Page 17 of Through Any Fire (Any x #1)

I shove the deep discomfort of this stranger knowing my name aside and bury it beneath my rising anger.

I lift my chin, but I refuse to take my eyes off him or answer, watching every minute movement as he smirks.

He looks triumphant, but I don’t understand why.

Because he knows who I am? While that unsettles me to my core, it’s not entirely impossible to know who married one of the most influential men in Roswell just last week.

He looks me up and down and sniffs obnoxiously, then tosses back the last of his drink.

“Goddamn, the pictures don’t do you justice.

Just looking at you makes me want a cigarette.

” After carelessly dropping the glass on the table, he reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a pack.

A waft of smoke carries on the air as he pulls out a fresh cigarette.

He places it between his lips, then talks out of the side of his mouth.

“Care to join me outside? I’ll make it worth your while.” His brows waggle as he brings a lighter to his mouth and lights his cigarette. Smoke billows toward me as he smiles menacingly around the rolled paper.

“No,” I say with finality. “Excuse me.” I grab my clutch and skirt around him, but his hand whips out to catch my arm.

If he doesn’t let go of me in about half a second, I’m liable to break his fucking nose.

“Let. Go.”

If words could melt, he’d be a puddle on the floor. The stranger just pulls the cigarette from his mouth and blows the smoke off to the side. He opens his mouth to speak, but a server rushes in.

“Sir, I’m afraid you can’t smoke in here. Please, put that out at once!” Their voice shakes with the order, but the man just laughs.

“Of course. What was I thinking?” His sardonic tone is made only more irritating by the look he gives me.

He takes another extended drag, then drops the lit cigarette into my glass, which is still half full of whiskey.

It sizzles, burning out. He blows the last of the smoke in my face, but I refuse to show weakness and wave it away.

His cheeky attitude only serves to further irritate me, and my grip tightens around my glass.

I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter in my palm when the server finally interjects once more.

“Here, ma’am. Let me take that for you,” they say, grabbing the glass and rushing away from the tense storm brewing.

I arch a brow and tilt my head. “Good evening, Mister…” I pause, waiting for him to fill in the blank. The smoke still clings to the air as he smiles, a slithering coil to his lips that sours my stomach.

He ignores my obvious attempt to learn his name. “And to you, Mrs. Keane.” He winks and strolls away, hands stuffed into his pockets. He swaggers through the room with little rush, even looking back as he exits the room to toss a wink back at me .

When he’s finally out of sight, I breathe a sigh of relief.

My shoulders slump, and a fog clouds my brain.

What the hell was that? The oily residue left over from his slimy gaze sinks to the bottom of my gut and settles like stone.

Something about that interaction goes further than just becoming unnerved.

He looked at me like I was a prize, one he’d yet to win.

The unease compounds, morphing into a distinct sense of foreboding, and I resolve to find Callahan. But before I even take a step, the man himself bursts into the ballroom.

To anyone else, he might seem collected, but I can see the panic rippling off him in waves. His eyes frantically search the space, and I can’t help but hope he’s looking for me. I take a step out of the shadow of a column, and his gaze instantly catches mine.

With brisk strides, he crosses the ballroom and crushes me to his chest. His arms band around me, giving me no choice but to accept his embrace. Under his jacket, his heart pounds mercilessly. This is the first I’ve seen him this unkempt.

He inhales deeply and freezes.

“Why do you smell of smoke?” he asks as he pulls back. Shadows shroud his face, and his hands slide to my upper arms, holding me as if I would float away should he let go.

My nose scrunches. “I was just about to come find you. I just had the strangest interaction with this creep.” A shiver rolls down my spine.

Cal’s eyes shutter. “What happened? Did he hurt you? Who was he?” His questions rush out, one after the other, and seem to warm my chest more than the lingering traces of whiskey.

“I’m fine, but he spoke to me like he knew me. Like he was expecting me here. ”

Callahan wraps a hand around my elbow and practically drags me toward the exit. We rush through the Edwards’s residence without so much as a goodbye.

“Callahan, slow down.”

He doesn’t.

“Cal, what’s happened?” My voice comes out higher than I’d like.

Cal finally slows as we reach the exit. His jaw ticks, and his shoulders tense, but he slows.

“There’s been another fire. We lost some good men tonight.”

My steps falter.

“There was a note left. A note addressed—” Cal freezes, a look of horror flashing over his face before he collects himself.

We’re paused on the steps in front of the Edwards’s residence, and the bitter cold rushes in, chilling me to my bones.

Callahan’s grip tightens on my elbow, but I pay it no mind.

“Addressed to who, Cal?”

Callahan shakes his head and drags me toward the SUV.

Nathaniel smokes as he leans against the grill, but when he sees us approaching, he quickly stubs out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe.

He rushes to the driver’s seat to start the car.

The rumbling of the SUV coming to life is deafening, and I flinch.

Then I’m sailing, thrown backward. My head slams against the pavers.

Sound muffles as a fire encompasses the SUV, smoke already reaching high into the sky.

The scalding heat from the flames blisters, and I struggle to scramble backward.

Callahan’s face appears in front of mine.

His eyes are wide, his pupils blown until there’s barely a sliver of his usual deep brown.

He mouths something, but the ringing is too shrill for me to hear.

Dark flashes of men carrying massive guns pass next to us, and Callahan points to the east, then turns back to me.

The fucking car just blew up.

I try to look around him, but his hands clamp gently on either side of my face. He keeps mouthing something, but I don’t understand. Is he asking me if I’m okay?

I run a mental check over my body. I’m sore, and the palms of my hands sting.

My head throbs lightly, and I instinctively raise a hand to my temple, only to find it slightly sticky.

My trembling fingers come back wet. Slick, warm blood coats my index and middle fingers, and I look over to Cal. He curses.

Gravel crunches next to me, and my head snaps over as Cohen drops beside me. He flashes a bright light between my eyes. I flinch, raising a scraped hand to shield my eyes.

“Are you okay?” His words are muffled and come out garbled. Then he says something to Callahan that sounds like concussion and head wound.

I nod, and the buzzing from earlier quiets. Callahan’s shoulders rise and fall with heavy breaths, and his gaze darts around, bouncing from me to the car currently in flames, to the dark forest surrounding the Edwards’s residence.

“We need to move,” he seems to shout, though the words are still muted.

Cohen stands and offers me a hand, helping me rise to my feet. He scans my form and lingers on my temple. A warm trickle of blood slides over my cheekbone, and I quickly move to wipe it.

“I’m fine,” I whisper, shocked because the damage could’ve been so much worse. But then I remember—“ Nathaniel . Where is Nathaniel?”

The fire blazes over the melted shell of the SUV.

The roof and top half of the vehicle is gone, and in that moment, I realize there’s no chance Nathaniel survived.

While Callahan stays silent, my bottom lip trembles, and I quickly cover my face to hide the emotion.

I didn’t know Nathaniel very well, but he was kind to me.

Callahan approaches me with caution, his arms raised gently in front of him as if I were going to bolt. “We need to leave.” He looks to Cohen. “Now.”

“Could this be—”

A sharp bark from Cal interrupts Cohen. “Not here.”

Cohen dips his chin in understanding.

Just then, a bright light floods the driveway as a nearby garage opens silently. Callahan replaces Cohen’s hand and guides me away from the car that’s still burning. In the garage, Isaiah Edwards steps calmly toward us.

“Run into a spot of trouble, yeah? Here”—he tosses a key fob to Cohen, who catches it with ease—“take the Audi. I’ll send over the reports, as discussed.”

Cohen clicks the fob, and the headlights of a midnight SUV flash. Callahan opens his mouth to speak, but a sudden spell of wooziness overtakes me, and I sway. Cal tightens his grip, looking over at me with such concern that a long-forgotten emotion swells in my chest.

“Let’s go.” My voice trembles and sounds disconnected.

I take a step forward, and my knee buckles.

I go down, dropping like rocks to a riverbed, but Callahan catches me before I hit the ground.

He swings me into his arms and carries me to the back seat, then settles me against the cream leather.

Black dots fill the edges of my vision, and I rub a tired hand over my temple.

Callahan’s worried gaze meets my own as he seems to catalog every detail of my face.

I’m sure it’s filthy and scratched, just as my dress is in tatters.

Somewhere along the way, I lost a heel and scraped the bottom of my foot.

Kicking my other heel off, I reach for my seatbelt, but Cal beats me to it.

His face is inches from mine as he stretches the belt over my body, and I hear every quickened breath.

Under the smoke and burning rubber, his sandalwood scent breaks through.

It calms me. The moment the seatbelt clicks into place, I exhale deeply.

Callahan takes one more look at me and shuts the door. He throws a muffled expletive and climbs into the other side. Cohen hops into the driver’s seat, and we take off into the night.

As we pass the fire, a tear slips out of the corner of my eye. A crowd has gathered on the front steps of the Edwards’s residence, with similar looks of horror painted on each face. My fingers tremble as they reach toward the cool glass, leaving smudges from their touch.

Three seconds.

That’s all it would’ve taken for us to have perished in that explosion. The realization is unnerving.

My hands fall to the middle seat as we drive away.

The flames from the fire blaze through the night, only seeming to grow with distance.

I squeeze my eyes shut, sinking into the leather in exhaustion.

The lightest touch presses against my pinky, and I want to fight the comfort it offers, but I can’t. I’m not strong enough. Not tonight.

Instead, I lean into it. On the middle seat between us, our hands touch only by the skin on our pinkies, but I tip my head back, letting the feeling of safety wash over me.

Lulled by the near-silent car, I fall asleep.