JJ's biggest flaw was his recklessness, and his bad ideas. Honestly, that didn't seem that bad to Bexley.
Rafe's biggest flaw? Jealousy. Pure, uncontrolled jealousy.
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tw: toxic relationship
"Rafe motherfucking Cameron. Thought your bitch ass was out sipping margaritas on the beach." Thick clouds of smoke came out of Barry's mouth as he spoke.
Rafe stood awkwardly in the middle of the trailer. "I ain't here for small talk, Barry."
The drug dealer laughed. He pulled the bong further away from his mouth, and pointed at Rafe. "Ain't I supposed to be blackmailing you, country club?" Standing up, he continued, "I mean, I have information on a particular murder case that might do you some harm."
Barry and Rafe hadn't seen each other since the day they went to the boat shed. The day they drugged and took Bexley back against her will. Rafe wished she hadn't been so fucking uncooperative that day, because now Barry thought he has something to use against him.
Rolling his eyes, Rafe said to the man, "Have at it. I already had to be interviewed because of all those rumors pogues were spreading about me. It won't mean shit for you to add one more."
Chuckling, Barry told him, "Yeah, right."
"You got nothing," Rafe insisted. "So why don't you just give me what you know I came for?"
"Alright, alright, calm your damn panties." Barry shuffled towards his back bedroom. He came back over with a cloth. Unraveling it, he pulled out the black handgun. "For some reason, I think you know how to use this already."
Rafe snatched the handgun from him, admiring it. He popped out the magazine, and studied the grip. When he was satisfied, he pulled a wad of cash from his front pocket, tossing it at him.
Barry grumbled to himself as he caught it. He counted it, and seemed satisfied. He shoved it in his own pocket now. "You want somethin' else?" Barry offered. "Got some llello from California that my buddy brought yesterday."
"Nah, I'm off all that," Rafe told him. Barry just laughed at him, like he didn't believe him.
"So whatchu need that piece for?" Barry asked, plopping himself back down on his coach. He took another hit of his bong, nodding over as Rafe shoved the gun in his pocket.
"Protection," Rafe said, like it was obvious.
A laugh emerged from the drug dealer's lips. "Protection? Sure. Country Club Killer is swinging a gun around just for protection."
"Hey," Rafe snapped, defensively. "Watch your mouth. I'm looking out for my girl."
But that only seemed to fuel his humor more. "Oh, your girl? Little miss Bexley James? Ain't she need protection from you?" Rafe stiffened. "Last time I saw you two, weren't you holding a damn gun to her head, making her gulp down some roofie with pond water? That shit was disgusting by the way."
