Page 33 of Through Any Fire (Any x #1)

T he car ride is smooth, but the short drive to the restaurant does nothing to quell my rising anger.

Being summoned isn’t something I’m used to, and it sure as shit won’t happen again.

They might have caught me in a momentary lapse of misfortune, but once we get whoever’s torching my warehouses and sort out Loren’s missing people, it will be back to business as usual.

My fists itch to slam into a worthy opponent, despite still healing from my last brawl.

Three nights ago, when Loren slept soundlessly in her room, I realized I couldn’t take it anymore.

Her constant presence has ensured my dick hasn’t gone soft in two fucking weeks.

Everywhere I go, she’s there. At breakfast, in the gym, and now I can’t even go outside without finding her typing away on her computer on the balcony.

She’s invaded my every fiber, and it’s worse than a death by a thousand cuts.

Each time I catch a whiff of her shampoo or perfume, it’s like a monster slips into my skin, commanding me like a puppeteer.

Her rivalry and fight stings, but more than that, it makes my cock weep .

Now she sleeps in my room, in my bed, inches away, and yet, I can’t do anything about it. All she sees when she looks at me is the same asshole who broke her heart. My jaw grinds together at the memory, but then we slow, the car coming to a stop in front of an Italian restaurant.

I’ve never been here before—I’ve had no reason to, as it’s on the outskirts of Roswell, just outside my territory—and so I’m on edge.

Matthias and Luc exit the vehicle and fall into place behind me as we approach the glass double doors.

It appears dark inside, with only a dim orange light cast from somewhere in the back.

Silhouettes move around inside, while a few seem to sit at a table.

Everett and two teams arrived earlier and have surrounded the building as backup, but I hope to god we don’t need them.

It’s taken all I have to find the manpower to cover the remaining warehouses and enhance security around my house. I’d rather not lose any more tonight.

“Ready?” Matthias asks as my hand lands on the cool, metal door handle.

“You know what to do if it goes bad.”

Matthias’s face hardens—he hates the reminder.

If it turns out to be a trap, he’s to extract himself and get to Loren immediately, keeping her safe and making sure she stays alive.

He’s never admitted it, but I know he still blames her for my abrupt descent into madness when I ended things with her.

When he realized the old Callahan—the older brother he looked up to—wouldn’t be returning, he harbored a deep resentment for Loren. It’s clear he hasn’t let go of it yet.

I turn back to the door, pushing into the restaurant as heads turn, marking our entrance.

Like a little slice of Italy, murals of grapes and wine are painted on rustic almond walls.

The restaurant is filled with round tables covered in white linens and unlit candles sitting in the center.

At each table except one, the chairs are flipped onto the tops of the tables.

At least three armed men stand near the back, hands clasped and standing at the ready.

In the center, one table remains with its candle flickering. The air is tense, silent as we approach. Three men, all at least in their mid-thirties or later, sit with a woman, who seems young. Their whispered conversation comes to a hush as we get closer, all four of them turning to us.

“Well,” I begin, stuffing my hands into my pockets, “you’ve got us here. Now, who do I have to thank for sending us that incredibly vague email?” My gaze scans the men who remain seated, but they give nothing away. They look to be your typical guards, all built like they live in the gym.

The woman purses her lips but doesn’t speak.

With a careful eye, I size up each of them to see who appears to be the leader.

One man has a scar slicing through one of his eyebrows, with a scruffy beard and a bald head.

Another has bandages on his knuckles and leans with his arms thrown over the backs of the chairs on either side of him.

His lip is split and bruised, but it clearly doesn’t bother him.

The last has a sharp look to his eyes, as if he’s taking in much more than his partners.

As the seconds tick, I find my irritation growing. They have the nerve to summon me here, and now they won’t even speak?

I open my mouth to tell them to fuck off when the woman stands. She places the tips of her fingers on the table as she leans forward. The men jump up, rising a half second after she does.

“Callahan Keane,” she says, voice smoky and rich.

I take three steps closer to the table, never breaking eye contact with her.

The closer I get, the better I can see her.

Dark lashes frame her green eyes, and upon closer inspection, they appear bloodshot.

Freckles splatter over the ridge of her nose, and her auburn hair is pulled back into a ponytail.

She’s dressed in all black, with a turtleneck tucked into jeans.

“It appears you have me at a disadvantage.” I look around the room. “You seem to know me fairly well, but you’ve yet to even introduce yourself. Your manners could use some work.”

Her nostrils flare, but her green eyes never leave my face. “Who I am is inconsequential, but you may call me Rose.”

I’m silent, waiting for Rose to get on with it. I’m already feeling the prickles on the back of my neck that begs for me to get home and put Loren back in my sights.

Rose rolls her eyes and takes a seat, waving a hand for us to do the same. After a hesitant breath, I sit down. The screech of the chair legs on the wooden floor is sharp, but no one pays it any mind.

“Thank you for coming. I have information that you’ll likely be very grateful for.” With that, she slides a flash drive across the linen tablecloth.

Matthias swipes it, turns it over, and inspects the small chip. “What’s on it?”

Rose doesn’t look away from me. “It’s where you’ll find the Disciples and the missing women.”

My shoulders stiffen, and my eyes narrow on her. “And how would you have this information?”

Rose waves my question off. “Here’s the deal: You will take this information, and you’ll use your considerable manpower to stop the shipment from leaving on Friday. In exchange, you’ll capture their leader and bring him to me.”

I slouch back in my chair, throwing one arm over the back of Luc’s. “ And why would we do that?”

The corner of Rose’s mouth twitches, and she leans forward. A menacing gleam shines in her eyes, and a ferocity that wasn’t there before comes barreling across the table. “Because you need all the brownie points you can get to offset the secrets you’re keeping from a certain Mrs. Keane.”

The threat slices across and straight through my defenses. Unfortunately, there are no shortages to the lies I’ve told Loren, both then and now, so it’s impossible to know which she’s referring to.

“And how do we know the intel you’re sharing is accurate? Where—or who—did you say your source is again?”

Rose’s jaw ticks.

“Oh, that’s right”—I snap and lean forward—“you haven’t. So, all this pomp and power means nothing if you can’t tell me how you’ve verified each line of intel. And frankly, I don’t know you well enough, Rose , to take you at your word.”

A deep scowl contorts her face. Then, the man sitting at her right leans over to whisper in her ear.

She listens, the irritation melting away with a reluctant grumble.

With a single nod, she speaks again. “As a gesture of my goodwill, here’s a missing puzzle piece you’ve been searching for: Peter Agapov. ”

My brows furrow. Peter Agapov. Why does that name sound familiar?

A rumble sounds, and I realize it’s a chuckle coming from one of Rose’s entourage.

“Peter’s recently found himself interested in achieving what his father couldn’t: territory in Roswell. His father—Ivan Agapov—tried for decades. ”

Ivan Agapov—now that’s a name I remember.

The Russian entrepreneur has been trying to cross into Roswell ever since my father took over operations.

Ivan runs a modest shipping company out of Moscow, using the containers to mask his additional imports—mainly drugs—but only delivers product to Quebec.

He’s wanted to alter his routes to include ports in the States, but my father rejected his proposition.

Ivan’s product wasn’t up to the quality Dear Old Dad wanted, so he sent him packing.

“I see you’re putting it together. Now here’s where it gets interesting: Peter’s spent his life going unnoticed by his father, who believes himself to be infallible.

Though almost sixty, he has yet to announce his heir.

Peter has it in his head that if he can free up some of the claimed territory, then he can swoop and claim it for himself.

His older brother hasn’t shown interest in the business, so Peter is trying to get his father’s attention. ”

“So, you’re saying Peter’s responsible for the warehouse fires and deaths of our soldiers?” I ask.

Rose smiles, but it’s more like a baring of her teeth.

Something flashes behind her eyes, too quick for me to catch.

She drops a photo on the table, and it’s of a man who looks to be in his twenties, tall but lean, black hair, beady little eyes.

“Peter’s responsible for a lot more than that.

But yes, he’s behind the fires and deaths.

He’s also behind the women going missing.

From what I’ve discovered, his father is unaware of the doctored shipping manifests and the extra weight they’re suddenly reporting. ”