Page 15 of Through Any Fire (Any x #1)

I haven’t seen Callahan in over a week. I’ve asked Cohen about the efforts to find my brother, and all he had to say was that they were still following leads.

Each time I’ve tried to get a hold of Cal, I’ve been told he was busy, and it’s honestly tiring to hear the same update—that there’s no update.

I’ve been doing an hour of yoga each morning just to corral my blood pressure. It’s not helping.

Alice checks in every other day or so, and I welcome the familiarity. After our Facetime movie date the other night, I realized how much I miss her. But guilt swirls in my belly; I don’t want to bring her into this world any more than I already have. She’s young and needs to focus on school.

So, I spend most of my days trying to distract myself by finalizing my chapters for my editor.

A large part of me holds immense satisfaction, knowing I’ve exposed some of the darkest aspects of the Bianchi estate without them ever knowing.

Writing under the pen name Bea Page, I’ve gained decent popularity with my Lovers of Sin series, a series of romances based on a crime family that deals in drugs and scandal.

My readers are practically feral over the tension I’ve built between the gray areas, exploring what it truly means to be moral and where the line blurs.

They’d never expect just how real the darkest aspects of my books are.

Details I’ve pulled directly from years of listening to my father or from Cal himself.

No one ever expects truth sprinkled into the pages of their favorite dark romance, but when I needed to support Mason and myself, I found myself drawn to the impossibility of it all, and I had my first novel finished within two months.

When I’m finally satisfied with the ending of book three, I pen a quick message to my editor that the files are ready, and then set off to get ready for my first event as Mrs. Keane.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes, and instead, hop in the shower.

The ‘social event’ Cal told me about last week has finally arrived, and a part of me actually looks forward to it. Or at least to get out of the house.

After two hours, I’m mostly ready, just touching up a few details as the playlist switches to “Knock You Down” by Keri Hilson.

The song blasts through my suite as I finish my hair.

I’ve twisted it into a low chignon—seems to be my go-to style these days—and pulled a few face-framing pieces out.

My eyes are a smoky bronze, and I apply a gloss to my lips, rolling them together to evenly coat the nude color.

I straighten with a slight wince and take one last look in the mirror.

Turns out I still bruise fairly easily, and my ribs are purple from Jude’s hit.

But I’ve had worse, and thankfully, my dress covers it.

The emerald gown fits perfectly and is easily the nicest I’ve ever worn.

I wish I’d thought about jewelry, though.

As it stands, I’m wearing only my rings, and the only earrings I brought are gold studs that hide behind my hair. Oh well.

After rolling my almond oil onto my wrists and dabbing the excess onto my neck, I turn off the bathroom lights and grab my clutch.

It strains to close around my phone, ID and cards, and the tube of gloss inside, but I don’t have time to find another.

When I exit my room, I’m surprised to find a sharply dressed man lounging on my couch.

I freeze in the doorway, and when he doesn’t look over right away—too engrossed in his phone—I take the chance to fully appreciate him.

He’s wearing a black tux with a white dress shirt and a black bow tie.

His hair is perfectly tousled and his face freshly shaved.

When his jaw ticks, unbidden thoughts of dragging my tongue over the curve of his neck flash through my mind.

I mentally scold myself. Yes, while Callahan remains one of the most attractive men I’ve ever met, he’s also one of the most conniving.

When I walked in on that woman crawling out of his bed all those years ago, I sealed my heart off to him forever.

Even knowing it would be impossible to feel that way for anyone else, I walked away.

I’ve had feelings—even loved—since then, but it’s never been the same magic we somehow made.

Being so close to him after so long is like being suffocated with nostalgic memories from the past, mixed with a somber understanding that sometimes life doesn’t work out the way you want it to.

“Come to collect me? How gentlemanly of you.” My words are saccharine and steeped in sarcasm.

Callahan looks up from his phone and freezes. His heated gaze drags over my body from the tip of my head to the point of my heels, and I can’t help but feel a certain warmth swirl inside me. He tucks his phone into his breast pocket and stands, buttoning his tuxedo.

Cal smiles and steps into my space. His clean shampoo and sandalwood cologne washes over me, and I fight the pull my body demands .

“I am, if nothing else, a gentleman.” Dark eyes flicker to my lips and linger.

“Kyra from Abstrakt would beg to differ, I’m sure.”

At the mention of the server from the lounge, Cal chuckles darkly. “You can’t tell me you’re still jealous of her. That was over a month ago.”

My eyes roll of their own accord. “Of course, ancient history.” Honestly, it just goes to show how much he hasn’t changed.

If only for the fact his business is successful—though with the warehouse fires, maybe not for much longer—I wouldn’t have as much faith in his ability to help me find Mason.

But if there was one thing I could always count on, it was his bloodthirsty need to be right.

His gaze drags over my body, licking me from head to toe. Heat flushes my chest and warms my cheeks.

“My, that’s a beautiful dress.”

A flutter stirs inside me, but I tamp it down. “Thank you. It was very expensive.” My eyes narrow, but Cal just chuckles, the deep noise rumbling from his chest.

“Oh, I’m aware. I received a notice from my bank.”

I smirk. “So expensive, and yet not nearly enough fabric.” I bend my left knee, drawing his hooded gaze over my smooth leg.

He doesn’t bother hiding the gleam behind his eyes.

My lips curl into a smirk, but I turn toward the mirror, giving Callahan a view of my backside.

I pretend to finish my touch ups, fussing with my hair and swiping a maroon nail under my lip gloss.

My lips smack together, and a muffled groan sounds from behind me.

In the mirror, Cal’s lustful gaze is glued to my ass.

I stifle the grin that threatens, twisting on my heel and watching with distinct pleasure as he averts his gaze .

“I have something for you.”

This piques my interest, and I arch a brow.

“Turn around.”

I’m curious, so I do as he says. Cal reaches into his pocket and pulls out a velvet box.

It snaps open, revealing a beautiful Van Cleef necklace.

The petal blossom pendant is dainty, resting on a thin gold chain.

Cal’s hands are steady as he latches it around my neck.

My fingers numbly press against the necklace.

It’s almost affectionate, the way his fingers linger on the curve of my neck.

“So.” He clears his throat, aptly changing the topic and putting much needed space between us. “Are you ready for your first public appearance as Mrs. Keane?”

“As if I have another choice.”

Cal surprises me, speaking softly, almost as if he cares. “You always have a choice.”

“That’s not how life works.” Anyone who thinks otherwise is delusionally optimistic. And I am nothing if not a realist.

Cal cocks his head and studies me. I can practically see the gears spinning. He nods and steps backward, offering his arm. I accept, sliding my own through his and holding on to his bicep. He guides us out of my suite and toward the garage.

“Perhaps,” he finally says. “In any regard, all you need to do tonight is show off how in love we are. Mingle with the other wives, enjoy a few glasses of whiskey. Have fun.” He says those final two words with a pointed look.

“Have fun.” I scoff and shake my head. “Have you made any progress with my brother?”

Callahan opens the door to the garage for me, and Nathaniel hops out of the driver’s seat of a black SUV to let us in the back seat.

I climb in, and Cal shuts the door, then walks around to the other side.

He gets in, opens a compartment, and pulls out two crystal tumblers and a bottle of aged whiskey.

Before I can refuse the drink, it’s poured and in my hand.

Cal clinks his glass against mine, then swallows the entire drink in one go.

I sip mine gently, determined to nurse it.

“Not yet,” Cal answers my question. “Luc is still tracking down our people. It seems fear is spreading with the recent fires.”

I take another sip of my drink to calm my speeding heart.

But either from the moving car, or my trembling fingers, I spill a dribble down the side of my mouth.

In a flash, a thumb drags across my chin.

Cal brings his finger back to his lips, sucking the whiskey from the pad of his thumb, never breaking our eye contact.

“We’re just getting started, Bunny. I’m sure Mason’s just fine. But I’ll have Luc give a progress update in the morning.”

I’m still stunned. All I can do is nod, and we continue the rest of the drive in silence.

Ten minutes pass in relative awkwardness, where I pretend I’m not acutely aware of every breath Callahan takes.

When we finally arrive at another too-large-for-life mansion, I feel the first flutters of doubt.

For so many years, I’ve held such anger and resentment toward Callahan, despite my best efforts of telling myself I’m long since healed, and now I have to put on the show of a lifetime, pretending to be madly in love with him.

Pretending?