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18

ATOM

T he Bratva are canny rivals.

They’re organized, smart, and better funded than we are.

They seem to get the upper hand on us more times than we get one over on them.

And I wonder what it’s going to take to get rid of them forever. Tonight was a close victory.

Doesn’t necessarily feel like it, with Grudge getting stitched up by the private doctor we have on our payroll.

But they seem to be better able to take their losses in stride. There are more of them than there are of us. If one of us gets injured, we lose a significant part of our leadership team.

Makes me think we need some of the older members to play their part a bit more. Perhaps they could step up and cover some of the more mundane tasks. They could play observational roles.

Wraith has a master plan to grow the club through prospects like Caleb, Wynn, and Haynes, who have the skills, smarts, and strength we need.

At three thirty in the morning, I ride slowly up Main Street, conscious of the noise my bike makes. There isn’t a soul on the street. The businesses are locked up tight. The small apartments above the stores are all dark.

And I’m very aware of the two bikers keeping watch who will wonder why the fuck I’m there. I have my excuse ready and rehearsed. Couldn’t sleep, too jacked up over what happened tonight, and decided to take a ride.

But something in me just needs to be near her, to know she’s safely tucked up in bed, or even just see the lights off in the apartment above the bar.

Even if she wasn’t being watched and there wasn’t danger, it’s too late to be hitting Ember up if I want her to know she’s more than just a booty call to me. But what I wouldn’t give to be crawling into bed next to her. To feel that sweet sigh when I wrap my arms around her and pull her body up against mine.

My chest to her back, my nose buried in her hair.

A fog drifts eerily across the street in the distance. It’s a hot night with a clear sky, which makes the fog unusual. But when I ride closer, I find it’s the kind of rolling black smoke that indicates a fire. I speed up, urging the bike forward as I realize it appears to be coming from the block containing Whiskey Fever.

Ember!

My heart races. A strange dropping sensation makes me wonder if it’s about to break free of its bindings. The tightening in my chest makes it harder to breathe.

The smoke gets thicker the closer I get, and when I pull up outside, I can see the double doors to the bar are open. Through tumbling black clouds of smoke, I see orange flames lick their way up the walls, and I’m met with a blast of heat as I kill the engine to my bike.

On the ground outside is a neat little stack of covers from the smoke alarms.

Fuck, whoever did this wanted to cause maximum damage and death. They were smart enough to turn the alarm off, break in, remove all warning systems, and then start a fire designed to destroy.

For half a second, I’m paralyzed with fear. Then, I look up and see that there are no signs of flames upstairs…yet.

I climb off my bike, grab my phone, and dial Ember’s number. “Come on, babe. Wake up,” I say. Thankfully, the fire hasn’t reached the alcohol along the bar. But when it does, things are going to get even worse, quickly.

Ah, fuck! There are all the gas lines in the kitchen.

When she doesn’t answer, I dial 911 as I start to run to the exterior staircase, wondering where the fuck the two men meant to be guarding the place are.

Once the call is answered, I bark details and instructions at the operator, not paying attention to what they’re asking me. “Get here quick,” I yell before I end the call.

I dial Ember’s phone, again. Still no response. As I run down the side of the building to the rear, I call Wraith.

He’s the lightest sleeper of us all. If anyone is gonna answer, he will. And I know he was headed home after the run, not back to the clubhouse like Butcher, who is probably already balls deep in one of the club girls.

“Why you waking me?” he grunts.

“Whiskey Fever is on fire. I’m trying to get to Ember. I called 911 already. Call Butcher.”

“Fuck. I’m awake. Be careful.”

I hang up, tuck my phone in the rear pocket of my jeans, then reach for the key Ember told me to take earlier from my cut. At the base of the exterior stairs lie Haynes and Charmer, both with bullet wounds to their heads, slumped next to cans that I assume contained accelerant.

Shit, Haynes has a young kid.

I’ve got no idea how long they’ve been dead or how long the place has been on fire for, but the kitchen window is blown out and putrid black smoke charrs the walls.

The stairs rattle as I run up them two at a time. My legs burn and sweat trickles down my brow. The smoke must have fucked the back of my throat because it’s hard to swallow, but I don’t let the struggle for breath stop me.

I have one thought and one thought alone.

Get to Ember.

I hammer on the glass door to try to rouse her from sleep, even as I use the key to let myself in, but it’s then I notice the smoke. It’s hovering by the ceiling, dropping lower every moment. There must be some ventilation path through the central heat and air ducts or something.

Or maybe the fire is in the fucking walls.

I don’t know the physics of backdrafts beyond knowing the introduction of a large source of oxygen to a readily burning fire that’s hot and depleted of oxygen causes the fire to explode.

My eyes water once I’m finally inside. The smoke chokes me as I pull my bandana off my head and turn it into a mask. I don’t care if it kills me.

I don’t have any choice but to get to her. If I don’t, she’s dead. And for a moment, I feel a minute fraction of the agony Wraith must have been living with since he came home and found his first wife and their daughter dead.

Because I just got Ember back. To lose her again now, like this, would be the cruelest of fates.

An unexpected gasp escapes as bone-deep terror fills me.

There is no working the problem. No staying calm to make a good decision.

There’s just instinct, and fear, and a desperate need for her survival above my own.

I put my hands out ahead of me, guiding my way along the wall until I reach her room and find her door closed. An immense sense of relief washes over me when I open it and realize it’s not as smokey as the rest of the apartment.

But I still need to get her out of here because I have no idea if she’s asleep or unconscious.

“Em,” I shout, trying to rouse her. But she doesn’t wake. Her skin is warm, I see her chest move.

She’s still alive. And it’s up to me to keep it that way.

I’ve got no time to be a gentleman. Instead, I manage to shift her until I can hoist her into a fireman’s lift over my shoulder. Her workout bag is next to the bed, open and empty except for a pair of sneakers, so I throw anything I see on the way out that might be useful without breaking my stride, like a hoodie and shorts that were on a chair, into it. Her laptop, car keys, and purse are all stacked up on the side table in the entryway, and they get swept in too.

It’s a mess. I might drop everything. Something crashes to the floor, a vase I catch with the edge of the sports bag.

Maybe I wrecked the laptop. But I have no time to stop and think.

Ember needs clean air.

Once back down the stairs and a safe distance away from the rear of the building, I lower Ember onto the concrete. I place my hand beneath the back of her head, so she doesn’t land dangerously on the hard surface.

“Come on, Em, sweetheart,” I say, checking her pulse. “You got to wake up, baby.”

I brush the hair off her face and place a finger beneath her nose to check she’s still breathing.

Thankfully, she is and finally starts to rouse.

The coughing comes first.

Then the fear. “What? Atom. Why?” Her face is screwed up as she looks around her. Then she hears the crackle and hiss of the fire and looks toward her apartment. “Oh my God.”

I pull her into me, but she tries to fight her way free. “My bar. My laptop and phone. My plants.”

“I got your laptop and phone, I think.”

She attempts to scramble to find her feet, but I hold her down.

“You can’t go back in there. You could have died before I got you out. They’re just things, sweetheart.”

“But…my…” Her words sputter to a halt, and she starts to cry.

This time, when I tug her to me, she lets me. I smooth a hand over her hair. “Thought I lost you for a second.”

I apply kisses over her hair as she clings to me, trying to crawl closer as she grips my cut and pours her hurt into the leather.

“What happened?” she splutters.

I look over at the two dead bodies she hasn’t noticed yet. “Someone set fire to your bar, sweetheart.”

She looks up at me, her cheeks tear-stained. “It was deliberate?”

“Definitely. And we’ll figure out who the fuck did it,” I say. “Whatever happens, we rebuild. You’ll live and work here again, I promise. We’ll call your insurance in the morning and?—”

A siren cuts me off. The town only got its own fire station nineteen months ago after decades of volunteer service. As the small town grows, so does the need.

“I’m gonna need to go talk to them. Let’s get a few more clothes on you.”

I grab the hoodie from the bag and help her get into it. Her eyes are red. Her nose is a mess. She’s got soot on her cheeks. And she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.

I brush my lips across hers. “I’ll be back for you, honey, yeah?”

But she doesn’t nod like I expected her to. Instead, she wraps herself around my arm and won’t let me go.

So, I wait for them to come to me.

First to find me is that asshole sheriff, Tanner Radcliffe. He’s in jeans, not his uniform, but he’s here.

But he doesn’t say a word; instead, he steps out to wave to what I assume is the fire crew.

“Addams,” he says, his lip curled a little in disgust. “What happened?”

“Was driving here when?—”

“Little late for a drive, wasn’t it?”

I take in a deep breath and resist the urge to get up and clock the man, because me getting arrested wouldn’t help Ember one bit. “Not remotely relevant. Was riding and saw black smoke rumble out onto the road. Drove closer and realized it was Whiskey Fever. Called 911, then broke in to get to Ember. Some fucker planned this. The front doors were open, and the covers for the smoke alarms were dropped by the door. Her sprinkler system isn’t operating either. This was deliberate.”

Radcliffe takes out his notebook and makes some notes. “Bit early to say it’s deliberate. Could be a kitchen fire?”

“You are so fucking obtuse. There are two dead men right there. You look like a fucking ass standing there trying to make up reasons to make us look bad.” I huff. “Like the smoke detectors removed themselves. This isn’t the kind of thing you can brush under the floorboards.”

I see the twitch of his jaw at the reference. He’s never been able to prove who buried him in his own home, but it’s public knowledge that it happened.

“Look, I know you hate us, but do your fucking job, Radcliffe. Because this kind of posturing just makes you a fucking fool.”

Behind us, the fire crew gets busy. Hoses are connected to the trucks, and the whoosh of water is a reassuring sound. Once the fire is under control and it’s safe enough, Ember might be able to go in and retrieve some of her belongings from upstairs.

And along with the hiss of flames being extinguished, I hear the distant roar of bikes.