Page 15

FIFTEEN

Ember

Aria’s question catches me off guard. My fingers brush against the vial of matches in my pocket—my constant companion, my secret weapon.

How do I explain that every time I was in danger, every time I needed an escape…

No. Some secrets are better left buried.

“I sell candles,” I say finally. “Handmade. Soy wax and essential oils.”

Aria’s eyes light up, surprising me. “Really? That sounds amazing. What kind of scents do you use?”

I warm up to the topic despite my best efforts. “Lavender for peace, cinnamon for warmth, eucalyptus for clarity. Each one has a purpose, you know? It’s not just about smelling nice.”

“That’s incredible,” Aria says, and genuine admiration colors her voice. Her words catch me off guard. “I wish I could do something like that. Something that’s—mine, you know?”

“I suppose.”

She doesn’t get it. She sees creativity and freedom, while I see survival. Each candle isn’t freedom to create—it’s a way to keep the darkness at bay, to carve out a sliver of control in a world that’s taken almost everything from me.

“I was rude to you.” She ducks her head. “I’m sorry for that.”

“Don’t be. I’m used to people passing me by.”

“Really? That’s so…” She pauses as if choosing her words carefully.

I already know what she’s going to say.

“It’s sad how people treat each other, and it’s no excuse for rudeness. I really am sorry.” Aria smiles, a real smile this time. “When this is all over, remind me to buy a few of your candles. I could use some peace and clarity in my life.”

The sincerity in her voice throws me. I’m not used to people being interested in my work.

“Sure,” I respond with a non-committal shrug.

“How do you make them?” Aria asks, leaning forward. “With the oils and everything?”

As I explain the process, I relax for the first time since this nightmare began. Talking about my candles, about the care and passion I put into each one, feels like a lifeline to what used to be normal.

Aria, to my continued surprise, listens with rapt attention. This moment of connection with someone I thought I’d hate on principle is strange, but as we talk, we’re not so different after all.

We’re both trapped in our own ways, both longing for something more.

I feel a sudden urge to break the tension, to say something ridiculous and see what happens.

“If this whole socialite thing doesn’t work out, you could always be my assistant. I’ll teach you the fine art of dumpster diving for supplies.”

“I can learn the swan dive or cannonball.” She snorts, and suddenly, we’re both laughing—hard, bordering on maniacal laughter that has more to do with stress relief than actual humor.

The image of Aria, in her designer clothes, rooting through trash for supplies is so absurd it sets off another round of giggles.

When we finally catch our breath, Aria looks at me with something close to respect. “You know what? I might take you up on that. Anything’s got to be better than another charity auction. Not to mention, the look on their faces when I tell them about dumpster diving will be worth it.”

“Deal.” I wipe tears from my eyes. “But fair warning: the health benefits package is basically ‘try not to die.’?”

This sets us off again, our laughter echoing in the too-quiet room. It’s not quite friendship, not yet. But it’s—something; a tiny spark of understanding during chaos.

Right now, I’ll take whatever light I can get.

“Thanks,” she says softly, her voice thick with emotion. “For what you did back there. In the warehouse. And—and on the street. When no one else looked twice, you tried to help me. I don’t think I would have made it without you.”

“Tried being the operative word. I wish I had helped. Instead, they took me with you.”

“And for that, I will always be in your debt. I’m so very sorry all this happened to you. I’ll never be able to repay what you tried to do.”

The sincerity in her voice makes me uncomfortable. I’m not used to gratitude, especially not from people like her. There’s respect in her eyes that I’ve never seen directed at me before. It’s—unsettling.

“Yeah, well…” I shrug, trying to brush it off. “We girls gotta stick together, right? Even if some of us shop at Gucci and others at Goodwill.”

Aria lets out a small laugh, then winces, her hand going to her temple. “God, my head is killing me. Do you think they have any aspirin in this place?”

“I’ll check.” I’m grateful for the excuse to move, to do something other than sit and marinate in memories I’d rather forget. The weight of her gratitude, her respect, is almost too much to bear. I’m more comfortable with scorn and being overlooked.

This is new territory for me.

As I head to the kitchen, I can’t help but wonder how this unlikely connection with Aria will play out. We’re from different worlds, but trauma has a way of erasing boundaries. For better or worse, we’re in this together.

As I rummage through cabinets in the adjoining kitchen, I spot a small medicine cabinet. Inside, there’s a bottle of aspirin, but as I reach for it, a flash of memory assaults me—a tattoo, stark black against pale skin. A serpent coiled around a dagger, its forked tongue tasting a drop of blood at the blade’s tip. I saw it on Bruiser, who took particular pleasure in my fear.

The bottle of aspirin slips from my suddenly numb fingers, clattering to the floor. Pills scatter across the tile like tiny white marbles.

“Ember?” Blaze’s voice seems to come from far away. “Are you okay? Can I help you with something?”

I turn, and the sight of Blaze without his tactical gear and helmet hits me like a physical blow.

He’s—magnificent.

My breath catches in my throat, and for a moment, I’m frozen, struggling to reconcile the man in front of me with the one I’ve been fighting beside.

He’s tall, easily over six feet, with a muscular build that speaks of years of intense training. His presence fills the small kitchen, commanding and undeniably alpha, but it’s his face that truly captures my attention.

Keen eyes, a striking hazel brown that reminds me of embers in a dying fire, seem to see right through me. His hair is lazily unkempt, but in that perfectly disordered way that takes more effort than he’d likely admit. A strong jaw, currently sporting a day’s worth of stubble, completes the picture of rugged attractiveness.

He’s easily a ten, the kind of man who probably has a different woman every night. Women who throw themselves at him, and why wouldn’t they? He’s gorgeous, powerful, and clearly a chick magnet.

And then there’s me.

Dirty, in clothes that haven’t seen the inside of a washing machine in months—if ever. I’m so far beyond anything he’d consider attractive, it’s laughable. If he’s a ten, I’m a negative one, a street rat with delusions of adequacy.

I blink, forcing myself back to the present and away from my self-deprecating thoughts.

“I’m good,” I lie, bending to scoop up the spilled pills. “Just clumsy.”

As I gather the aspirin, I’m acutely aware of Blaze’s presence, of the gulf between us. A man like him and a girl like me? It’s a fairy tale, and I learned long ago that those don’t exist in my world.

The need to escape, to be anywhere but here, suddenly overwhelms me. I scramble to my feet, pills clutched in my hand, and make a beeline for the door, but before I can take more than two steps, a strong arm wraps around my waist, halting me in my tracks.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” Blaze’s voice rumbles close to my ear, sending involuntary shivers down my spine.

I’m hyperaware of his body pressed against mine, of the solid wall of muscle at my back. His scent envelops me—an intoxicating mix of sandalwood, gun oil, and something uniquely male. It’s overwhelming, making my head spin.

“Let go.” I try to push him away, but it’s like trying to move a mountain.

He doesn’t budge.

“Stop running,” he commands, his voice low and intense. The possessiveness in his tone both thrills and terrifies me.

I twist in his grip, attempting to break free, but somehow, the movement only brings us closer. We spin, and suddenly, my back is against the wall. Blaze looms over me. His arms cage me in, and his face is mere inches from mine.

His lips are impossibly close.

Those ember eyes bore into me, filled with an emotion I can’t—won’t—name. It makes my heart race with equal parts fear and want.

His voice flows, wrapping around me, soft yet commanding, the kind of tone that demands attention without needing to compel it. It’s undeniable, almost hypnotic, pulling me in even when I want to push away.

There’s something exotic about the way he speaks—like warmth and danger all in one, leaving me caught between wanting to run and needing to stay.

“Stop running,” Blaze repeats, softer this time but still in control. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

I swallow hard, trying to find my voice, but all I can focus on is the warmth of his breath on my cheek, the intensity of his gaze, and the solid presence of his body so close to mine.

It’s too much.

Too close.

Too—everything.

“I-I can’t,” I manage to whisper, hating how weak I sound. “Please, just—let me go.”

Even as I say the words, I don’t want him to let me go, and judging by the look in Blaze’s eyes, he’s not sure about it either.

Blaze’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching. “You’re holding back. I see it in your eyes. There’s something you’re not telling us, something critical.”

I shake my head, averting my gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

In my world, snitches die slow, agonizing deaths, and I want nothing to do with that.

He leans in closer, if that’s even possible. His scent permeates the air, making it hard to think straight.

“Don’t lie to me,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that I can feel in my chest. “I’ve seen enough people try to hide the truth. You’re not as good at it as you think.”

The chemistry between us crackles, an almost tangible force in the small space. I try to press myself further into the wall, but there’s nowhere to go.

He’s everywhere, overwhelming my senses.

“I’m not hiding anything,” I insist, but my voice lacks conviction.

Blaze’s hand comes up, gently tilting my chin so I’m forced to meet his gaze. The touch sends sparks through my body, and I hate myself for reacting this way.

“Listen to me,” he says, his voice soft but intense. “I’m not going to let you get away with this. Whatever you’re holding back, it could be important. I expect more from you. You’re stronger than this. Smarter too.”

His words hit me like a blow. The faith in his voice, the expectation—it’s suffocating. I’ve spent so long being no one, invisible, that the weight of his belief in me feels like it might crush me.

“You don’t know me,” I snap, my voice sharper now. “You don’t know my world, the things I’ve seen, what I’ve had to do.”

Blaze’s lips twitch into a small, knowing smile. “Not yet. But I will. You want me to see you.”

I open my mouth to argue, but something about how he says it stops me cold. His voice isn’t a threat. It’s a promise—one that feels dangerous and reassuring all at once.