Page 87 of Ignite

Turning, I take in the pink streaks through the woman’s light hair and the fake lashes that weigh her eyelids down, giving her a sleepy look. Glitter sparkles on her high cheekbones.

I force a smile at her while I ease her arms off my body. “Sorry, but I’m pretty gay and very taken.”

She steps back. “Bummer. Have a good night, cutie.”

Failing to swallow the lump in my throat, I glance back up at the balcony. Another man has joined the couch overlords. Dressed in a black button-up and slacks, he clashes with the others. His light brown hair is short, and a pair of wire-framed glasses perch on his nose.

I know this man.

Blood drains from my body, leaving me a cold husk. I’m thankful for the seat under my ass, or I might have collapsed to the floor, which would only draw unwanted attention.

The man that held me prisoner leans over to chat with Gabriel, a drink in his hand.

God, is it possible to pass out and throw up at the same time? Panic slithers through my body, mixed with disgust and fear and white-hot rage.

He should be dead. I thought the wound to his neck was enough to end him. I wish I could see the scar where I stabbed him to confirm that this isn’t just a figment of my twisted imagination.

Suddenly, the gun tucked into my waistband does nothing to make me feel strong. I can’t fucking do this. Who can be a successful mercenary when they react like this?

I slide off the chair, nearly losing my balance when my feet hit the ground.

“Hun, you gonna finish that?” the bartender shouts.

I glance back at her, which is a huge mistake. Awareness of eyes on me ices my bones. My gaze darts up to the balcony.

My abuser is staring back at me. I’m eight years old again. Filled with hope that I found a forever home, only to have that hope crushed. Instead, I find myself shivering in a dark basement, starved of human interaction and brainwashed to submit to his whims.

Bile singes my throat. I clench my teeth together to keep from getting sick. Even from a distance, I feel him too close to me. His evil has a fucking presence. A shadow-like form that wraps invisible hands around my throat to suffocate me.

His slow, wicked grin is my undoing.

I bolt for the door, panic coiling around my chest, strangling the air from my lungs.

I can’t do this. I can’t. I can’tbreathe.

I stumble out of the club and make it half a mile down the street before I slip behind a restaurant and plant my ass on the wet street. My head hangs between my knees as I start slamming my spine against the brick wall behind me, breaking open my skin.

Over and over and over again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CAIN

Ezra’s a mess when his call comes through.

There’s only cries and indistinguishable ramblings on the other end, and it drives my heart into a quick rhythm.

Alaric had informed me that the shelter Rev and Ezra arrived at was under Gabriel’s watch. Three other locations were, as well.

I would have preferred the firefight to the scene I’d busted into at Ezra’s previous foster home. Six children, malnourished and clad in soiled clothes.

Salem got them all out before I lost control and splattered the kitchen in the woman’s blood.

I hate that my teams are spread too thin tonight. I’m overwhelmed by the urge to be in several places at once.

But Ezra comes first. Always.

“Baby, what is it? What’s going on?” I demand, bolting for the SUV parked outside the foster home. I rip open the door and slide in, smashingdown on the gas before I even have his location pulled up on my phone. Forest can hitch a ride with Salem.