Page 49 of Through Any Fire (Any x #1)

M y breaths come in choppy waves, but I press on. Our footfalls are near silent as we track Agapov through the forest. Between the two of us, Luc has the most experience with tracking, so I follow closely behind, head on a swivel as we chase after Peter fucking Agapov.

The temperature drops as we put distance between us and the fire. Soot and ash cover my face and torso. My makeshift mask dangles uselessly around my neck, offering little warmth from the elements. My fury is a furnace, though, its heat warming me to the core.

“You good?”

Am I good? I almost just lost Loren. Again .

I don’t bother with a response, a growl erupting from my chest answer enough.

“Where did you find him?”

“When you called, I flipped a bitch and shot straight back. A car was hurtling away at top speed, and I just knew.” Luc winces, never taking his eyes off the tracks he’s following.

“I slammed the SUV straight into his shitty blue Tahoe. My head hit the steering wheel, and we stumbled out. I got a shot off before he ran.”

Shit. “Blue Tahoe?”

“Yeah, why?”

That son of a bitch. “The car who chased us down after Thorne’s bomb was a blue Tahoe.”

Luc swears. “So that’s one answer we finally have.”

I nod, turning back to the task. “Where’d you hit him?”

Luc’s jaw flexes. “He twisted at the last second. I think I got him through his shoulder.”

I nod.

“I had to make a choice, Cal. Give chase or—”

“Or come back and save us. I understand. You made the right call.”

Luc grunts. “Even though you didn’t end up needing me. Your wife had it handled.”

I smile to myself. She sure fucking did.

The trail of footprints and dribbles of blood takes us north, and we must be a mile away from the warehouse at this point. Then, a pool of blood appears. There’s a wide swipe through it, as if someone was dragged through it—or someone dragged himself away. He must be close.

I signal to Luc. He nods, all humor wiped from his expression. With silent steps, we raise our guns and follow the trail of blood.

Around the trunk of a towering sycamore, we find him. Wet breaths wheeze from his lungs. His eyes are closed as he leans against the trunk. His pale skin is colorless, the blood draining from the wound in his shoulder. At first, he doesn’t notice us, a groan escaping from his lips.

“Well, well, what do we have here? ”

A manic grin splits my face in two. This is the fuck who tried to kill Loren.

Who raped her friend. A sick pleasure builds in my chest as blood drips through the web of his fingers.

He tries to staunch the bleeding, but he’s already weakened.

Just to fuck with him, I kick his hand away.

Agapov moans, falling over and crashing to the forest floor.

“Oh, you poor soul. You’re going to regret coming after my wife.”

Luc laughs and crouches. He grabs Agapov’s uninjured arm and his right leg and swings the shithead into a fireman’s carry. On our trek back to the car, Luc is as clumsy as possible. Agapov groans painfully with each smack against Luc’s back.

Ten minutes later, the warehouse—or what remains of it—comes into sight.

The flames still burn, the heat wafting over even as we exit the tree line.

The gate is still open—there’s nothing to keep people out anymore—but Loren and the two guards from earlier are as far as possible while still on the perimeter.

A sickly sweet smell floods my nose, and it scrunches on instinct.

Fuck , the product is burning. My head swims, unsure of how I missed it earlier. The adrenaline must be wearing off.

One guard walks the perimeter, gun raised, as he watches for potential threats. Loren sits with her head between her knees, her cream sweater nearly black with ash.

I can’t believe she ran headfirst into the flames for me. Thick emotion swells in the base of my throat.

“Get him in the car,” I instruct Luc, heading straight for Loren. When I reach her, my hand immediately goes to her back. Her spine is bumpy under my comfort, and I rub circles over the middle of her back. “Bunny.” My voice comes out rough, the smoke and ash finally catching up to me .

Loren looks up, her hazel eyes reddened, lashes dark and wet. “Did you get him?”

I nod once, and my wife sniffs.

“Let’s go home.”

She nods and slips her hands into mine to help her up.

I tug her to her feet, not minding in the slightest when she stumbles and falls into me.

Her palms are filthy, her nails scraping me as they curl on my chest, but I don’t care.

She smells of smoke and fire, like ash and soot.

I cling to her with every fiber of my being.

From the driver’s seat of the SUV, Luc calls, “He’s packed! Let’s go.”

Loren’s eyes scrunch, but she doesn’t speak, just tugs me by the hand toward the car. But instead of following her, I grab the oxygen tank from Caleb, who sits on the ground, ripping the mask off his face. He doesn't flinch.

“The rest of the guards?”

Caleb’s jaw clenches. “Dead. Their throats were slit.”

Fuck. Was Agapov working alone, or did he have backup this time?

Looking at the state of Agapov, I’d be hard pressed to think he could do all this on his own. He doesn’t seem nearly clever enough to kill six guards without anyone noticing.

“Backup should be here soon. Keep an eye out and report anything out of the ordinary.”

They each nod, and I return to Loren. A bit of her sass has returned, sparking behind her hazel eyes as I hand her the mask. She rolls her eyes but accepts it, slipping it over her face without complaint.

“Why do you have an oxygen tank?” Her words are mumbled through the mask, and I fight a smile.

“With the fires and deaths, we started putting them in all the SUVs in case someone on scene needed one. Thank god we did.”

The pinch between her brow softens, understanding dawning on her features.

She’s always been a survivor; tonight only further proves it.

Ash and smoke cling to her face, her hair, her clothes.

She survived . And not only did she survive, she came back to save me.

I owe her my life. Not that I didn’t already.

If she ever decides she’s done with me, I fear she might finally meet the true Callahan Keane. I won’t be letting her go a second time.