Page 35 of Through Any Fire (Any x #1)

M y heart sinks, but I snap to my feet, swaying only a little.

I don’t give him a chance to speak before I jab a finger into his chest and push as hard as possible.

He doesn’t move. A growl splits from my chest, a noise I’ve never produced before, but I ignore the novelty and throw all my vitriol into my words.

“Shoulda known you couldn’t keep it in your pants. You never could.” My words slur, but I ignore it, embracing my ire. Fury licks down my spine, flushing my chest with heat.

Cal’s eyes widen, and he searches my face. His gaze flicks to the half-full tumbler of whiskey in my hands and then darts back to mine. His brows pinch together as he asks, “Are you drunk?”

I wave him off. “I asked first.” Then I remember the glass in my hand, and I finish the remaining gulp. With a sarcastic flourish, I spit out, “Maybe. But only because you showed me your true colors. Again .”

I don’t bother hiding the pain radiating from my chest. It stings, and I hate how it feels. Fueled by too many glasses of whiskey and vicious jealousy, I push into Callahan’s space and drop the glass on the rug. It lands with a thud , but I ignore it.

Cal’s breath hitches when I wrap my arms around his shoulders and tip my face to his.

His heart beats wildly against my chest, and I lean closer, eyes drawing down to his lips, then back to his darkening gaze.

All those years ago, I ran from him. But now…

now I’m going to show him what he’s been missing.

“What are you—” he whispers.

I silence him by pressing my mouth to his. Cal stands frozen, rooted to the ground for two heartbeats, then his arms slip around my waist and tug me closer. I fall into his hold, a soft moan slipping out as I finally kiss the man I’ve pretended to hate for the past eleven years.

Cal’s lips are as soft as I remember, but the reminder of how he acquired his expertise, my cloudy brain sparks in outrage, and I kiss him with more heat.

His tongue slips into my mouth as I claw at the hair on the nape of his neck, trying to fuse our mouths together.

But it’s not enough. A fire has caught, flushing my skin and thrumming between my legs.

Cal nips at my lower lip and growls, moving his hands to cup my face as he devours me.

It’s not enough, it’s not enough.

I slip a hand down his chest, feeling his taut muscles under my palm. Cal breaks for air, his wet lips swollen as he looks at me from under hooded eyelids.

“Fuck, Ren. I wasn’t expecting that.”

A smirk teases the corner of my mouth, and I grab his waistband.

With one hand, I unbuckle his belt and slide it off before he can even look down.

The pictures Leon sent flash to the front of my mind, and the green-eyed demon takes over again, rushing forward to kiss him again.

Where I once ran from his betrayal, now I lean into the challenge, if only to satisfy my cravings for the night.

That’s not why you’re mauling him, Loren.

I shoo the thought away, happy to live in my denial, either because the alcohol makes this feel like a dream or because I just don’t have it in me to care right now. My tongue tangles with his as a buzz lights over my skin, hands fumbling with the buttons of his trousers.

Suddenly, firm hands land on my shoulders and push me away. “Wait, Ren—just wait .”

I scoff, slamming my lips to his and work his zipper down. But in the next breath, his hands clamp around mine, stopping me from going any further. Indignation sparks, and I groan like a petulant child. The several glasses of whiskey almost topple me, and I stumble away from his denial.

“I—I can’t. I want you— god, I want you —but you’re drunk.”

Cal looks at me, unrestrained desire shining in his brown eyes, and it’s the final straw.

“Fine, I’ll do it myself.” I turn on my heel and cross to the bed, where I fall into the plush mattress with a giggle.

Slipping a hand down my leggings, I find that sensitive spot and strum with quick, tight circles.

My eyes close, head falling back on the pillow as a breathy sigh escapes.

It’s been too long since I had a release.

With each stroke, the heady combination of constantly being around my greatest love and an abnormal amount of whiskey takes me higher and higher toward that peak.

Steps sound next to the bed. When I open my eyes, Cal is standing next to me.

Shadows eclipse his brooding face. He watches me through hooded eyes, his pupils so dilated they’re practically black.

His breath comes in heavy puffs. My mouth parts on a heavy moan as I circle faster, then faster again.

We’re locked in a battle, neither daring to look away.

It fuels me, sending me closer to that peak with each circle.

Right as I’m about to launch into the abyss, Cal grabs my wrist. Then, fast as a bolt of lightning, he whips my hand from my pants, eyes zeroed in on my wet fingers.

My hips buck, needy and still seeking the release he just stole from me.

A whine slips from my lips. Cal goes rigid, his icy stare pinning me to the mattress.

My breath stalls as he lifts my fingers toward his face, but at the last second, he freezes once more.

His expression clears, and he flicks my hand away.

He doesn’t look at me when he stalks from the room, muttering to himself.

His residual shame coats me, tainting my almost orgasm in humiliation. With a swipe of my fingers against my leggings, I turn off the bedside light and curl onto my side.

It takes hours to fall asleep, the alcohol burning off with each second that passes, shame settling in its place. By the time the sun begins to cast its golden fire into the room, I finally slip into unconsciousness.

Callahan never returns.

I could only sleep a few hours when I finally give up.

Before I knew it, the sun had risen to its peak in the sky, and it was time to face the damage from last night.

But after a few moments of deliberation, I decide to procrastinate and head down to the gym.

After almost an hour there, I take pity on those around me and head up to shower.

Flashes of last night barrage me as I scrub my hair.

A heat, one not from the blistering water, flushes my chest as I try to escape from my mind.

Shame pours over me like a rainstorm, and I step out of the shower to dry off.

In the fifteen minutes it takes to dry my hair and dress, I run through at least four counterarguments that might save a scrap of my dignity.

But as I shimmy into a pair of jeans and a soft cream sweater, the shame is still there, no matter the argument I try to form.

So instead, I head downstairs, searching for coffee and answers—though not necessarily in that order.

When I get downstairs, the house is abuzz with an energy I haven’t felt since I moved in.

It’s ominous, the way people seem to walk on eggshells around the inner circle—though perhaps because insults are being thrown like knives.

The dining room is empty, most everyone spilling into the hallway as Matthias pushes into Cal’s space, a fierce finger stabbing Cal in the chest. He whispers his words too low to hear, but the threat is obvious.

Cal straightens, eyes narrowing further with each word.

“Are you done?” Cal asks in a calculated tone. His jaw ticks as he waits for Matthias to respond.

Finally, Matthias spins on his heel and swiftly exits. He pushes past me, shoulder checking me as he steams by. I stumble, though only for a moment, until a hand at my elbow steadies me. Looking up, I find Cal’s furious gaze trained on Matthias. I jerk my arm from his grip.

That catches his attention, and he turns his gaze to me.

But he doesn’t release my arm. His brown eyes soften for a moment, then heat returns with a startling flash.

His gaze locks on my lips. It’s all the reminder of last night that I need, and a flush erupts over my skin.

This time, when I pull my arm from his grip, he lets go.

“I need to talk to you. About last night,” he says .

I scoff, rolling my eyes. “If you think I need details, you’ve taken too many blows to the head.” I skirt around him, but he steps to the side, blocking my escape.

I try again, but Cal counters. I blow out a breath and throw my hands onto my hips. Cal arches a brow, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“ About how the meeting went , Loren.”

His words bring back a rush of why I’m here and why I need him. I concede with a groan. “I need caffeine.”

Cal smiles, a dopey curl to his lips that has my stomach fluttering.

He dips back into the dining room and returns with a coffee in each hand.

The one in his left hand black, the one he offers a light caramel—just how I like it.

I arch a brow but accept the coffee, following closely behind as we head toward his office.

When we get to his office, he immediately heads for his desk and slumps into it with an air of defeat that’s so unlike him.

He exhales deeply, then takes an extra-long drink from his coffee.

I’m transfixed by the way his throat bobs with each swallow.

Then I note the fresh wounds on his knuckles.

There’s a bandage around one hand, while the other is only slightly scraped.

What happened last night? When he finally speaks, I’m jolted from the trance he put me under, immediately feeling the blood rush to my cheeks. He caught me staring.

Pieces of the bitter—and hazy—events from last night flash in my mind. They meld with the years-old hurt from eleven years ago until they’re practically indistinguishable. Acid burns in my throat, and I chase it away with several sips of my creamy coffee.

Finally, Cal sighs and begins. “Is this who approached you at the Edwards’s residence?” He slides a picture across his desk .

I lean forward to inspect it, but it’s obvious from the start. I nod, a question forming between the pinch of my brow.

“This is Peter Agapov. His father runs a small shipping company. Peter’s trying to get a foothold in Roswell. By force. He’s the one behind the warehouse fires and the missing women. They plan to traffick them overseas. Alice is due to be shipped out with the rest.”

My heart thuds, and I suck in a breath. Heat washes over me, prickling my skin with each word Callahan speaks.

Despite Peter’s image already having been burned into my memory, I study the picture.

My arm is partially in the frame, and you can see me gripping my glass of whiskey tightly.

At that moment, I’d been praying for escape, for Cal to come rushing in to save me from the man who was so entitled to my personal space.

And now he has Alice.

All thoughts of finding Mason take a back seat. Mason chose his path—stupidly, if I might add. He chose to approach Elias and Leon. And just like our father, his choices are his own. Do I want to save him? Of course, I do. I’ll never stop looking for him.

But Alice?

Alice is innocent. A complete bystander who got caught up in the wrong crowd— me .

Resolution settles over me like a heavy blanket. I shove my anger aside—the hurt aside—and turn my focus back to Callahan. “What’s the plan?”