Page 2 of Through Any Fire (Any x #1)

S ometimes, I wonder how my life would have played out if I’d ignored the small boy with intelligent eyes and a curious sort of kindness.

I wonder if my father would have been alive to see me get married to a nice man and have two babies—both girls, I think.

I wonder if my mother would have put down the bottle, and if my brother wouldn’t have felt it necessary to prove himself to a family who couldn’t care less about him.

It keeps me up at night sometimes, analyzing the dominoes that fell perfectly against each other to lead me here, and I think about how my life would’ve been completely altered had I not met him .

But here I am, about to change the course of my life once more.

Perhaps it was inevitable.

My palms are slick with sweat, and my heart races, thudding so hard I hear it in my ears. I ignore their pleas for clemency. I ignore the blatant cry to stop, turn around, and go back home. My world has been tilted on an axis, and if no one’s going to right it, I’ll do it myself .

No matter how much it might cost me.

My fingers shake as I smooth my silk dress.

It’s dark blue with a cowl neck and barely grazes the curve of my ass, but it was all I had in the closet.

With one deep inhale, I step out of the darkness and into depravity.

A pounding bass and hazy fog saturates the sticky air as I enter Abstrakt, and prickles of awareness tingle down my spine.

A knot swells in the back of my throat. How am I going to breathe in here?

Bodies fill the space from the wall-length bar to what looks like a sunken dance floor.

Domed, inset, half-rooms frame the space with crimson couches and mirrored ceilings at each semiprivate table.

Sheer black curtains offer the illusion of privacy for each, though only a handful have them drawn.

It seems people here like to watch. With more skin on display than I’ve seen in a while, it’s no wonder this place has built a reputation for debauchery in such a short time.

The dark walls display brass sconces and gilded photos of hedonistic activities, fully immersing patrons in a night they won’t forget. Abstrakt is as promised: a darkened void where one can lose themselves in pleasure and sin.

Abstrakt only opened its doors a few months ago, but according to anyone who’s anyone, it’s the place to be.

And given the rumors surrounding who I’m looking for, he’s definitely someone who’d enjoy this sort of establishment.

Word has also spread that an even more exclusive lounge lies beyond the intimidating security, if only you know where to look.

A lounge he’s probably in, based on the sheer number of people packed in this club. A lounge I need to gain access to.

Loud music, a mixture of pop and electronic, thrums over the sticky air, and each pulse slides against my skin as I cross the room. The heady musk of sweat and lust fills what little space remains, but with each breath, I find another note. Something…sweet.

I’ve never been one for the underground scene, but circumstances have changed.

And to start, all I need is to buy some time.

I find the center of the group of writhing bodies and join in.

An easy smile slides onto my face, and my arms rise as I melt into the music.

I don’t recognize what’s playing, but the rhythm is hypnotic, and my stiff limbs loosen with each beat.

There’s a bar on the right wall, and at one end, a bartender shakes a silver bottle with a light flourish before he strains the clear liquid into a martini glass.

His ears are likely already tuned to his next customer.

Clusters of men openly watch women dance, sipping from their drinks, lust dripping from their gazes.

The bar, like the rest of Abstrakt, is crowded.

If it weren’t life or death, I wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this. In fact, the sooner I can leave, the better.

The mezzanine above is almost empty, and I don’t see how to get upstairs. It’s almost like a viewing catwalk, a gallery for the elite to watch those below. Two men lean against the wooden railing, chatting and laughing at whatever their conversation holds. Neither is who I’m looking for.

Hands slide around my waist and squeeze, and I sink into his hold. Well, he found me quickly.

If I hadn’t been expecting it, I would’ve elbowed the asshole.

Instead, my hands find his, intertwining our fingers against my belly as we dance together.

Then, something heavy locks onto my wrist. A smile slips past my control, and I twirl around, putting a few inches between our bodies.

His sturdy grip wraps around me once again, pulling me even closer.

Sharp green eyes sparkle with familiarity .

“You know what you’re doing?” he murmurs, voice barely audible over the music. There’s a slight furrow between his brow. I know he’s concerned for me. To him—and the other Bianchis—I’m still the little girl they once knew.

I wrap my arms around his neck. To the crowd, we look like anyone else dancing. I don’t acknowledge his doubt. “Thank you, Hudson.”

His eyes flick between mine. He nods. “In the back. Two guards.”

My gaze slices over his shoulder toward the few inlets in the back with their curtains drawn.

One has two security guards on standby. At first glance, one might think they were simply there to watch the room.

Upon further inspection, their focus seems to remain on those directly around them, as if ensuring no one approaches.

Hudson draws a deep breath as he slides his hand into mine and turns it over between us. Thanks to Hudson’s sleight of hand, where previously bare, my wrist is now adorned with a heavy black cuff about an inch wide. A gold filigree with an A in the center shines against the flashing lights.

“Thank you,” I repeat. One step closer.

His lips press into a thin line. “Are you sure you want to do this alone?” He releases my arm and tucks a strand of loose hair behind my ear, his eyes narrowed with a mix of intrigue and concern.

God, I wish I could accept his help. But I’ve used up all of my favors with him, and I don’t want to owe him anything else. “I’ll let you know when I’m out.”

Hudson pauses. Then he drops my hand like it burned him and dips his chin, all emotion cleared from his face. “Be careful, Lo. I don’t want to see you on one of those missing posters. ”

With that, he melts back into the sea of moving bodies without a backward glance. When I blink, he’s gone, the crowd having swallowed his enormous frame, which usually has him sticking out like a sore thumb.

I’m on my own.

The weight of the band pulls my attention, and I sneak another look.

It’s heavy, weighing down my wrist more than any bracelet I’ve ever worn.

Against the lights, you can almost make out a thread of silver stitched around the filigree.

A seam runs from the top through the symbol and down to the bottom, and I press on the gold A .

It clicks open, but I quickly fasten it once more and glance around to see if anyone noticed our exchange.

My paranoia is getting to me. Thankfully, everyone’s too involved in their own pleasures to be worried about my accessories.

And now it’s time to make sure it works.

Crossing the room, I slide against more skin than clothing. Some openly display their lust with sensual kisses, their bodies pressed together, with no mistaking what they’re up to. I hold my breath and count to ten as I fight the spike of anxiety that shoots tingles down my spine.

God, I hate crowds.

As the thought forms, I push through the last of it and climb a few steps to exit the sunken dance floor. Two hefty bouncers scan my form, and an amiable smile slips onto my face. My feet move without instruction, closing the distance between us.

“First time?” the shorter of the two asks, voice rumbling over the pumping music. He guards the gauzy curtain with beefy arms clasped behind his back, standing straight as a rod. His eyes zero in on me.

The one on the right remains silent, a scowl etched onto his face. Coupled with a scar that slices through his left eyebrow, he screams intimidating .

This better work.

I nod, raising my wrist without another word. The silent one’s attention doesn’t leave mine as the shorter one taps a device against the black band. We only have to wait a moment until he nods once, then he turns to open the curtain for me.

“Use the Park Avenue entrance next time. Enjoy your evening, Miss.”

Park Avenue entrance?

I smile coyly, slipping into the role of a lifetime. “I will.”

The curtain falls behind me without fanfare, and I follow the dim hallway.

It has the same deep green, almost black, walls, with gilded sconces lining the hall.

My heels click on the marble floor, and the farther I travel, the less I can hear the pounding music.

Instead, a lower, more sensual thrum rises in volume until I reach the end.

A doorway opens to a new lounge, one three times as large with at least half as many people.

Velvet couches and ornately carved wooden tables scattered throughout the space create intimate gathering spots, most with only a few people.

Conversations are hushed, and several security guards line the room.

Dimmed crystal lamps provide low lighting, and a glass fireplace crackles off to the side.

On each end of a lounge, there’s a bar, and servers clad in sequined fringe deliver drinks.

It’s the perfect spot for the high-profile patrons.

Just from my initial glance, I spot what looks to be the police chief entertaining a woman who’s clearly not his wife. Lovely.