Hope - Book 1 of the Bad Boy Vibes series

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Not far down the lane, in that same Melbourne suburb, it was not just the darkness of the falling night that was creeping along so stealthily in the hidden alleyways and along the quiet streets. Another, as dark and as silent, moved along in unhurried strides. Strides that bore a close resemblance to the weariness of a returning soldier. With sure steps that marked his familiarity with the route he took, the soldier moved off the main streets and on to another back lane. His regulation-issued boots thread carelessly through the murky puddles left over from the earlier downpour. The glint of metal catching the faint glimmer of light peeping through the cloud packed skies. It was his weapon of peace, but not necessarily his weapon of choice. The lane wound and turned, then the familiar dark shape of the rustic cottage loomed up ahead, snagging his attention. His pace picked up.

"Rafael Luis Brown!"

The call rang out loud and clear across the abandoned alley. Its shrill tones bringing back old long-forgotten memories. Deliberately forgotten. Rafe stretched his long legs out in a gentle loping stride before he allowed the momentum of his naturally agile body to swing up in an arch and launch his frame over the low brick wall. A couple of quick strides later and he was there, back at his old home, facing a woman—not his mother, but her sister, Aunt Bella.

"Rafe? I thought it was you. I can recognise you anywhere," exclaimed Aunt Bella. It was evident that she had parked herself on the little patio to wait for him.

"You knew I was coming. You got my message," pointed out Rafe, matter-of-factly, before he took the few steps up, two at a time. He slung his satchel down at her feet before bending over to pick up the only living relative he was close to into his strong arms.

"Don't cheek me, boy. I can see being in the army has done you no good," she declared, beaming up at him.

She had no idea. Darkness swirled at the back of his mind, threatening to drown out the present. No, not now. Shaking his head, and with it the haunting memories, he deliberately tugged the corners of his lips up in his signature lopsided smile. His large milk-chocolate eyes turned meltingly gold, but all Aunt Bella did was lift up her open palm to tap gently—if threateningly—at her cheek. His grin widened before he held her tighter in a bear hug. She scolded and grumbled, demanding he put her back down, but Rafe's eyes only teared with the silent joy of once again being back with the ones he loved.

A high whine of distress pulled his focus away. Jerking to attention, he turned toward the closed patio door. Releasing his aunt back onto her unsteady feet, he swung back around into action. With an unbridled eagerness, he lunged into the darkened interior of the house, lit only by a stray bulb here and there, and followed the sounds of the softly urging whine.

"Bruno, my boy," Rafe cried out hoarsely, dropping down onto his knees to slide down the well-worn wooden floors across the short distance. He came to a stop beside the wagging tail of his beloved dog, Bruno.

"Bruno, Bruno, Bruno," he murmured with a heartfelt ache, borne of acute loneliness for the longest time. "God, I have missed you...so bad," he mumbled almost unintelligibly, reaching out to envelope his aged dog in his warm embrace. He buried his face into the warm fur of Bruno's neck and breathed in the scent that was pure...dog. "God but you smell so good, old boy."

Bruno reached out to feebly lick at Rafe's face. At thirteen years of age, Bruno was already teetering on the brink, but that didn't matter so much to Rafe. He hadn't really known he was in desperate need to see his beloved face. And now he had. He had held Bruno in his arms once again after the longest...longest time. At just that moment, his world was great again. At just that moment, life was liveable once again. So much joy from his old mangy dog. Rafe blinked back tears of joy, now, as he shook his head ruefully over his own ridiculousness.

But Bruno had meant so much to him. He had been there for him through thick and thin. And he was there for him once again...when he had a need for him most, despite all the horrors of his past. He knew he had never needed Bruno or his Aunt Bella more than he did now. Now as a full-grown man. Rafe didn't feel ashamed for needing them as he did. They were all he had. All he ever had. There was no shame in needing those you loved, and love was really the only thing worth living for. Everything else...everyone else, was just treacherous.

"Thirteen years is a long time, old boy," murmured Rafe, running a caressing hand shakily through his white-speck coat. Bruno's fur was no longer as soft as it used to be. And he still remembered that exact softness of the newborn pup.

It had been a cold, dark day, that day when Bruno the pup had first fallen into his lap. Darkness had been fast approaching...

Rafe looked out the window and gazed out at the approaching dusk. He had a few moments more, possibly just a couple of minutes, before he returned. He would savour the peace and quiet, so he contentedly ignored the squeaky stillness in the house and concentrated on merely staring out that window at the darkening skies beyond it. Rafe kept his mind blank from all thoughts that would disturb this peace, this moment of stolen bliss. He looked down at the stub of narcotics in his hand and knew instinctively that this time...this time, he would be caught.

Lifting it to his lips, he placed it just right before drawing a short, sharp breath. His concentration was focused on the bliss that would pour through him from that one small gesture. Rafe was reluctant to exhale, reluctant to release the pleasure from that one modest puff. So he delayed it as long as he could, but he knew he had to, and so he did, so slowly, gradually releasing the toxic smoke into short bursts of air. Then he heaved great gasps trying to draw in some air. It was difficult, but Rafe managed, coughing along as he did. Just as he managed to settle himself down and gather his scattered wits back, he had a craving for yet another drought.

A hand came out of nowhere and slapped the cancer stick right out of his unsteady hand. Rafe made a grasping reach for it, but he was too slow. Those damn things were more potent than he'd thought. Rafe watched helplessly as the short stub fell to the floor to join its pair and then gasped in horror as a roughshod boot brutally stomped on it, hammering the last of the sparks out as it thumped down repeatedly on the stubs. Then that hand swung towards him, aiming a blow. Rafe could not even duck as he saw it coming.

He howled like a kid in pain. For that's exactly what he was—a thirteen-year-old kid in pain. He lifted his hand away from his nose to check, and, sure enough, it was red with blood. That had him howling even more. The bliss from the stub was forgotten as again that hand rammed into him, this time knocking him to the floor. Rafe clutched at his stomach with one hand, held his nose together with the other, and howled in pain as furious tears poured out of his eyes.

"You f-ing arsehole you broke my nose!" Rafe stupidly yelled out and earned himself several more kicks, one of which broke a rib.

"Finish the job, damn you! Is it not enough you put my mother in her grave? Why stop with her when you can finish me off as well?" Rafe yelled foolishly, and the kicks he received from that sent him off to join that darkness that shrouded the house.

Night had finally fallen.

But when he woke up, it was to Bruno the pup, licking at his face...and Aunt Bella's worried countenance peering down at him.

That had been a painful memory that had haunted him for the better part of his life. His mum had just died that winter. He hadn't known why, back then, why his dad had resorted to such brutality, but he knew now. She had been pregnant with another man's child. Just as she had been when she was carrying him. It hadn't mattered to his dad that it was the very same man who had sired Rafe, who had gotten her pregnant again. Thirteen years later Samantha Russo Brown had made that same mistake and suffered the consequence for it.

Dad had not lasted long after delivering that knocking to, the authorities had come for him and not only took him down for what he'd done to Rafe but also what he'd done to his mother. Still, it wasn't his dad, James Brown, that he hated most in the world. That award had gone on to his real father, the anonymous Peter P. The man who had taken advantage of his mother, not once, but twice.

But only 'til recently. Now he had a new evil to hate even more. An evil so fearsome all his exposure in the Syrian war came to nothing in comparison.