Page 51 of Through Any Fire (Any x #1)

“ M ason!” I rush inside, falling over him as I shake his shoulders, trying to wake him up. Thankfully, he’s clothed, unlike the other prisoner, three doors down. My vision blurs as I keep shaking him. A fresh bruise covers the expanse of his jaw. I wince.

Mason groans, eyes fluttering open as he wakes. Guilt flashes through me, and a knot lodges in the back of my throat.

He’s been down here this whole time?

I was just down here a few days ago. Were those his cries I’d heard? My shame threatens to swallow me whole. All this time, I’ve been falling deeper into Callahan’s trance, when all along he’s had my brother.

“Mason,” I whisper, trembling hands cupping his face, wiping the hair from his eyes.

Slowly, my brother comes to consciousness. “Loren?” His voice is scratchy and dry, and another pang of guilt rips through me.

“Bunny, please let me—”

“ No ,” I scream. The room spins as I whirl around, shielding Mason’s fragile body with my own. “How could you?”

Cal opens his mouth to answer.

I don’t give him the opportunity. “I trusted you. Again . I trusted you.”

Mason groans behind me, and I spin back to him, sliding an arm under his to heave him out of the cot. “Come on, Mase, we’re leaving.”

“Leaving?” Cal asks.

I glare at Callahan, and he flinches.

“Yes,” I practically growl. “Leaving. Move .”

Cal doesn’t move, but thankfully, Everett tugs him back with a hand on his shoulder. Cal stumbles backward a few steps, watching in silent agony as Mason and I hobble out of the room and toward the stairs.

When we reach the bottom of the stairs, I place a firm grip on Mason’s elbow and help him ascend.

“You are my wife, Loren. And it’s not safe. You can’t just leave.”

I look over my shoulder. The sight equally breaks something in me, just as it fuels me.

Cal pleads with me with his brown eyes, lashes wet with emotion, but his words are a harsh reminder.

He used my love for Mason to manipulate me into marrying him.

Now that I have Mason back, and Peter’s captured, the threat against our lives is neutralized. Our contract is void.

“Watch me.”

Ten minutes later, I’m knocking on a door and praying my friend hasn’t written me off just yet.

Like before, I took the Corvette. This time, outrage fueled my need for speed, as opposed to panic.

The door opens, and Jenna’s surprised face meets mine.

Her brows furrow as she looks between Mason and me, eyes widening in obvious shock, either at his state—or mine, I haven’t had a chance to shower the ash off yet—or the fact that we’ve shown up at nearly midnight .

I can’t tell if we’re waking them up, but Jenna wears a pair of high-waisted, striped sleep shorts and a cropped white tank.

“ Sweetcake ,” Jude’s grumbling voice growls as he stomps into view.

Barely sparing us a glance, he slips a hand behind her neck and pulls her face toward him, whispering against her lips, “What have I told you about answering the door at night? I’ll get it.

” Then he kisses her softly, and she melts into his hold.

“ Sweetcake? ” I stifle a chuckle when Jude glares over the top of Jenna’s head.

“I checked the cameras first. I knew it was Loren.” She pulls out of his grip and lightly swats his concern away. “You brute.” Her tone is teasing, and I know my friend—she loves when Jude is overprotective of her.

Jude grumbles, crossing his arms and turning toward us. He wears only a pair of low-slung gray sweats and white socks, muscles on open display.

“So you gonna let us in? Got a kid bleeding out here.”

It’s an obvious exaggeration, but I haven’t spoken to Jude since that day at Strikers. All he did was express concern for me, and I threw it back in his face. I really thought I had it under control. My chin wobbles, and Jude’s gaze zeroes in on it.

Without speaking, he turns and stomps toward the kitchen, leaving me to drag Mason in.

“Come on,” Jenna whispers, shutting the door softly behind us and taking up the other side of Mason.

Together, we help him to their sofa, and when he falls into the plush cushions, he’s instantly out.

I was too anxious during the drive to ask him any questions, and now I feel too guilty to wake him .

Mason snores softly, and I choke over the knot lodged in my throat. Gentle hands wrap around me, and Jenna pulls me into a hug. Although she’s younger than me, her hugs are the closest I’ve felt to maternal warmth since I was a small child. A whimper escapes my lips, and Jenna just hugs me tighter.

After another minute, she rubs my back. “Let’s get you a tea.”

“Got anything stronger?” I laugh and wipe the snot from my nose with the back of my sleeve.

“Honey, have you met my husband? Of course I do.”

Arm in arm, she guides me to their kitchen.

It’s dark, only a few lamps on to light the way, but it’s a short walk.

Their home is cozy and a perfect blend of their mutual tastes.

It’s decorated in soft grays and creams, open-faced cabinets, and stainless appliances.

There’s a large window above the sink, and moonlight spills through it.

Jude is already sipping on a glass of some clear liquid—gin, most likely—but red wine and whiskey wait on the island.

Jenna picks up her glass with a sly smile, sidling next to Jude and snuggling into his hold.

There’s something so beautiful about them.

Jude with his harsh corners and rigid attitude, and Jenna with her soft curves and carefree nature.

Jude’s hand squeezes her hip, and she takes a sip of her wine. I pick up my glass, raising it in silent cheers and slamming it back in one go. Jude watches as I move to the cabinet that holds their liquor, pull the bottle of whiskey down, and place it on the island.

I slump onto a bar stool, my face falling into my hands with a groan. “Aren’t you going to say I told you so?” My words are muffled against my palms. When I don’t hear a response, I peek an eye up.

Jenna wears compassion on her face, but she knows the question wasn’t directed at her. Jude’s eyes narrow, but there’s less heat in them than before.

“Your words, not mine.”

I stifle a laugh and purse my lips. Jude takes another sip of his drink to hide his own smile, and that’s how I know we’re okay. In all the years I’ve known him, he’s never been one to hold a grudge.

“What happened?”

By the time I finish, the anger has returned to Jude’s set jaw. He swears under his breath and turns around to stare out the window. Jenna rubs a reassuring hand over his spine, murmuring quietly between them.

“That Keane is no good.”

“I know. I think I’ve always known.”

Jude slams the rest of his drink, and I notice the bandage on his knuckles for the first time.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the fighting?”

They still, Jenna turning to me with wide eyes.

“It’s a gym. Of course there’s fighting,” Jude counters.

I arch a brow. “The underground fighting.”

Jenna’s mouth parts, then shuts. “Who told you about that?” she asks, but there’s no anger behind her words. She’s curious, but what I want to know is why I had to find out from the Doc and not from Jude himself.

“Who told me isn’t important when it wasn’t you.” I arch a brow, directing my vitriol to the brooding man with his arms crossed.

There’s a tense quiet. Jude shrugs. “I would’ve told you. Eventually.”

“Eventually? Is that the best you’ve got?”

Jenna raises her hands in defense. “It’s dangerous, Loren. A lot of scary guys fighting for no reason other than blood. Most don’t even care about the payouts—Callahan certainly never does. They just need an outlet, and Jude’s fight nights provide that.”

Jude grunts. “What she said.”

My eyes roll. Ah yes, a man of many words.

“So that’s why you were so upset when I showed up married to the guy?”

“Keane is one of the top fighters. He hasn’t lost a fight in five years. He used to come more when he was younger, but now we only see him every couple of weeks.”

I wish I could say it was a shock, but it makes sense. Cal has never shied away from his anger, and it doesn’t surprise me he found a physical outlet for it.

“When’s the last time he fought?”

Jude’s brows shoot up. “You don’t know?”

“Why would I? We might have been married, but it was in name only. Until a week ago, I slept in a different bedroom.” My cheeks heat at my admission, basically having just told him I fucked Callahan.

Whatever. He was—is—my husband, and it’s not like they think I’m some blushing virgin.

Jude sighs. “He was here last week.”

Last week?

“He was particularly feral, and I had to have him dragged away from the unlucky son of a bitch who went up against him. Pretty sure the poor kid doesn’t have any teeth left.”

A knot thickens in my throat, and I struggle to swallow. What happened last week that pissed him off?

Flashes of me mauling him, drunk off my ass, rush to the front of my memory, and I cringe. I remember a little about that night, but I remember he never came back to bed.

“I approached him to find out how you were doing, but he just ignored me and left.”

That sounds about right.

I sigh. “Could we stay here for a few days? My place was broken into, so we don’t really have anywhere else to go.”

Jude swears and swiftly exits the room. A door slams in the distance, and I take it he’s not coming back.

“Don’t mind him. Come on.” Jenna wraps a gentle arm around my back and guides me to a room down the hall.

It’s on the smaller side but has a queen bed in the center with a fluffy duvet and a mountain of pillows.

The walls are a soft cream, and the wood floors are light.

On the wall opposite the bed, there’s a mounted television and a square window on the wall to the left.

On the right-hand side is a door, which I assume leads to a bathroom.

A yawn slips free, and I cover it with the back of my hand.

“Thanks, Jenna.” I hope she can hear the sincerity in my words, because if I say anything else out loud, I’m liable to break.

She just wraps me in another hug, and I sniffle, cringing at how dirty I must be.

“Anytime.”

Then she’s out the door, shutting it softly behind her. Mason will be fine on the couch for a few hours, and I’m probably not going to sleep for very long, anyway. The bed beckons, but I wince at the thought of getting in without showering off all the ash and grime first.

Icy water slices over my skin, but I can’t bother to wait for it to warm.

My limbs move on autopilot as I scrub the smoke from my hair.

A lilac scent swirls around, and a weight settles on my chest. I scrape the dirt from under my chipped manicure.

Wash my hair again. Scrub my face. Anything I can do to avoid thinking about the past six hours.

When I’m finally clean, I wrap my body in a fluffy towel. It’s like a cloud envelopes me, and I almost groan. Damn, I need to find out where she bought these.

Fatigue settles over me like a thick blanket, and I stumble back into the bedroom. It doesn’t even faze me I don’t have any clean clothes. Instead, I slide under the covers and let myself slip into blissful unconsciousness. At least there I can pretend today didn’t happen.