Outer Banks Rafe Cameron Novels & Stories

Orders barked into comms. Rafe doesn’t flinch. He moves. God help me, he moves like he never left. It happens between shots. Between commands. Between the life I wanted and the one I can’t escape. A man stumbles out from behind a crate—mid-forties, scarred cheek, Volkov markings burned into his neck. He freezes when he sees Rafe. Eyes widen. “You,” he breathes. “You’re dead.” Rafe stops. Just for a second.

Fog and smoke blurred the world; through the lens, Kael was a sharp, lethal figure moving through it, dragging other men back behind cover, firing, shouting orders. “Still got it,” Rafe muttered around the cigarette clamped between his teeth. He tracked Kael’s path with the barrel, following the line of his shoulders, the way he adjusted to each new threat without breaking stride. “Don’t get cute,” a voice crackled in Rafe’s earpiece—one of his own crew. “We’re not here to take the shot.” “I know why we’re here,” Rafe said. “Just checking the merchandise.” He flicked the safety on and off once, a pointless, dangerous little habit, before settling it firmly back to safe.

Nodding Alpha Jackson steps away to speak with a couple others before they leave. Turning back to me, Alpha Boyd asks, “Do you think you trust this Drake Chisholm? I haven’t heard of him in my travels, but I will reach out to my own network and see what I can find out. I don’t like this interest in partnering with rogues.”. Agreeing with him, he turns to look at Rafe and Boyd adds, “Now if you will excuse me Rafe and I have some business to discuss before this evening’s dinner. I look forward to seeing you tonight, Kate,” he smiles as he and Rafe move off out the door.

“Thanks sir.” Before he let go of the money, Rafe said, “Next time, don’t get onto someone’s vessel without their permission. Understood?” The man nodded vigorously. “Understood.” Rafe let go of the cash and the delivery man rushed to disembark. Pissed at himself and his irresolute behavior, Rafe followed him onto the pier, released the mooring rope, got back onto the yacht and ran up the steps to the fly bridge. He needed some air. He needed to get away. The open ocean was what he needed at that very moment.

“Sir, we’ve confirmed—he’s an Omega.” Rafe’s lips curved into a faint, cold smile. “I like him,” he said quietly, almost to himself. His expression hardened, icy and unreadable. “But… sir, he’s undercover,” the man reminded him cautiously. Rafe’s smile didn’t waver. His eyes never left Jay. “Then I’ll handle him myself,” he said, his voice low, lethal. He turned and walked toward his sleek black car parked outside. Meanwhile, the photo shoot carried on. Jay posed effortlessly as photographers clicked furiously, stylists whispered over each other, and assistants blushed at his striking features.

“BAM! BAM! BAM! Rafe’s eyes snapped open. A sharply dressed man in an elegant suit stood outside, irritation written across his face. “Hey! Move your car from here,” he said the moment their eyes met. Rafe blinked away the fog of sleep. Only then did he notice the building behind the man; a studio with musical instruments decorating the entrance. He nodded apologetically and reached for the ignition… then paused. Money lay scattered on the floor of the car. “Perfect,” he muttered under his breath, quickly gathering it before driving off. Derek stirred awake as Rafe parked at a supermarket. Rafe stepped out and returned minutes later with snacks, drinks, antiseptic spray, and fresh bandages.

Nothing. We rolled into the main yard. People stopped and stared. Not shocked to see us alive. Shocked to see us at all. The front doors of the packhouse opened. Rafe strode out. He looked rough - stubble, dark circles, shirt half-buttoned wrong - but very much alive. He stopped dead when he saw us. Then his eyes narrowed. “Where the hell were you for so long?” We all frowned. Maddox killed the engine first. “So long?” he repeated.

The room feels brighter just with her presence, and all my apprehension evaporates in her warm energy. “This is Christobel, a Gamma within Io. And the woman who raised me,” Rafe muses, his forced smile softening into a genuine one as he gazes lovingly at the older woman. She raised him, but he didn’t call her mother. I wonder what the story is there. Come to think of it, I know very little about Rafe outside of his feelings for me, his love of Io, and his hatred of River Crest. Granted, we never spoke about our families or backgrounds when we were together. I just thought he avoided the topic because it was obvious that I had no interest in talking about my broken home and black sheep status

He wore a tight black t-shirt that strained against the definition of his shoulders. He was eating a steak, a massive, bloody cut at eight in the morning, tearing into it with his teeth like a predator. His eyes were fixed on the window, but the energy radiating off him was entirely, dangerously focused on me. And Rafe. Rafe sat to Damian’s left, with the picture of terrifying composure. He sipped black coffee from a porcelain mug, his dark eyes tracking my every movement from behind the steam. He looked impeccable, as always, but there was a tightness around his mouth, a barely contained stillness that screamed he was holding on by the thinnest of threads.

If I have another, I'll never hear the end of it from Roxie. As I wait for the drinks, someone else comes up to the bar. When I look up, I find it's Luca's next youngest brother, Raphael - or Rafe, as his family usually calls him. Rafe is pretty darn different from his older brothers. While Dante and Luca are opposites in terms of temperament, they're both polished when it comes to their public personas. Rafe, on the other hand, is the black sheep of the family. With his shaved head and tattoos, he looks more like he belongs in a motorcycle gang than in Hollywood's royal family. And he's definitely forging his own career path - though he's done some acting like everyone else in his family, h