Page 88 of Ravaged Soul

Then Ember came crashing back into my life, far more confusing and bewitching than the sharp-tongued slip of a girl I once trailed behind like a lovesick puppy. Years spent being beaten and tortured didn’t soften her.

Instead, her hard edges were filed into razor-like points that seem determined to cut me wide open at any given opportunity. Every time she speaks, I feel myself bleeding out at her feet, frantic for a second of her attention. All those childhood feelings are full-blown, obsessive earworms now.

My busted knuckles ache, the scabbed lacerations smarting each time I turn the car’s steering wheel. There’s not much dignified about being the team’s medic when you have to patch up the very man you beat bloody.

“Dickhead.” I slam my fist on the dashboard, mentally berating myself for the pain that rushes through my hand.

Dickhead is a polite word for that snake. I should’ve known offering Blaine Madden a plea deal would bite me in the backside. Though it never occurred to me that he’d even think about looking Ember’s way, let alone kissing her while vulnerable.

Car horns blare when I accidentally swerve, almost crossing lanes in my rage. Blinking hard, I focus on the busy road into Hackney. Even as the sound of fists hitting flesh still vibrates in my ear canals.

Fuck it!

Blaine deserved a broken nose. He also deserved to leave that bathroom in a body bag instead of slumped between two agents, but I held back for Ember’s sake. She doesn’t know what she wants. Hell, she thought it was a bright idea to hide a seizure from us.

Every time my phone rings via the handsfree, I decline the incoming call. Hyland and Axel will have to do without me running their disastrous asses for a few hours. I needed to get away—I can’t think straight in the penthouse with Ember there.

My tyres skid against the curb as I pull up outside the block of artsy apartments. I texted ahead, so I’m unsurprised to see Lennox lounging against the gate, the tip of his cigarette glowing in the evening din.

For an ex-patient of Harrowdean Manor, Lennox Nash has made a hell of a life for himself. From his newly opened gym to somehow successfully navigating a poly relationship with the inmates he escaped with, not many can say they rebuilt as well as he has.

The last decade hasn’t done much to soften his imposing presence. Like Hyland, Lennox packs a punch in pure aura alone. His broad, muscular shoulders, dark-chocolate hair and gym-honed bulk all scream intimidation, but I know him for the good soul he is beneath his damage.

“Fantastic parking,” he mocks.

“Fuck off, Nox. Not in the mood.” I slam the car door shut.

“So you decided to come spread your joy to us?”

“I need to speak to Ripley.”

With a final drag, he flicks his cigarette aside. “She’s coming down from a three-week manic episode. Don’t go in if you’re here with bad news. She can’t take it right now.”

“Ease off, I’m just looking for some advice.”

“You are?” He frowns at me.

“Don’t look so surprised. We all need a friend sometimes.”

“Jesus. You must be in trouble if you’re here looking for help.”

“Hilarious. Didn’t you quit smoking?”

“Hence why I’m hiding outside.” He smiles wolfishly. “Good to see you alive, by the way.”

Lennox accepts the hand I outstretch to shake his with. Old fighting scars pull taut over his knuckles as our palms grasp.

“Sorry about the scare. This case is getting out of control.”

“It’s Ripley you need to apologise to.” He nails me with a stern look. “She was worried sick when you didn’t call back.”

“Yeah, I will.”

“Good. Come in then. Raine’s cooking tonight, so I hope you already ate.”

The thought of Raine, their visually impaired fourth house member, navigating any kind of meal prep is slightly amusing. He may be an aficionado with his violin, but the kitchen isn’t his strong suit.

“When’s he back on tour?” I ask as we ascend.