And frankly, I'm not sure either of you understand how deep that runs. I've been her social worker for years. I've seen the way you both have hurt her, knowingly or not. You think this is about rescuing her, but it's not. It's about understanding her—and neither of you gets that."

Sandra's words hung in the air, her authority undeniable. She didn't need to raise her voice to be heard. Her presence was enough to command respect.

"You want to find her, you need to understand what you're dealing with. You need to stop pretending like this is about your egos or whatever petty competition you've got going on. MJ's been through enough. And if you really want to help her, you better start thinking about what she needs, not what you want."

Rafe looked at Sandra, his anger simmering beneath the surface, but there was a flicker of recognition in his eyes. This wasn't just about finding MJ anymore. It was about dealing with the consequences of the past—the mess they'd both contributed to. Sandra was right; they didn't understand her the way they thought they did.

But Sandra wasn't finished yet. Her voice dropped to a low, controlled tone. "If either of you thinks for one second that you can walk into her life and fix things, you're wrong. And you're going to make it worse. I've spent years helping her work through the trauma. Do you know what that looks like? Do you have any idea what it's like to be the one she turns to when everything falls apart? No, you don't. So don't stand here trying to act like you're the solution. Because you're not."

Chase was silent, his chest heaving with frustration, but Rafe stood still, the weight of Sandra's words sinking in. He'd been so focused on getting MJ back, on fixing everything, that he hadn't considered the deeper consequences of his actions. Sandra was right: it wasn't just about saving her. It was about understanding everything she had gone through. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he didn't fully understand her at all.

Sandra gave them one last, pointed look before turning back toward the dock. "If you want to find her, then stop acting like you can control her, or this will be over before it even starts. You'll never fix this by rushing in with your guns blazing. You both need to grow up, and you need to put her needs first."

She turned on her heel and started walking, her authority leaving no room for argument. Rafe stood there for a moment, processing her words, his chest tight with frustration.

But Sandra's message was clear: if they were going to find MJ, they had to start listening. And that meant facing the harsh reality of their past mistakes. It wouldn't be easy, but he knew it was the only way forward.

As the two men stood in silence, Rafe felt the weight of Sandra's words still hanging between them. He didn't know how this would all play out, but one thing was certain—he wouldn't stop until he found MJ.

Rafe narrowed his eyes as Chase smirked at him, the tension between them palpable. Rafe didn't know much about the guy—just that he used to be a Pogue and somehow lucked into some money recently. But the arrogance coming off Chase was enough to make Rafe want to knock him flat.

"You really think you have a say in this?" Rafe said, his voice low but dangerous. "You're the ex, Chase. You're a footnote in her life. 

So why the hell are you even here?"

Chase crossed his arms, leaning slightly toward Rafe with a cocky grin. "Because unlike you, I actually know MJ. Not the version she pretends to be around you. The real her. You think slapping a ring on her finger changes anything? You don't have a clue what you're dealing with."

Rafe took a step closer, his jaw tightening. "You don't know a damn thing about what she has with me," he snapped. "And yeah, maybe you used to. But newsflash—she's not running back to you, Chase. She chose me. So why don't you take whatever little fantasy you've got in your head and shove it?"

Chase laughed, the sound sharp and mocking. "You think she chose you? Come on, Rafe. She's probably just waiting for the right moment to cut and run. MJ doesn't settle down, and she definitely doesn't trust people like you. She hated Kooks, remember? Or do you not know that part?"

Rafe's expression darkened, his eyes flashing with anger. "People change," he growled. "MJ's not the same person she was when you were dragging her down. She's got a future now—a real one. And guess what? I'm part of it. You're not."

Chase took a step forward, his grin fading into something more serious. "You don't know the first thing about her," he said, his tone biting. "You think just because she's wearing your ring, she's all in? MJ doesn't forget where she came from. And deep down, she's probably wondering how long it's going to take before you start controlling her like your dad controls everything else."

Rafe's fists clenched at his sides, his whole body taut with restrained fury. "Watch your mouth," he warned. "You don't get to talk about my family." 

────

As Rafe's truck rolled into town, the chaos was impossible to miss. Smoke hung in the air like a storm cloud, glass crunched under the tires, and sirens wailed faintly in the distance. People were shouting, running, and weaving through the streets, some carrying stolen goods, others trying to extinguish small fires that had broken out across storefronts. Rafe's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles white as his eyes scanned the scene.

"There," he said sharply, pointing toward the curb where John B stood with Pope and Kiara. The trio looked like they'd been caught in the middle of it all—dusty, scraped up, and wide-eyed. Rafe slammed on the brakes and threw the truck into park, jumping out with Chase reluctantly following.

"Hey!" Rafe barked, storming toward John B with a menacing swagger that instantly turned heads. "You. What the fuck happened here?"

John B flinched but quickly masked it with his usual defiance, crossing his arms as Rafe loomed over him. "Why do you care, Cameron? Pretty sure riots aren't your jurisdiction."

Rafe didn't even blink, his eyes blazing with fury as he grabbed John B by the collar and shoved him against a lamppost. "Don't test me, Routledge," Rafe hissed, his voice low and lethal. "Where's Rosemary? I know you know something. Start talking, or I'll make you regret it."

Kiara stepped forward, her hands raised in protest. "Rafe, chill out! He doesn't know—"

"Shut up," Rafe snapped, his focus locked on John B. "This isn't about you."

John B's jaw clenched, but there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. "I don't know where MJ is," he said finally, his tone begrudging. "Last I saw her, she and JJ were the ones lighting this place up."

Rafe's grip on his collar tightened, his fury boiling over. "And you just let them run wild? You didn't think to stop them?"

"Stop them?" John B shot back, his voice rising. "I'm not their babysitter!"

Rafe's lips curled into a sneer, his tone dripping with venom. "Are you a fucking child?" 

"Hey, hey!" Chase interjected, stepping up beside them. "Maybe we should dial it down a notch—"

John B's head whipped toward Chase, his expression darkening as recognition flickered across his face. "You've gotta be kidding me," he muttered, shoving Rafe off him and glaring at Chase. "What the hell is he doing here?"

"None of your business," Rafe growled, stepping between them. "You've got bigger problems to worry about."

John B ignored him, his focus entirely on Chase. "You really thought showing up here was a good idea? After everything?"

Chase raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"The hell I don't," John B shot back, his voice sharp with anger. "You've got no right to be here. MJ doesn't need you—you're just gonna screw things up like you always do. So why don't you do everyone a favor and fuck off?"

Rafe's patience snapped. He shoved Chase back with one hand, rounding on John B with the other. "Enough," he snarled, his voice like thunder. "You don't get to tell me—or anyone—what she needs. She's not your problem."

John B smirked, his defiance returning in full force. "No, but she's yours, huh? How's that working out for you, Cameron? She seems to keep running from you, too."

Rafe lunged, but Chase caught his arm, holding him back. "Not worth it," Chase muttered, though the tension in his voice betrayed his own temper. "He's just trying to piss you off."

"Congratulations," Rafe snapped, shaking Chase off. "It's working." He turned back to John B, his expression ice-cold. "If you see Rosemary or JJ, you tell them I'm looking for them. And you better hope they're in one piece when I find them."

Without waiting for a response, Rafe stormed back toward the truck, his fury barely contained. Chase lingered a moment, glaring at John B before following.

As Rafe climbed back into the driver's seat, his mind raced, the image of MJ in the middle of this chaos fueling his anger. "We're not stopping until we find her," he muttered, his grip on the steering wheel so tight it felt like it might snap.

Chase glanced out the window, his expression unreadable. "Good," he said quietly. "Because if she's hurt, I'm not letting you off the hook."

As the truck barreled through the streets, the tension inside was as thick as the smoke outside. Rafe had one hand on the wheel, his jaw clenched, while Chase sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, glaring out the window. The silence was unbearable, the kind that screamed louder than words.

Rafe finally broke it by reaching for the radio and cranking the volume. A blaring rock song filled the cab, the heavy guitar riffs matching the aggression in the air.

Chase winced, his hand flying to the volume knob to turn it down. "Seriously? Do you have to blast that shit? I'm already getting a headache from your driving."

Rafe slapped his hand away without looking at him, his eyes fixed on the road. "Don't touch my radio, Chase."

"Well, don't make my ears bleed, Rafe," Chase shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he mimicked Rafe's tone. "Ever heard of volume control?"

Rafe finally snapped his head toward Chase, his glare sharp enough to cut steel. "You're lucky I even let you in this truck, so why don't you shut your mouth and sit there quietly like a good little passenger?"

Chase scoffed, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms tighter. "You act like this is some big favor. Newsflash: I'm here to help find MJ, not babysit your fragile ego."

Rafe's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as his jaw tightened. "You wanna talk about egos? Pretty rich coming from the guy who thinks he's some white knight riding in to save the day. Hate to break it to you, but she doesn't need saving. Especially not from you."

Chase turned to him, his eyes narrowing. "You don't even know her like I do. She's not some polished Kook princess, no matter how much you try to make her one. She's wild, impulsive—"

"Shut the fuck up," Rafe snapped, his voice like a whip. "You don't know a damn thing about what Rosemary is now. he's grown up, and she's with me. She's mine. You're just some loser from her past who doesn't know when to let go."

Chase laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "You're delusional if you think she's really with you. You might've put a ring on her finger, but that doesn't mean she's yours. MJ hates Kooks, hates everything you stand for. Deep down, she's still the same Pogue who knows exactly what kind of snake you are."

Rafe slammed on the brakes, sending the truck skidding to a stop in the middle of the empty road. The sudden jolt threw Chase forward against the seatbelt, and he turned to Rafe with wide eyes as Rafe threw the truck into park.

"Get out," Rafe growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Chase stared at him, incredulous. "Are you serious?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Rafe snarled, his hand gripping the steering wheel so hard it creaked. "Get. Out."

Chase stayed put, his jaw tightening as he stared Rafe down. "You're unbelievable, you know that? We're supposed to be looking for MJ, and you're pulling this macho bullshit? Grow the hell up."

Rafe's eyes flashed with fury, but he didn't move. His chest heaved with barely contained rage as he leaned closer to Chase, his voice a deadly whisper. You don't get to sit here in my truck, acting like you're the fucking hero, when all you've ever been is a footnote in her story."

Chase smirked, his defiance unwavering. "And you don't get to pretend she's some perfect Kook wife who's going to stand by your side and play the part. You're fooling yourself, Cameron. MJ doesn't settle, and she sure as hell doesn't belong to anyone."

Rafe's fist tightened, and for a moment, it looked like he might swing. But instead, he exhaled sharply and shoved the truck back into drive. The tires screeched as he sped off again, leaving Chase to mutter under his breath and shake his head.

"Keep running your mouth," Rafe said coldly, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "See how far it gets you."

Chase rolled down the window, letting the cool air rush in. "Fine by me. At least I don't have to listen to your shitty music anymore."

Rafe reached over and cranked the volume again, the rock music blaring louder than ever. Chase groaned, slamming the window back up, and the two of them sat in seething silence as the truck roared through the riot-torn streets, the tension between them practically crackling in the air.

────

Sandra adjusted her blazer and made her way through the crowd of uniformed officers stationed near the edge of the chaos. The sharp sound of broken glass crunching underfoot mixed with the distant roar of angry voices. She spotted Sheriff Victor Shoupe standing near his patrol car, arms crossed, his trademark scowl etched even deeper than usual.

"Sheriff Shoupe," Sandra called out firmly, her tone demanding his attention.

Shoupe turned, his sharp eyes narrowing as they landed on her. "Sandra Connors," he muttered, clearly not in the mood. "Don't tell me you're here to defend that delinquent you call a client."

Sandra didn't flinch, squaring her shoulders as she closed the distance between them. "I'm here because MJ Maybank is missing, and I have reason to believe she's caught up in whatever the hell is going on here." She motioned to the smoldering chaos in the distance.

Shoupe let out a humorless laugh. "Caught up in it? Connors, she's the damn catalyst. We've already got half a dozen witnesses saying she and her brother started this riot. JJ smashes windows, and MJ sets a damn building on fire. That sound familiar to you?"

Sandra's jaw clenched, but she kept her voice level. "Sheriff, MJ is a minor. Whatever's happened here, she's still a child under my supervision. I'm not condoning her actions, but I'm asking for your cooperation to locate her before this escalates even further."

"Escalates?" Shoupe repeated, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Sandra, the town's already burning. They've got half the shop owners on this street ready to start stringing the Maybank twins up themselves. And now you want me to drop everything to go chasing after her?"

Sandra stepped closer, her voice taking on an edge of authority. "You know as well as I do that MJ has been through hell. She doesn't need you turning this into a manhunt—she needs someone to get her out of this mess alive. Now, are you going to help, or are you going to stand here and watch this spiral even further out of control?"

Shoupe stared at her, his face unreadable for a moment. Then he sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. "We already know where she is—or at least where she was. Some guy downtown saw her and JJ heading toward the marsh. Rafe Cameron and Chase Harper are looking for them."

Sandra's eyebrows shot up. "And you're okay with Chase Harper being involved?"

"You tell me," Shoupe shot back. "All I know is Cameron was asking about MJ earlier, looking like he was ready to kill someone. Now he's mixed up in this circus. You've got yourself one hell of a client, Sandra."

Before Sandra could respond, another deputy jogged up, his face pale. "Sheriff, reports are coming in from downtown-"

Shoupe's face darkened as he muttered a curse under his breath. Turning back to Sandra, he added, "There's your girl. You want her? She's out there playing with fire—literally."

"Sheriff, I need time," she said abruptly.

────

MJ kicked and screamed as the men roughly shoved her, JJ, and Chandler into a cramped, locked compartment on the boat. The heavy door slammed shut with a metallic clang, and the sound of the bolt sliding into place echoed ominously.

"Come on!" JJ shouted, pounding his fists against the door. His voice was sharp with anger, but there was an edge of desperation too.

Chandler leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching JJ's efforts with a look of disinterest. "Don't bother," he said flatly.

"Shut up," JJ snapped, continuing to push at the edges of the door, searching for any weakness.

MJ joined in, kicking at the base of the door with all her strength. Her boots thudded against the metal, but it didn't budge.

"It's useless," Chandler said with a resigned sigh. "We're locked in tight."

JJ spun around, his frustration boiling over. "Can you not be so fucking calm about this?!" he shouted, his hands gesturing wildly. "And while you're at it, can someone tell me what the hell is going on here?"

Chandler raised an eyebrow, unfazed by JJ's outburst.

"One of those guys was after the amulet—" JJ started, only for MJ to cut him off.

"The what?" MJ asked, her face scrunching up in confusion. She'd clearly been left out of the loop.

"The amulet," JJ repeated, his tone sharp as he glared at Chandler. "I know that much. So, who the hell are these guys?"

"Mercenaries," Chandler said with a shrug, "from North Africa."

JJ's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Mercenaries? Fantastic. That's just... great." He ran his hands through his hair in frustration before snapping back to Chandler. "And what do they want with you?"

MJ crossed her arms and fixed Chandler with a glare. "Yeah, what's your deal? And what the hell is this amulet?"

Chandler hesitated, the faintest flicker of guilt crossing his face. "They think I stole from them."

"Did you?" the twins asked in unison, their voices cutting like twin blades.

Chandler scoffed, avoiding their gazes. "I was trying to help them. It was all... a misunderstanding."

JJ laughed bitterly, turning away and pacing in the confined space. "Oh, yeah. Sure. A misunderstanding. That totally explains why we're locked in here like prisoners on a boat."

MJ's eyes narrowed, her distrust of Chandler deepening by the second.

Chandler shifted uncomfortably. "It's related to your mother, actually," he said, his voice suddenly quieter.

JJ stopped pacing and turned sharply, his eyes blazing. "What?"

"It's tangentially connected," Chandler clarified, though his tone was anything but clear. "It goes back to the Genrette family—about 300 years, give or take. Something about Blackstone—your family's old ties. If you dig into internet heritage sites, you'll—"

"Stop lying to us!" JJ snapped, cutting Chandler off. His voice was sharp, his anger now fully directed at Chandler.

MJ stepped closer to Chandler, her voice cold and deadly. "Yeah. Enough with the bullshit. What aren't you telling us?"

Chandler hesitated, his eyes darting between them. He opened his mouth to speak but shut it again, clearly weighing his options.

"You're overcooking it, man," JJ said through gritted teeth, his blue eyes locked on Chandler with a sharp glare. "Did you know you do this thing when you lie? You speed up."

Chandler tilted his head, feigning ignorance. "Do I?"

"Yeah," MJ chimed in, crossing her arms as she leaned back against the wall. "You know how he knows that?" She gestured toward JJ.

JJ tapped his chest, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "Because I do the same damn thing."

"Huh," Chandler said with a small, amused smile.

"I mean, everything you've told us so far is a lie," JJ pointed out, his tone growing more impatient. "The ghost, the curse—" He sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck as frustration bubbled to the surface. "Why did you even do all that? Because you're trying to throw us off the scent of what you're actually after."

"Fucking asshole," MJ snapped, her voice sharp. Her eyes darted around the small room, the claustrophobic space starting to press in on her.

"You and Wes both," Chandler said casually, a smirk playing on his lips.

JJ froze for a moment, something clicking in his mind. His brows furrowed as he remembered a detail from a while back. "But... Wes said he actually saw a ghost."

Chandler's smirk widened, his nonchalant demeanor becoming more irritating by the second. He shrugged. "A little theater, that's all. A mannequin. White dress. Rattling chains. That sort of thing."

JJ nodded slowly, his expression shifting to reluctant acknowledgment. "Not bad for a Kook."

"Oh, thank you," Chandler replied with mock graciousness, tipping an imaginary hat.

"We'd have done the same thing," JJ said, gesturing toward MJ, who was staring daggers at Chandler. "Maybe even thrown in a fog machine or something."

"A fog machine?" Chandler repeated, chuckling as if the idea amused him.

JJ smirked back. "Yeah. Adds to the atmosphere, you know?"

Chandler laughed softly, shaking his head. "Apples and trees, I guess."

"Right," JJ said, his smile thinning as the room went quiet. "Apples and trees."

Chandler's grin lingered, but it was clear the twins weren't buying his act. MJ's eyes were fixed on him, her jaw clenched, while JJ's carefree attitude barely masked the storm brewing beneath his surface. The tension in the room was palpable, and they all knew the conversation was far from over. 

────

The next morning, the sun was just beginning to rise, casting an orange glow over the landscape as Rafe and Chase sat in the truck, tension thick between them. The silence was suffocating, neither of them willing to speak until absolutely necessary. Rafe gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, his jaw clenched in anger.

Chase, sitting beside him, couldn't help but notice the way Rafe's temper flared every time he even glanced his way. He had no clue why Rafe was so damn angry, but he had his theories. The guy always had a chip on his shoulder, especially when it came to anything involving MJ.

"What's the deal with you and her, anyway?" Chase finally broke the silence, his voice dripping with curiosity. "You two just suddenly... together?"

Rafe's eyes flashed, his grip on the wheel tightening even more. "You don't know shit about us," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You don't get to ask about her."

Chase raised an eyebrow, unfazed by Rafe's tone. "I'm just trying to understand. She's my ex, man. We've got history, and you're—what—stepping in now?"

"Stepping in?" Rafe's laugh was bitter. "I don't need to explain myself to you." His gaze flicked to Chase for a moment, a sneer pulling at his lips. "You think I don't see right through you? You don't give a damn about her. You just want to control her, like you always did."

Chase's eyes narrowed, the vein in his neck bulging with frustration. "That's a load of shit, Rafe. You don't know anything about me. And don't you dare act like you're some saint in all this. She never wanted you, not like that."

Rafe slammed his hand against the dashboard, making Chase jump slightly. "You don't get to talk about her like that. You don't know what she's been through. She's not the same person she was when you were together."

"I know her better than you," Chase spat back, turning his body to face Rafe. "I was with her. I know exactly how she feels. She hated you, man, hated the way you treated her."

Rafe's jaw tensed, but he refused to look at Chase, his focus now completely on the road. "You don't know her at all," he muttered, trying to keep his voice steady. "She's not that girl anymore. She's changed. And she's mine now."

Chase let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, well, good luck with that. You're gonna need it. Because if you think she's gonna stick around with you after all this mess, you're dumber than you look."

Rafe's gaze flicked to him, finally meeting Chase's eyes, his expression hardening. "Don't make me come back here and remind you who's in charge. She's mine, and you better keep your distance."

The air between them grew colder, the tension as thick as ever, as they drove in silence towards their destination, neither one willing to back down.

As the truck rumbled down the road, the weight of the silence hung heavy between Rafe and Chase. Rafe's fingers tightened on the wheel, his mind racing, his temper barely in check. Chase, however, seemed unnervingly calm, as if he knew exactly what buttons to press.

"You know," Chase began, his tone casual, almost offhand, "MJ's not exactly the kind of girl who sticks around for someone like you."

Rafe's eyes flicked toward him, but he didn't say anything. He didn't need to—he knew what Chase was doing. Chase was trying to get under his skin, trying to manipulate him the same way he always had with MJ.

"You really think she's gonna marry you?" Chase continued, his voice growing quieter, more persuasive. "I mean, you're not exactly her type. She's always been about freedom, about doing her own thing. And you? You're just like the rest of them—controlling, toxic. You really think she's gonna settle for that?"

Rafe clenched his jaw, but he didn't respond. He wouldn't give Chase the satisfaction of seeing him rattled.

Chase wasn't deterred. He leaned back in the seat, arms crossed, a smug grin on his face. "I'm just saying... You know what she needs. She needs someone who gets her, someone who doesn't try to own her. I've seen how she looked at me before, Rafe. She'd never look at you the same way."

At this, Rafe's grip on the wheel tightened so much it looked like his knuckles might crack. "Shut up," he muttered, low and dangerous.

But Chase wasn't done. He could see the way Rafe's emotions were bubbling to the surface, and he knew exactly how to push further.

"Yeah, I can see it, man," Chase said, his voice growing more sincere, more calculated. "She was never really yours, was she? She always wanted something else, something more. You've never given her that. Hell, you probably couldn't even understand what she needs. But me? I know her better than you do. I always will."

Rafe's eyes darkened, his entire body tense. He snapped his head towards Chase, his voice low, threatening, "Don't you dare bring that up again."

But Chase only smirked, leaning in slightly, almost whispering. "You know I'm right. You're just a placeholder for her. I don't think you even realize it. You think you've got it all figured out, but the second things get real? She's gonna walk away. She's not gonna settle for the life you want her to have."

Rafe's teeth ground together, but Chase could see the doubt creeping in, just the tiniest flicker in his eyes.

"I'm just telling you what I know," Chase said, leaning back again, his tone light, as if he hadn't just dug a knife into Rafe's gut. "You'll never really be enough for her. She deserves someone who can give her the world."

The air between them crackled with tension as Rafe tried to push the words out of his head, but they lingered, stuck in his mind like a bad song. Chase had always been good at planting seeds of doubt, making people question everything they thought they knew. And with Rafe, it wasn't any different.

Rafe kept his eyes on the road, breathing heavily through his nose, trying not to let Chase see the crack in his armor. But deep down, a part of him wondered—just for a split second—if Chase was right. Would MJ really stay with him, or was he just the guy who was convenient for now?

The silence stretched between them again, but it was a different silence now—one full of unspoken doubts and a heavy weight that neither man would admit to carrying.

Chase watched Rafe's knuckles tighten on the wheel, his jaw clenching and unclenching with each word that dripped from his mouth like venom. He could see the cracks forming, the tension pulling taut like a stretched wire, just waiting to snap.

"You really don't get it, do you?" Chase pressed, his voice low, almost sympathetic, but Rafe could hear the malicious edge underneath. "She's always been about freedom, and you've spent your whole life controlling everything. You think she'll just throw that all away for you? For this?" He waved his hand around the truck, as if the whole world was contained within the vehicle.

Rafe's gaze flickered to Chase for a moment, his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Shut your fucking mouth, Chase," Rafe growled, his teeth gritted.

But Chase wasn't backing down. Not now. He leaned forward, closer to Rafe, his voice getting softer, more insistent. "She doesn't need a man like you, Rafe. She needs someone who sees her, who gets her. You think you're the one who can give her that?" Chase's eyes glinted with something dark, almost triumphant, as he watched Rafe's expression tighten. "She's always hated the Kooks, you know that, right? She was never gonna be happy with someone like you—she's always wanted to be free, and you're just another cage."

Rafe's grip on the steering wheel was almost white-knuckled now, his knuckles flexing and cracking, the muscles in his jaw straining against his skin. "Don't fucking test me," he warned, his voice laced with rage.

Chase, oblivious or uncaring, pushed further. "You really think she'll choose you over freedom, over everything she's always wanted? You know she won't. She's been running from her past her whole life, and you—you're just a reminder of all that. You'll never be enough for her, man. Never."

Rafe's breath caught in his throat, a flicker of doubt igniting deep within him, but he fought it down. He gritted his teeth, his entire body trembling with the effort of keeping his composure. But Chase saw it—the briefest hesitation, the crack in the armor that he knew would send Rafe spiraling if pushed just a little bit more.

"You know I'm right," Chase continued, his words dripping with fake sincerity. "You'll never be able to give her what she wants. She'll leave you the second she realizes it, Rafe. You won't even see it coming."

That was it. The last thread of Rafe's patience snapped.

Without warning, he swerved the truck to the side of the road, tires screeching as he slammed the brakes. The truck jerked to a halt, and Rafe's eyes were wild as he turned to face Chase.

"I said shut the fuck up!" Rafe snarled, his voice thick with fury. He yanked the keys from the ignition and threw the truck door open with a force that sent the door slamming against the side. "Get the hell out of my truck."

Chase froze for a moment, a smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth, but the malice in Rafe's eyes was enough to make him hesitate. "What, you gonna kick me out? You gonna be that guy?"

Rafe didn't even hesitate. He grabbed Chase by the collar of his shirt and yanked him out of the truck with a savage force. "I'm not gonna play your games anymore, Chase," Rafe spat, his voice low and deadly. "I don't care what you think you know. I'll find her on my own. So get the fuck out, and don't ever come near me again."

Chase stumbled back, glaring at Rafe, but the threat in Rafe's eyes was enough to make him step away. "You think you've got everything figured out, don't you?" Chase sneered. "You don't know shit. You're just as much of a fool as she is, Rafe."

"I said, get the fuck out," Rafe growled, pointing to the dirt road ahead.

Chase, shaking his head in disbelief, glared one last time at Rafe before turning on his heel and storming off, leaving Rafe standing by the truck, seething with rage.

Rafe slammed the door shut, his breath coming in heavy, shaky breaths as he climbed back into the driver's seat. He didn't care anymore about what Chase had said—he didn't care about the doubt that had briefly wormed its way into his head. What mattered now was finding MJ. He didn't need Chase or anyone else telling him what to do.

He slammed the gearshift into drive and sped off, determination in his eyes. He would find her, even if it meant burning the whole fucking town to the ground. Chase, the mercenaries, and anyone else who got in his way could fuck off.