Page 23 of Through Any Fire (Any x #1)

S cattered drops of blood pool in the middle of the page, as if the person writing had been bleeding.

Bile burns the back of my throat. Denial cloys me like a suffocating blanket, and I pull out my cell to dial Alice.

The phone rings in my ear, and in the distance, the lilting tune of “Hey, Soul Sister” by Train begins to play.

I follow the ringtone, dread weighing down each step.

It leads me back to my room. “ Hi, you’ve reached Alice— ” I hang up, dialing her again.

The ringtone starts back up, but it sounds muffled, almost as if it’s buried under something. I rifle through my shredded duvet, and I find it just as the ringtone ends.

Horror widens my eyes as I reach a trembling hand toward her cell. Dried blood cakes the corner. I straighten, but my eyes lock onto a pair of underwear also covered in blood. They’re not mine, either.

Bile floods my mouth, and I can’t help the vomit that follows. Cal finds me on all fours and coughing, eyes burning with tears. He strokes a hand down my spine, and my heart thud in my ears.

After a minute, I suck in a sharp breath and stand, looking away from the broken bed and bloody underwear.

Cal breaks the tense silence. “We’ll find her. And we can have a crew here in an hour. They’ll clean this place up in a few days. Don’t worry.” His hand tentatively presses against my shoulder, and I explode, channeling the crushing grief into rage. Blistering, misplaced fury.

“Don’t worry?” I scoff, my heart racing. “My best friend has been raped and abducted. Do you think I give a flying fuck about my house?” My words fly like knives, and I watch with bittersweet pleasure as they land.

Cal remains silent, taking my vitriol on the chin. But a moment later, the misplaced anger shifts into a curious blend of guilt and shame that swirls in my chest. My cheeks flood with heat and embarrassment, and I drop my gaze, unable to voice my conflicted emotions.

As I’m staring at my feet, Cal’s phone rings from his pocket. He fishes it out and doesn’t even glance at the caller ID before answering. Muffled voices filter through, but I can’t make out any words.

All I can see is the myriad of emotions that flicker over Cal’s face. Rage, frustration, annoyance…glee. A spark of manic elation storms behind his brown eyes.

“Where did you find him?”

Cal is quiet as he listens, a pinch forming between his brow. “And he was carrying her over her shoulder? Did you get her to the hospital?” Muffled voices respond, and Cal nods along with whatever they’re saying. Hope blooms in my chest, praying it’s news about Alice.

“He had the same tattoo?” Cal’s gaze slices to me. “We’ll be there in ten,” he says, voice gruff and sending an icy chill down my spine. Then he hangs up and stalks out of my room. “We have to go.”

“Was it Alice? Did they find her?” I scramble over my broken belongings and chase after him. The ruined condo blurs in my periphery as I try not to look at it. I wonder if I should worry about my door, but immediately dismiss the thought. There isn’t anything of value in here. Not anymore.

Cal pauses at the driver’s door, looking over the hood at me. “Does Alice have black hair?”

Crushing despair chokes the breath from my lungs, and I shake my head. We load into the car, and the rubber tires squeal as we exit my complex.

If I couldn’t see just how concentrated he was, I’d probably be terrified for my life. As it stands, Cal’s eyes never leave the road, and his knuckles grip the steering wheel so tightly they turn white.

“Where are we going?”

Cal ignores me, or perhaps he doesn’t hear me. His jaw ticks, and his grip adjusts on the wheel as he presses the accelerator further.

“ Cal ,” I try again.

Finally, he looks over to me. His eyes soften the briefest fraction.

“Everett and Graves found one of the kidnappers. He had a woman knocked out over his shoulders, who he was carrying in broad daylight. He had the same tattoo on his wrist.”

His words explode like a bomb, settling in my stomach like rocks.

We speak at the same time. “Ho—”

“They’ve taken him back to the house to interrogate.”

That quiets me. They’re going to…interrogate him ?

“And by interrogate, you mean…” I trail off, waiting for him to say it out loud.

Cal doesn’t answer, just presses his foot further on the gas.

Torture. They’re going to torture him.

Good.

Eleven minutes later, we arrive back to the Keane residence. Cal’s barely turned the car off before he rushes into the house. I follow, barely catching the door as it slams in my face.

“Cal, wait!”

He doesn’t. He tracks on, twisting through the Keane residence with me on his heels. When we reach an area I’ve never been to before, he finally stops. I almost slam straight into his back.

“Loren, leave. Go to your room. You’re not permitted to see this.”

“Not permitted? Who are you—”

In the next breath, he whirls around, hands gripping my upper arms as he stares into my soul. Something akin to panic flashes behind his eyes, and it stills me.

“Ren,” he whispers, a broken plea for me to listen, “please. Not now. I can’t deal with you, too.”

That hits me like a truck.

“ Deal with me? Am I something to be dealt with, Callahan?”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he glances down to the floor.

I see.

“Fine. I’ll get out of your hair. God forbid I offer to help.”

Callahan hardens, his shoulders turning rigid. “As if this is something I’d ever want your help with,” he spits. “Now go .” He doesn’t wait for me to respond. He slips inside without another word .

I catch a glimpse of the space, and there’s not much to it. A cramped concrete room that’s brightly lit and empty. Other than the man strapped to a metal chair in the dead center of the grim room.

The door slams with finality, and I fight not to flinch.

My eyes drift down the hallway, noting three other industrial metal doors, and a chill shivers down my spine.

They’re each numbered, and the one Cal disappeared behind is labeled as one .

Frozen, I stand, trying to make myself leave when I finally realize: I don’t want to leave.

Who the hell is he to think I’m not useful?

Sure, I haven’t tortured anyone before, but I’m not morally opposed to it, especially if it’s a life or death situation.

And with Mason missing and Alice abducted, likely by someone who this captive could lead us to? Yeah, I’d hand over the crowbar.

My mind is made up. I’m not leaving. Not yet, at least.

When the screams start, my fingers curl into fists. When the crying starts, I hold the memory of Alice’s bloody underwear in the front of my mind. When the prisoner finally cracks, I press my ear so tightly against the door it could leave an imprint.

His words are muffled, but I can hear him well enough.

“What’s your tattoo mean?” Cal asks.

There’s no response. A muffled blow lands.

Cal asks again, “What’s the tattoo?”

The man groans, and another hit lands. Finally, he answers. “The Disciples.”

Disciples? That’s creepy as fuck.

“Why are you here?” someone asks calmly. I think it’s Everett.

Another blow lands, and a muffled grunt follows.

“Don’t make me ask again. ”

The threat lined in his words sends shivers down my spine. I press my ear tighter to the door and hope I can hear his answer over the pounding of my heart.

“There’s a…a new partnership in town.” That’s all he says. Another blow lands.

This time, it’s Cohen who speaks. “What partnership?”

“All I know is I’m supposed to pick up”—he spits—“girls and take ’em to a drop off spot. That’s all. I don’t talk to anyone else.”

Silence falls.

Drop them off? My heart sinks, and I know in my gut they’re not being let go. No, they’re being sentenced to a far worse fate. The knowledge chills my blood, and my palms grow slick against the door, but I squeeze my eyes shut in hopes I can hear better.

“What about the fires?”

“Fires? I don’t know anything about any fires.”

Another blow lands, and the man cries out. “I swear, all I’m s’posed to do is get the girls. I don’t know anything about any fires!”

It’s quiet for a few moments. They must be deliberating. Then I think it’s Cal who speaks. It’s difficult to tell through the door.

“Where are you getting them? The girls?”

The man doesn’t answer. Blow after blow rains down until his cries fill the room. Then he grunts, and grunts again.

“ Where ?” Cal growls. Either their torture works, or the man has no more fight.

He sighs, a wet, shaky sigh that sounds like a broken man. “Abstrakt. And some other clubs to make sure we fly under the radar.”

Abstrakt? A shiver rolls down my spine as Hudson’s warning that night I went into the exclusive lounge flashes to the front of my mind. What had he said? Something about not wanting to see my face on the missing posters. Does he know something about this?

“And where do you take them? The women?”

There’s no answer, just heavy breaths and a strike. The Disciple hisses and swears but still refuses to answer. Another blow, another cry, another scream, before he finally relents.

“Fuck, it’s different every time,” he cries. “Sometimes it’s a motel, or a warehouse, but I get a text to my burner with the address, and I have to deliver them by midnight. After that, I do it again the next night at a different club.”

The room goes quiet, and I press my ear harder against the door, trying to pick up on anything that I can.

“You’re not gonna find anything on it. We delete everything right after we receive it.”

I can only presume they frisked him for his phone.

Then, Everett speaks. “ Who do you report to ?”

His voice sounds distant, as if he’s farther in the room, possibly behind the Disciple. It’s a terrifying tactic to interrogate from behind where they can’t see you, can’t predict what you’re about to do.

“I asked, who do you report to?” Everett repeats, but his words are steeped in rage and impatience. Another blow lands, and the Disciple curses.

When he speaks, his voice is tattered, almost in weary acceptance that he won’t be leaving this room alive.

“The Apostles,” he finally groans. “They tag the targets and signal them to us. We sprinkle a little something in their drinks and deliver them as asked. The Apostles send an address to our cells. For each woman, we get five-hundred bucks, and with enough overall, we can become an Apostle. We are their loyal Disciples, but I don’t know anything more. We aren’t told anything else.”

My stomach sours with the weight of that information. So many women being taken, never to be seen again. I fight the urge to gag.

“How many of there are you?” Callahan asks, just as my hands begin to tremble.

“I don’t know exactly. They spread us out, and we’re not s’posed to reveal our identity to anyone.”

There’s a tense silence. When the man screams, it twists into a gargle.

“Fuck, Cal, why did you kill him? We could’ve—”

Cal cuts him off. “He didn’t know anything else. He’d be a waste of resources and time to keep him alive.”

I take several shaking steps backward. Then I turn and run, but have to stop short, almost smacking right into one of the maids, Tinley. Her eyes widen into saucers as apologies fly from her lips. She carries a tray of food. It’s curious, but I don’t have time to question it—or her.

“Tinley, hi,” I start, breathless and frantically looking back toward the torture room. “I’m headed to bed. Please tell Mr. Keane I don’t want to be disturbed.”

Tinley’s brows pinch together only the slightest touch, but she dips her chin in concession. I skirt around her, flying back to my room as I try to put together the pieces of my plan.

Cal doesn’t think I’m very useful? I lived my entire childhood in the Bianchi estate.

My father was the right hand to one of the most dangerous men in the past few decades.

Although he was undoubtedly disappointed I wasn’t a boy, he still brought his work home and sat me on his lap to teach me the business .

When he died, I vowed to forget all the lessons he forced upon me, only to be visited in my world of fiction. But perhaps…pe rhaps, it’s time I remember.