RAFE’S POV:
The adrenaline was still burning through my veins as I pulled back into the driveway. The cool night air hadn't done a damn thing to settle the storm inside me. I kicked the kickstand down, the metal scraping against the pavement, then headed inside.
I went straight for the kitchen sink.
It was a ritual—a grim, obsessive habit I’d formed over the years. Whenever I took a life, I would feel it in my skin unless I washed my hands. I turned the tap on full blast, the water scalding hot, and scrubbed. I lathered my hands until the soap turned into a thick, white foam, digging my nails into my palms to get every imaginary trace of Hart’s essence off me. He was gone. The world was a cleaner place, but my hands felt like they would never be light again.
I dried them roughly, my ey
