Page 4 of Through Any Fire (Any x #1)

M y heart stops. All noise muffles as I stare at the proffered drink. Caleb speaks, but I don’t hear what he says. I’m frozen, suddenly sixteen again, feeling the burning stare of a boy who wouldn’t look away from me.

My gaze travels over the scars on his knuckles, the custom silver cufflinks, the perfectly tailored charcoal suit, the clean shave of his jaw, and locks onto his captivating brown eyes.

Some things are new—like the scars—but at least one thing hasn’t changed.

I teeter on the edge, about to fall headfirst back into his pull, when sound rushes back in, and Caleb clears his throat.

“Do you two, uh, know each other?” His earlier confidence seems to have shriveled in the presence of him . Something I’m all too familiar with.

A momentary flash of blonde hair and hurried shuffling slices open an old wound with no warning.

The silence stretches. Caleb looks between us, a furrow forming on his brow.

Callahan doesn’t answer, doesn’t move from where we’re locked.

His gaze burrows into mine, and I feel the years melting off like a forgotten popsicle on a wooden dock.

“Bunny.” It’s all he says, his voice soft as he urges me to take the glass from him once more.

My nose scrunches. How dare he use that name? My fingers curl around my wineglass. I almost wish it breaks so I can use a shard to stab him in the hand for daring to offer me anything again.

“I’m not your bunny.” My tone is scathing. But not nearly as harsh as it could be. “And I don’t drink whiskey anymore.” I take a healthy gulp of my wine to prove my point.

Callahan raises a brow and removes his offering. He takes a long drink, never breaking eye contact, downing the entire glass and smacking his lips, shoving the tumbler into Caleb’s chest.

“Get another. And this time”—his stony gaze slices to Caleb—“keep your hands to yourself.”

Caleb frowns but stands anyway. He walks toward the bar, muttering something under his breath. I watch him until I physically can’t, and Callahan effortlessly settles into his spot.

His power is tangible, an air of cockiness that only comes from knowing you could change the political landscape with a snap of your fingers.

Callahan might only be a year older than me, but he’s the newest leader of the Keane family, the largest distributor of premium cocaine in Roswell.

According to the news outlets, his father suffered a heart attack in the middle of the night eight months ago, making Callahan the most powerful man in Roswell overnight.

The Keane family and Bianchi family have been in a tug of war for territory for as long as we’ve been alive, for reasons I’ve never really understood.

The Bianchi family sells weed and occasionally coke, but mostly the green flower.

There really shouldn’t be a crossover of clientele, but back when our fathers and uncles ran Roswell, there were huge personal attacks that led to a great divide.

Any interactions with the enemy were strictly forbidden and punishable by exile.

And even though I’m a Catrone, my father was the right hand to Dominic Bianchi until my father’s untimely death, which meant Cal and I were enemies from the moment we were born.

That didn’t stop us, though. The thrill only made it more exciting. For a while, at least.

Instead of responding, I take another drink from my wineglass and look over to the crackling fire.

Even though I came here for him tonight, seeing him again has caught me off guard.

Cal chuckles, a deep rumbling that reverberates over my skin.

Whatever attraction I thought had passed, clearly hasn’t.

“You know, the silent treatment is sexy. Means I’m under your skin.”

My head whips around, and my gaze lands on his smirking face. “You wish.”

He winks. “Of course I do. I’m not afraid to admit it.”

I clench my jaw, telling myself I’m refusing to dignify his response with a rebuttal.

But truthfully, I don’t know what to say.

I’d practiced my speech in the mirror for hours.

Even so, the words evade me. With each breath that passes, I feel the weight of his gaze taking in every inch of my body.

Every nerve comes alive as the memory of his touch burns as hot as it did eleven years ago.

We were kids then, bumbling fools who knew nothing about pleasure, but eventually, we figured it out.

Many times, in fact. He looks at me now as if he remembers, too.

His eyes devour me, flicking over my face as if he’s afraid I might disappear like a ghost. As time would have it, Callahan is even more devastating than he was at seventeen.

Wide lips still wet from the whiskey, straight nose, high cheekbones, and a jaw that could cut glass…

His brown hair remains parted on the same side as I remember, but it’s longer than when we were kids, the wave so effortlessly chic.

He smirks, and the dimple I used to dream about appears.

I have to force my body not to gravitate toward his.

Despite never having fully recovered from the sting of his betrayal, I can’t seem to escape his pull.

My mouth parts, but I can’t find the words.

I’m a ship without a life raft, stranded in the middle of his ocean.

Frozen, I can only watch as Cal lifts a hand to tuck an errant strand of hair behind my ear. I suck in a quick breath, and his finger stills, but only for a moment. He drags it tenderly down my cheek, so lightly I’m not sure it even happened.

“Why are you here, Bunny?”

His words are simple, his gentle tone so familiar, but it slices me to the core. A leftover remembrance of when he called me that in our youth.

“I’m here…” I trail off, stalling before I dive headfirst into insanity. “Because I need your help.”

Cal’s face doesn’t change, he just cocks his head to the side. “What do you—”

“Here,” Caleb interjects, holding out a fresh tumbler of whiskey.

Cal’s jaw ticks, and he refuses to look away from me. After a few seconds, I relent.

“Thank you, Caleb.” I trade my wineglass for the crystal tumbler in his hand. “If you could please give us some privacy.”

Caleb shoots Cal another glance. He visibly withers and nods. “Sure. I think I see someone who looks in need of a drink, anyway.” With that, he discards the wineglass on a nearby table and heads toward a busty blonde .

I turn back to Cal, and tingles rush down my spine. He never looked away. The weight of his gaze heats me from the inside out, just as it did all those years ago.

Shoving the drink into his hand, I almost flinch when our fingers brush. He takes the glass, and my hand lingers, until I remember myself and drop it into my lap.

“What’s happened?” he questions. “Why are you coming to me?”

Fighting words that aim to cut, to make him bleed , I grind my teeth. I need his help, and insulting him won’t get me any answers. I have to swallow my pride.

“Mason is missing,” I finally manage. “He…” I gulp, gaze dropping to my lap. “He wanted to be made, so they gave him a task.”

Cal’s rugged finger presses below my chin, tilting my face to meet his gaze. His deep brown eyes search mine. Looking for what, I don’t know.

“What kind of task?” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to my mouth for a moment before returning to my eyes.

“They wanted…” Flashes of Mason’s kiddish charm and round cheeks hardening into dangerous stubbornness and sharp edges barrage me. I can’t find the words, can’t say them aloud. I twist my chin from Cal’s hold and stare at the crackling fire instead.

“Wanted what, Bunny?”

The nickname tugs at my defenses. This could be a catastrophic mistake, but it’s my only option. I meet his gaze once more, ripping open my armor and falling on my sword.

“They sent him on a data collection mission in Keane territory. Wanted him to come back with updated stats on your suppliers. They’ve seen you’ve recently lost some territory and thought they could capitalize on your newfound weakness.

” The words rush out of me and linger, thickening in the air between us.

Cal doesn’t speak; he simply watches me. My hands tingle in the silence.

“Is that all?” He arches a brow as if to say my biggest fear is nothing to worry about.

“Is that all?” I repeat, brows shooting up to my hairline.

“Is that fucking all? Did you not hear a word I said?” I swear I can feel my blood pressure skyrocket.

“Elias sent my baby brother into enemy territory—into your territory. We haven’t heard from him in weeks, and all you can say is, ‘Is that all?’ ”

Cal—wisely—stays quiet, and uncharacteristically, without a smirk. He waits, and the lack of reaction confuses me. Did he already know?

My anger sizzles, and I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off, slamming his whiskey in one gulp and sniffing the burn away.

His sizable thumb wipes a drop he missed from the corner of his mouth, and he leans forward, resting his forearms on his legs.

His face is the closest it’s been, and his gaze openly searches my face.

“After all these years,” he says, voice low, a sharp bite of irritation bleeding through, “you still believe I’m only your enemy?”

My mouth parts, ready to argue, but he tsks , cutting me off with a sound so admonishing it stings.

“Oh, Loren, you wound me.” He leans forward until I’m forced to either share his breath or retreat.

I refuse to concede.

His burning gaze drops to my lips again. It lingers for a moment, then locks with mine once more. Turbulent storms war behind his brown eyes, until darkness eclipses the brown. Suddenly, I’m not sure this was a good idea. Cal’s nostrils flare, and I wonder if he can sense my trepidation.

“As if I could be so lucky,” he snaps. The words slice, burrowing deep into an old wound that still remembers.

“What the fuck does that mean?” I grind out between clenched teeth.

I’ve spent the last eleven years loathing Callahan Keane—for good fucking reason—and he has the audacity to be angry with me?

Has he forgotten how absolutely callous he was?

Or how he told me he loved me, then turned around and discarded me like trash?

Does he think I’ve forgotten the look on his face when I opened the door and saw that blonde crawling out of his bed?

Or the words he threw at my back, wielding cruelty like a whip as I ran?

A red haze flashes over me, but I lock it down, lifting my chin in defiance.

“As if you ever could be.”

He chuckles low, a scathing sound I haven’t heard from him before. I narrow my eyes, and he composes himself, but only enough to speak.

“Oh, you don’t know.” His words are laced with bitter humor.

My brow furrows, confusion eclipsing my anger. “Know what?” I ask with hesitation.

Excitement sparks in his eyes. He settles against the couch, arms thrown over the back. The patron saint of carelessness. “That I need a wife.”

His words stun me, but it’s his smile that’s the most unnerving.

He looks me up and down from where he lounges, watching as the gears turn in my head.

Why should I care that he still needs a wife?

Every gossip in town tells of the endless rotation of women he keeps company with.

If he’s still single, it’s likely for good reason. And not my problem, either .

But no matter the reason, somewhere deep, deep in the recess of my mind, a young girl cries out.

I ignore her.

Instead, I lean back with calculated disinterest. “And why do you feel the need to tell me this?”

Cal scrubs a hand over his jaw and smiles to himself. He exhales deeply, throwing his arm, once again, back over the edge. “Because you’ll be my wife.”

I grind my jaw shut, trapping the scream that threatens to escape behind my teeth.

“And if you want your brother to live,” he says as he gestures to a nearby server for a refill, “ all you’ll have to say is ‘I do.’ ”