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SEVENTEEN

Jamie

After that day in the office, I’d stayed away from Killian for two days.

Two days since I’d heard his anger and the command in his voice, the weight of the control he took from me. The fire hadn’t quietened the noise in my head this time. It licked at the edges but didn’t touch the core, and I was spiraling because he’d helped me.

He’d called me Pretty.

That word shouldn’t have wrecked me, but it did.

It made me ache in ways I didn’t have language for.

It wasn’t about the sex. It never really was.

It was about surrender. About someone strong enough to take what I gave and not flinch.

I needed the brutal steadiness of his presence, the way he stripped me bare and left nothing but truth.

I needed the collar back around my throat, the burn of punishment and the grace of being seen.

I needed to be kept, and fuck, I hated that almost as much as I craved it.

And, I was craving it.

Every fucking hour.

The silence was worse than anything. There were no messages or visits, and I didn’t go back to his office. It was absence, stretching longer and sharper with each morning I woke up in my place, pretending I didn’t care about what I’d done, or what he’d done for me.

Not to me.

For me.

I wasn’t on a killing-everyone lockdown, not exactly, but Rio had made it pretty clear we weren’t taking action on anything or anyone until Killian gave the go-ahead.

I was supposed to wait. Stay still. I didn’t want to.

But Rio didn’t know about the connection between Killian, his team, and Lassiter.

I needed a target.

Anything to kill this quiet.

Instead, I was stuck with the endless hum of waiting, the sick twist of withdrawal not from fire, but from him . From the chaos in my head that stilled when I was on my knees, the pull of him when he was angry and real and too fucking close.

I woke early. Not that I’d really slept.

Rio returned from wherever he’d been sometime after four, probably another fight at The Pit.

I caught the low thud of boots kicked off and then…

the unmistakable rhythm of sex. Loud. Fast. His partner begging, the crack of a hand on skin, Rio groaning, the headboard hitting the wall, and I lay there with my heart in my throat, shame crawling hot under my skin.

At least someone here knew how to get what they needed.

A door slammed. Mocking laughter. More shouting. Silence.

I gave up trying to sleep after that.

By five-thirty, I’d dressed in the half-dark—sweats, hoodie, lighter in my pocket like a comfort blanket—and slipped out.

The streets were quiet, the sky still that subdued purple before dawn.

I walked the long way to Redcars, a circular route past warehouse blocks and down side alleys where shadows pooled thickly.

I didn’t expect anyone to be awake when I got there.

I was half-hoping I’d be alone. I entered the code and opened the side entrance, wincing at the creak.

My footsteps echoed on the concrete floor.

Dim light seeped under the office door, but the main bay was empty—no Logan, Enzo, or Robbie.

Just me and the thick smell of oil and old rubber.

I drifted toward the kitchen, tried to start the coffee maker, and cursed when it hissed at me, but finally, I had a coffee and a purpose. I wanted to be out there doing something. I even had a new property tied to Lassiter that I could go out and watch.

Not to burn.

I need to burn.

But we were on killing pause and not to touch anyone. I fucking hated it. Who were Killian and Rio to tell me what to do?

“Couldn’t sleep?” Robbie murmured from behind me, his voice barely more than a breath. I spun, coffee sloshing over my hand. He flinched at the sudden movement, but didn’t retreat. I didn’t scare him. That was something. Maybe the only good thing.

“Robbie?” I asked, keeping my voice low. “Where’s Enzo?”

“Upstairs. We stayed over.” His words were slow, as though they weighed something. “I needed to…”

He shrugged and went to the fridge and pulled out a tray of cooled cookie dough rounds. His hands trembled as he set them on the counter. He looked pale in the dim light, eyes shadowed with deep purple smudges, as if he hadn’t slept. As if he’d been crying .

Last night must’ve been bad. Bad enough to come back to Redcars, bad enough to bake. He slid the tray into the oven and stepped back without another word.

“Did your favorites,” he said, curling into the nearest chair, legs pulled up tight to his chest. He looked small like that. Lost. His hair was mussed, his sleeves too long, and his gaze fixed on nothing. Vulnerable. Sad.

The air smelled like brown sugar and cinnamon, warm in the stillness.

I saw it when I was about to turn away to give him space.

“Robbie… you want to talk?” The words came out stiff, awkward, and too loud in the quiet kitchen. I rubbed at the back of my neck, glancing anywhere but at him. “Or… I dunno. I could sit here and not say anything. Whatever you need.”

He didn’t look up, but his shoulders hunched and began to shake as he cried, breaking my heart, and I froze, unsure of what to do with the sharp twist in my chest. I was useless when Robbie still had terrors in his sleep and it fucking hurt—worse than anything I could set alight.

The helplessness and stillness crawled under my skin like an itch I couldn’t scratch.

My temper sat just beneath the surface, fizzing like the hiss of gas before the flare.

I wanted to burn something to feel in control again.

“Robbie? Talk to me.”

He flinched but didn’t look up at me as he wiped his face with his sleeve, smearing a streak of flour across his cheek. “I’m okay.”

He wasn’t. Anyone could see that. I watched him, trying to ignore the hollow ache tightening its grip because I needed to fix it all.

I wanted to protect Robbie and tear apart whatever nightmare still clung to him.

I tried to find the people who’d done this and make them afraid.

Burn down the shadows. Dismantle every fucked-up thing that hurt the people I cared about.

I needed to do something. To hand out justice with my own hands, judge the guilty, and be the fire that kept my family safe.

I wanted to erase the fear from Robbie’s eyes, remove the weight on his chest, give him even a single night, without waking up scared.

But I couldn’t. I wasn’t fucking allowed. And that helplessness? It made me want to explode.

“Why do you love fire so much?” Robbie’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the silence like a blade.

I didn’t answer at first. I wasn’t sure I could. But he waited .

“Because she doesn’t lie,” I said, voice low, raw. “She takes what you give her, no more, no less. You show her weakness, she devours it. But if you treat her right and understand her—she’s beautiful. Powerful. Pure.”

He frowned, watching me too closely. “You talk about it like it’s alive. Like a woman.”

“She is,” I whispered. “To me. She’s the only thing that ever made sense.” Or was she? Killian silenced the craving when he beat my ass, and fucked me to orgasm, then cradled my face in his hands and asked me if I was okay. Seemed like fire had a rival in my affections.

Robbie looked away, then back again, eyes shining. “I don’t get it.”

I let out a hollow laugh. “You don’t have to get it. No one ever did. When people hurt me , I couldn’t cry—I set things on fire. I stopped feeling pain and started watching the world burn, and it was the only thing that made sense.”

Robbie stared at me for a long moment, then reached for my hand and gripped it tightly.

“I wish I were that brave,” he murmured.

“Robbie, you escaped,” I said, voice hoarse with conviction. “You lived through it all, and you got away. You’re the bravest person I know. ”

He blinked, surprised, then a small, genuine smile tugged at his mouth. “Maybe we’re both brave then.”

Enzo padded into the kitchen, barefoot and bleary-eyed as the oven timer dinged. Without a word, he crossed to the stove, flicked the timer off, and crouched in front of Robbie.

“Come back to bed, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep but so damn gentle it broke something in me. Robbie let himself be gathered up, arms winding around Enzo’s neck, face buried there as if he could hide from the world.

“I’ve got this,” Enzo said over his shoulder, his eyes meeting mine with quiet reassurance. Robbie clung tighter, and Enzo kissed the top of his head. “Nightmares,” he mouthed to me.

I nodded. What else was there to say?

“I’ll pack the cookies away when they’re cool,” I offered, moving toward the oven.

“Don’t you dare eat them all, Jamie Maddox,” Robbie whispered, his voice watery.

Enzo chuckled as they climbed the stairs. “He won’t if he knows what’s good for him.”

“I’m promising nothing!” I shouted after them as the scent of warm cookies filled the air, all sweetness and the opposite of the sparks vibrating under my skin.

I should’ve said something more to help Robbie, but instead, I stared at the tray of cookies as if they might give me answers, my heart thudding in a rhythm that had nothing to do with sweetness or comfort. I didn’t feel hunger.

I felt fire. I wanted to find the men who hurt him, and I wanted to burn them to ash.

The day didn’t get any easier. Logan was back in the office, and he and Enzo had been shut away in there since lunchtime, the door closed, the low hum of conversation just loud enough to piss me off.

It felt deliberate—like they were making plans without us, deciding what came next and whether we were part of it.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Robbie asked me again, for the third time since the door had clicked shut. His voice was too casual to be casual. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, and his eyes were fixed on the closed door as if he could will it open.