Page 29

TWENTY-NINE

Blaze

Wolfe sighs, shaking his head in mock disappointment, but I catch the gleam of anticipation in his eyes as he selects a wicked-looking pair of pliers from the cart.

“Very well,” he says, turning back to me with a smile that chills me to my core. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

His polished shoes click against the concrete as he circles my chair. Each step is measured, deliberate—a shark circling its prey. I keep my gaze fixed straight ahead, refusing to track his movement.

“Now, Mr. Hawkins…” His voice drips honey and venom. “Let’s talk about your team. Guardian HRS, isn’t it? Quite the impressive operation you’ve got there.”

Silence stretches between us. I can feel his eyes boring into me, probing for weakness.

“Come now,” Wolfe tuts, “there’s no need for this bravado. We both know how this ends. Why don’t you make it easier on yourself?”

My throat is sandpaper, but I rasp out the only words I’ll give him. “Got nothing to say to you.”

He chuckles, the sound setting my teeth on edge. “Oh, I think you do. For instance, how did you track us so efficiently? Your response time was… Might I say—impressive.”

I say nothing. The room’s musty air feels thick and oppressive.

Wolfe leans in close, his breath hot on my ear. “What resources are at your disposal? Satellite surveillance? Government ties? Or perhaps…” his voice drops to a whisper, “something more exotic?”

My muscles tense involuntarily. How much does he know?

“Classified,” I grunt, falling back on old training.

“Classified,” Wolfe repeats mockingly. He resumes his pacing. “You do realize your situation, don’t you? There’s no cavalry coming, Mr. Hawkins. No last-minute rescue.”

A bead of sweat trickles down my spine. I focus on my breathing, slow and steady.

“Your methods intrigue me,” Wolfe continues. “The efficiency, the precision. Almost—military, one might say. Special forces, perhaps?”

I clench my jaw, fighting to keep my expression neutral. Wolfe’s eyes narrow, catching the minute reaction.

“Ah,” he breathes. “Getting warmer, aren’t we?”

“You seem to have all the answers,” I deflect. “Why bother asking me?”

Wolfe’s polite mask slips for a fraction of a second. Frustration flashes in his eyes, quickly hidden.

“Information can be such a fickle thing,” he says, voice tightening almost imperceptibly. “One likes to verify from the source.”

He stops in front of me, hands clasped behind his back. “Let’s try another angle, shall we? Your team’s response to Aria Holbrook’s abduction. How did you mobilize so quickly?”

I meet his gaze, unflinching. “Just lucky, I guess.”

Wolfe’s nostrils flare. A muscle twitches in his jaw. “Luck,” he spits the word. “Had nothing to do with it. You were prepared. You knew.”

“If you say so.”

His hand shoots out, gripping my chin. Gone is the veneer of civility. His eyes blaze with barely contained rage.

“Do not test me, Mr. Hawkins. My patience has limits.”

I stare back, pouring every ounce of defiance into my gaze. “Sounds like a personal problem.”

Wolfe’s grip tightens painfully. For a moment, I think he might actually strike me. Then, with visible effort, he releases me and steps back. The mask of control slides back into place, but cracks are showing.

“Very well,” he says, smoothing his jacket. “If that’s how you want to play this. Remember, you had your chance.”

He moves toward the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. “I do hope you’re more cooperative when I return. For your sake—and for Ember’s.”

The door slams shut behind him, leaving me alone with the implications of his threat. Silence descends like a heavy blanket. I’m alone with the flickering light, the musty air, and the growing catalog of pain throughout my body. My ribs throb with each breath, a sharp counterpoint to the dull ache in my skull. The copper taste of blood lingers on my tongue.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours. I test my restraints again, muscles straining against unyielding leather. Futile, but it gives me something to focus on besides the gnawing worry for Ember.

Ember.

Her face flashes in my mind—determined, fierce, vulnerable. What are they doing to her?

The thought sends a surge of rage through me, hot and violent. I imagine my hands around Wolfe’s throat, squeezing the life from those cold eyes. I picture slamming his head against the concrete until that smug smile is nothing but a bloody mess.

The violence of my thoughts startles me. I’ve killed before, but always with purpose, never with this raw, primal need for retribution.

I take a deep breath, wincing as my ribs protest, and try to center myself. Anger is a luxury I can’t afford right now. I need to stay sharp and find a way out of this hellhole.

I run through escape scenarios, each more unlikely than the last. It’s better than dwelling on what might be happening to Ember.

The door swings open with a groan. Bruiser and a second man enter, hulking figures that suck all the air out of the room. They’re all muscle and malice, faces set in grim anticipation. Bruiser cracks his knuckles. The sound echoes in the small space.

“Boss says you need some encouragement,” Bruiser growls, a cruel smile on his lips. “Lucky us.”

His partner, shorter but no less menacing, rolls up his sleeves. Faded tattoos snake up his forearms—crude prison ink telling stories I don’t want to read.

They circle me like wolves, closing in for the kill. I tense, muscles coiling uselessly against my restraints. The first blow comes without warning—a meaty fist slamming into my solar plexus. Air rushes from my lungs in a pained whoosh. Before I can catch my breath, another fist connects with my jaw. My head snaps back, stars exploding behind my eyes.

They work me over with brutal efficiency. No questions, no demands. Just fists and pain. Ribs crack under relentless assault. Blood fills my mouth, warm and coppery. I try to retreat into my mind, to disconnect from the agony, but each new blow drags me back to harsh reality.

I lose track of time. It could be minutes or hours. The world narrows to the rhythm of impact and pain. Just when I think I might pass out, blessed unconsciousness hovering at the edges of my vision, they stop.

Bruiser grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back. “That’s just a warm-up, pretty boy,” he snarls. “Next time, we won’t be gentle.”

They leave as abruptly as they came, the door slamming shut with finality. I slump in my restraints, every breath a symphony of agony.

Blood drips steadily onto the concrete floor. Drip. Drip. Drip. A metronome counting down to God knows what.

More time passes.

The creak of the door jolts me from my pain-induced haze. Wolfe saunters in, looking as pristine as ever. My fingers itch to muss that perfect hair, to smash that aristocratic nose.

I school my features into impassivity as he approaches, fighting to hide just how much that beating took out of me.

“I do hope you’ve had time to reconsider your position, Mr. Hawkins,” Wolfe says, his tone conversational. “I’d hate for things to become—unpleasant.”

I say nothing, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as I can muster.

Wolfe sighs, shaking his head. “Very well. Perhaps we should discuss something else.” His lips curl into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s talk about Ember, shall we? She’s such a fascinating creature.”

He circles my chair. “So much fire, so much—potential. Did you know she’s quite the little survivor? Bit of a pyro, though, but the things she’s endured…” He tsks, a mockery of sympathy. “Well, who can blame her for a fire here and there?”

“Leave her alone. She has nothing to do with any of this.” The words escape before I can stop them. My heart rate spikes, but I force myself to remain still, to betray nothing.

Wolfe’s eyes gleam with triumph. “Ah, there we are. She matters to you, doesn’t she? More than just an asset or a mission.” He leans in close, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “You should hear her, you know. The way she whimpers in her sleep. The way she calls out your name when the nightmares come.”

My jaw clenches so hard I think my teeth might crack.

Images flash through my mind.

Ember scared.

Ember hurt.

Ember calling out for me, but I can’t reach her.

It takes every ounce of willpower not to lunge at Wolfe; restraints be damned.

“She’s quite beautiful when she’s afraid,” Wolfe muses, watching my reaction closely. “So vulnerable. So—malleable.”

“If you touch her—” I start, my voice a low, dangerous growl.

Wolfe cuts me off with a laugh. “Oh, Mr. Hawkins. Who said anything about me touching her? There are so many other possibilities. So many interested parties who would pay handsomely for someone like Ember.”

Bile rises in my throat.

“You sick bastard,” I spit out, struggling against my bonds. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

Wolfe’s smile widens, satisfaction evident in every line of his face. “There it is. That passion, that rage. Tell me, how far would you go to protect her? What would you be willing to do?”

I freeze, realizing too late that I’ve given him exactly what he wants. Wolfe leans in, his voice soft but filled with menace.

“Think about that, Mr. Hawkins. Think about Ember, alone and afraid. Think about what awaits her if you continue to be uncooperative.”

He straightens, adjusting his cuffs. “I’ll give you some time to consider your priorities. When I return, I hope you’ll be more—amenable to our discussion.”

As the door closes behind him, I slump in my restraints, heart pounding. The image of Ember, terrified and at Wolfe’s mercy, burns in my mind. For the first time since this nightmare began, real fear grips me.

Not for myself, but for her.

As Wolfe’s footsteps fade, I close my eyes, trying to shut out the pain and the oppressive reality of my situation. Instead, unbidden memories of Ember flood my mind.

I see her in that first moment at the warehouse, fierce and defiant despite her trauma. The way she stood up to Bruiser, refusing to be cowed. How she went back to rescue the children. Her eyes, green as sea glass, blazing with a fire that spoke of a lifetime of battles fought and won.

Then, softer moments. Ember curled up on the sofa, lost in thought, as she toyed with one of her candles. The vulnerability in her voice as she opened up about her past, sharing pieces of herself she never revealed to anyone before. The way she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t aware, with curiosity and growing trust, which made my heart race.

I remember the feel of her hand in mine as we ran through city streets, her grip strong and sure despite the chaos around us. I also remember the determination in her stance as she helped formulate our escape plans, her street smarts complementing my tactical training in ways I never expected.

A ghost of a smile tugs at my split lip as I recall her sarcastic quips, the way she uses humor as armor against the world’s cruelties, her fierce determination hidden beneath that casual bravado.

But I also remember the moments when that armor cracked—the tremor in her voice when she spoke of the kids she couldn’t save, the haunted look in her eyes when nightmares jolted her awake, the way her hands shook when she thought no one was watching.

Each memory strengthens my resolve. Ember has survived so much and fought hard for every scrap of safety and dignity. The thought of Wolfe destroying that, of extinguishing the light in those sea-glass eyes, is unbearable.

I think of our growing connection, how we move in sync, anticipating each other’s actions without words.

My fists clench, muscles straining against the restraints. I’ll die before I let Wolfe harm her. Whatever it takes, whatever price I have to pay, I’ll get her out of this hellhole.