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TWENTY-FIVE

Ember

My heart slams against my ribs as the black SUVs screech to a halt, surrounding us like a pack of wolves closing in on their prey. Doors fly open, and men pour out, weapons trained on us with deadly precision. The air reeks of burning rubber, mingling with the acrid bite of fear coating my tongue.

“Blaze…” My voice cracks, terror threatening to lock my throat. “How did they…”

“I don’t know.” His voice is low and rough, like a growl buried deep in his chest. He pulls me close, arm locking around my waist. Tension radiates off him, muscles coiled tight, poised to strike. His eyes flick over the circle of armed men closing in, calculating.

But there are too many.

“Blaze…” My hand grips his arm, the raw power beneath his skin barely contained, like a storm ready to break. My breath trembles. “You’ll die if you fight.” The words come out low, pleading. The knot in my stomach tightens. We’re screwed.

He doesn’t move, his chest rising in sharp bursts, the violence simmering just beneath the surface. Protecting me; it’s all that drives him, but he’s staring down a death sentence if he makes a move.

The armed men close in, boots pounding against the pavement. The sharp click of safeties being switched off cuts through the tension. Blaze tenses beside me, his hand flexing, ready to lunge, but my grip tightens around his arm.

The leader, a hulking figure with cold eyes, steps forward, his voice a low, mocking rumble. “There’s no escape.”

Blaze snarls, a low, dangerous sound, but the moment stretches—just long enough for reality to hit. Rough hands seize me from behind, yanking me away. Blaze’s shout rips through the chaos; fury and desperation roll off him in waves, but the armed men overwhelm him too fast.

My body jerks backward as they drag him in the opposite direction. His roar echoes as we’re torn apart.

“Easy now,” a familiar voice drawls. Bruiser. His face is a swollen mess of bruises courtesy of Blaze. “The boss wants you both in one piece. For now.”

They shove us forward, and the asphalt scrapes under my sneakers as they march us toward the black SUVs. Bruiser’s voice grates at the back of my mind, but my thoughts race in a different direction, slow pieces of a puzzle coming together, one by one.

The shoes.

The same ratty sneakers I’ve been wearing since this nightmare began. When they yanked me off the streets, they left me with nothing but the clothes on my back and these shoes. I wore them when Blaze rescued me, dragging me out of that hellhole and into the safe house. He gave me new clothes, but these sneakers are the one thing that came with me, untouched.

Could they have …?

The thought creeps in, slow and sticky like the dread that curls in my gut. How they found us every time, no matter how many times we ran, or how many places we hid.

I glance down, the worn-out soles scuffing the pavement, a threadbare reminder of everything I’ve been through. My stomach twists, the realization snaking its way through my chest, squeezing tighter with every step.

No time to dwell on it. They shove us into an SUV, tinted windows cutting us off from the world. The engine roars, and we’re off to God knows where.

The ride is long and disorienting. Every sharp turn jerks me in the seat, and each pothole rattles my bones. Blaze’s solid, steady warmth beside me is the only thing anchoring me, keeping the panic from spiraling out of control.

After the vehicle lurches to a stop, they yank open the door. Blinking hard, the sudden brightness stings like sunlight after being buried in darkness too long.

We’re in an underground parking garage, all concrete and cold shadows. The air smells damp and metallic, like rust and stale gasoline. Dim fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting a sickly yellow hue on the cracked cement floor. The walls feel like they’re closing in, the low ceiling amplifying every footstep, the echo bouncing off the bare concrete.

The faint drip of water hits somewhere in the shadows, rhythmic, unnerving. Everything about this place screams forgotten, abandoned, like we’re buried deep beneath the world above.

“Welcome to our humble abode,” Bruiser sneers, his voice thick with satisfaction. “The boss is eager to meet you.”

They shove us forward again, out of the parking garage and toward a dark opening in the far wall. A heavy metal door groans as they drag it open, leading us away from the emptiness of the garage into a claustrophobic maze of narrow corridors.

The shift is immediate—gone are the open spaces, replaced by dimly lit concrete tunnels that twist and turn with no end in sight.

Each step pulls me deeper into the maze, the walls closing tighter with every turn. The air turns thick, stale, almost suffocating. The hum of distant machinery fades as the corridors stretch further, the low ceiling scraping at the edges of my awareness. The place feels endless like it’s swallowing us whole.

It reminds me of the tunnels under the city, where I hid when the streets got too dangerous. Just like back then, the air’s heavy with decay, thick with the smell of damp concrete and something metallic.

My stomach churns.

Blood.

Finally, we emerge into a massive underground chamber. It’s like something out of a nightmare—vast concrete walls stretch high above, disappearing into darkness. Rusted pipes crisscross the ceiling, sagging cables hanging like forgotten nooses. Water drips somewhere, echoing off the walls. The air is cold and damp and reeks of mildew, metal, and something far worse.

Bruiser shoves us into a tiny room, nothing but two chairs and a table beneath a single sad-ass lightbulb swaying overhead—it’s like something out of a bad interrogation scene.

His grin’s all teeth and cruelty, the kind that promises pain. Blaze tenses beside me.

“Sit tight,” Bruiser sneers, stepping closer, his boots thudding on the concrete. “The fun’s about to begin.”

Without warning, Bruiser throws a brutal punch into Blaze’s gut, hard enough to make the air rush out of him. The sound of the hit echoes off the walls as Blaze doubles over, but he doesn’t go down. His jaw clenches, muscles rippling, but he stays standing, eyes burning with barely contained fury.

Bruiser chuckles, clearly satisfied with his cheap shot, and saunters out, slamming the door behind him.

The harsh light buzzes overhead, casting long, ugly shadows on the walls. I glance over at Blaze, his breath’s coming out in sharp, controlled bursts. He straightens slowly, brushing off the hit like it was nothing.

“You okay?” My voice is quiet, cutting through the thick air between us.

His gaze flicks to mine, hard and unflinching, but there’s a flicker of something beneath the surface—worry, maybe, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears.

“I’m fine.” His tone’s clipped, dismissive, like he’s brushing off a paper cut instead of a gut punch. He doesn’t wait for me to push further. “How are you doing?”

“As fine as I can be while Zip Tied in some underground torture chamber. Real cozy in here.”

“Cozy?” His expression turns into a smirk. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“I know how they’ve been tracking us.” I glance down at the worn sneakers on my feet, the ones I’ve had since this nightmare started.

“How?”

“It’s these damn shoes.”

“What do you mean by that?” His expression shifts instantly, sharpening.

“When they took me off the streets, these sneakers were the only thing I had left. When we reached the safe house, everything else was replaced except these. I initially didn’t think about it, but now… It makes sense. They must’ve planted a tracker in them. That’s how they’ve found us every time.”

“That makes sense.” His voice is low and calm, like a storm brewing under the surface.

His jaw tightens as he processes that, his eyes narrowing in thought. He leans back slightly, eyes scanning the room, always thinking.

“So,” I shift uncomfortably, rolling my shoulders as much as the Zip Ties allow. “There’s no way your team will find us now.”

“We have our ways.” His lips twitch, a faint, knowing smile playing there despite everything.

“That’s vague and not at all reassuring.” I raise an eyebrow.

“They’ll find us,” Blaze says, voice steady, confident. There’s no doubt in his voice, just that solid, unshakable certainty I’ve come to rely on. Even after everything, Blaze is still the one thing that makes me believe we’ll get through this.

Together.

“Guess I’ll take your word for it.” I glance toward the door and wonder what happens next. I shift in the chair, but there’s no comfortable position.

The door suddenly opens. A man walks in, and the air goes cold. He moves like a predator, every step calculated, but his eyes get me—gray and hard as steel, sizing us up like cattle at auction.

This has to be Damien Wolfe.

He’s tall and lean, wearing a suit that probably costs more than I’ll ever make in my entire life. His hair’s this salt-and-pepper deal, swept back all fancy. He could be some big-shot CEO or politician, but there’s something about him, something that makes my skin crawl—darkness, like looking into the eyes of a soulless shark.

“Well…” His voice is smooth as good whiskey, with just a hint of amusement. “I must say, you two have led us on quite the chase.”

He grabs a chair, sitting between us. His eyes linger on me, and something flickers in them.

Recognition?

What the hell?

“It’s been a long time, little flame,” he says softly. “You’ve grown.”