by Anne Malcom
And I moved. Against the smoke that clutched my throat from the inside, that worked into my eyeballs like glass, and the heat of the flames that were fingernails ripping at my skin.
I wrapped the blanket around myself to try to protect my bare skin from the worst of it. But it wouldn’t do much.
I’d forgotten about the need for the blanket to shield me from the worst of the heat from the door handle, scalding my palm on the burning iron.
The pain was immediate and intense. Enough to yank last night’s pasta from my stomach and have it almost crawl up my throat.
Almost.
I made myself turn the knob, even as I felt my skin melting, charring against it. The pain took over everything—or tried to take over everything. But then I made myself think about how excruciating the small patch of burning on my palm was. Then considered what that would feel like covering my entire body.
And it got me moving. It was almost a blur, like someone else with more strength of will was manning the controls inside my brain. Then I yanked the small window in my studio open, with my uninjured hand.
The air kissed me, taunted me with its cooling and clean oxygen.
I coughed into it and tried to suck up as much unpolluted air as I could. But I didn’t have time for that. I was scooping canvases and throwing them out the window before I could think about what would happen to them if they landed wrong on the concrete below. They could be ruined and smashed from the fall and I could’ve almost—maybe actually—killed myself trying to save them.
I couldn’t think about that. So I didn’t.
The air increased in heat and intensity. The window I was throwing my canvases out of was tiny, not designed for a person climbing in and out of. Nor did it have a ladder attached to get me safely to the ground.
A quick glance to the flames licking the door told me I only had seconds. I snatched at the prints that were closest to my heart, that wouldn’t be able to be thrown out the window. The sketchbook full of memories too raw to be on display in the room. And then I ran. The wood was unsteady and hot against the balls of my feet, and I stumbled as something stabbed into my foot as I was halfway back to my bedroom door. The pain was intense, but nothing compared to my palm, which answered the call of the flames around it, itching to consume more of my skin.
I moved through the flames, stopping right in front of the door I’d closed for all of those sensible reasons, like not letting the flames spread. Now one of my hands was all but useless, the other clutching the images I’d risked my life for.
Smoke curled in my throat, seemed to fill it with ash. My body tried to repel it as I coughed uncontrollably, panicking as the fit didn’t give me any space to suck in what little air was left in the room.
My body swayed.
My throat was closed.
Eyes filling with grit.
I’m going to die.
And then the door was wrenched open, a figure darker than smoke filling it. The figure that rushed at me and had me gathered in its arms before I realized I’d collapsed into them.
“Lauren,” he growled against my neck as he buried me into it. I clutched my art to my chest as my coughing slowed and stopped, Gage striding across the room and through the open window.
The air was cool and beautiful and clean. But I already had beautiful and clear air the second my face pressed into the bare skin of Gage’s neck.
I worried about how Gage was going to maneuver the fire escape while carrying me. I worried about the rust on the fire escape and the considerable amount of weight Gage’s muscled form added to the load the aged iron would have to take on.
But I needn’t have worried, because this was a man who I’d been sure would’ve been able to save me in the middle of a plane crashing. And I’d had that thought the second I met him, when I knew nothing about him.
And now I knew everything about him, and I knew I was in safe arms. No matter how sure he was that they were going to destroy me. They were the only thing that was going to save me.
Then those arms were shaking me. Or was the world shaking?
Of course the world was shaking. It always did with Gage.
“Lauren, baby. Please, I need you to breathe.” His growl was thicker than the smoke taking up residence in my throat. It was full of more pain than the sharp and burning sensation in my palm.
My throat cleared and my chest burned as I sucked in the air that Gage was so desperate for me to welcome. And welcoming that banished the darkness creeping at the sides of my consciousness.
“Fuck. Okay, that’s it. That’s my girl,” he murmured.
I was rocking. There were lips against my head. Sirens were either far away or really close; my ears couldn’t hear anything but my strangled breathing and Gage’s soft murmurs.
It was an effort to push past the grit and smoke in my eyes, but I did it. The world was too dark and too bright at the same time. Blurry.
My glasses were probably melting.
Like I would’ve been.
“You saved me from a burning building,” I croaked.
The lips left my head, and Gage’s sharp features cut through the soft and blurry edges of my vision.
“Saving someone from a burning building doesn’t do much for the street cred of a self-professed villain,” I teased, the words glass against my throat. “You’re going to have to kick a puppy or something.”
The arms around me tightened. “I didn’t save someone,” he growled. “I saved you. And you’re not someone. You’re the fuckin’ only one. And you saved me by suckin’ in that air. By openin’ your beautiful eyes.”
“Well how about we save each other?” I offered as the darkness danced in my vision again. “You know, it’s only fair in a post-feminism society.”
And that was how I passed out. Not saying soulful and romantic words to the man who had saved my life.
No, commenting on the state of affairs in regard to gender equality.
It was the air that woke me up.
Much like the way the lack of it had jerked me awake when my apartment was on fire.
But it wasn’t the lack of it. It was the abundance of it.
Not dirtied by smoke but stripped of all bacteria, full of disinfectant. A hospital. I knew before I opened my eyes because of the smell. Because of the scratchy sheets covering me. The gentle beep of what I guessed was the heart monitor.
I had almost died in a house fire.
It was the logical place to be taken, after all.
“Well, burning your own house down is a bold move to get his attention, and it worked. Color me impressed.”
I craned my neck to see a black-haired, tattooed, and beautiful woman sitting beside me. Her arms were crossed, eyebrow raised as she regarded me. Everything about her should’ve made such a stare hard: the heavy liner around her eyes, the stark black of her clothing, the fact that her body was covered in tattoos.
But it wasn’t. Because it wasn’t the outside that governed how someone made you feel when they stared at you. It was what was inside their irises. Behind their words.
I knew that better than most people.
“I would say it’s a totally crazy move, but my husband blew up my car because he was bored.” She shrugged. “So I’m not one to judge.”
I smiled. Tried to speak, but all that came out was a hacking cough.
Her teasing smile left.
“You’re not supposed to talk for a hot minute,” she said, eyes dark. “You know, considering the fact that you almost freaking died of smoke inhalation.” She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t do that again. You scared the shit out of everyone. Sure, they’ve been waiting for something to happen, but not this.” She scanned my hospital bed. “I’ll give you a rundown. Every single woman is in various states of motion. Amy has been on and off with Barney’s all morning getting you a new wardrobe.” She winked. “She’s like, a fricking lifetime member there.” She sat back, folding her arms. “Mia is on the phone with contractors, yelling at
them and telling them to drop everything they’re doing to work on the place the second the fire inspector’s done. And he’ll be done soon since Mia has already spoken to him too. Lily has checked you over, because she’s totally more competent than any doctor, and you’re only in here as a precaution. You burned your hand pretty good.”
My eyes went down to the hand in question, the white-hot memory of the pain overtaking me. The skin felt hot, scalding, the pain intense but not unmanageable. Likely because I was on some heavy painkillers.
“It’s going to take a bit to heal, and there’s going to be a scar,” Bex continued. “But you’ve already got those. This is just one the world can see.”
My eyes shimmered with her words, the knowledge in them.
“And the cause of the fire is now being determined,” she said, moving on. “There’s a guard posted outside the door, because well, it’s Gage.” She rolled her eyes. “And because I’ve never seen that man look wilder than when he told me to stand here and guard you with my life.” She raised her brow. “And he didn’t mean it metaphorically. The fucker would fully expect me to do it. So let’s hope this prospect has his shit together if anyone decides to attack.” She winked.
Attack?
“But I don’t think they will, since everyone’s so convinced that this is malice, but the early word is it’s electrical. Sometimes there’s nothing more malicious than plain old life.”
I blinked at her.
“Oh, and speaking of malice. Gage is off planning to kill someone most likely, but I doubt he’ll be gone for long, since a fire can’t live without oxygen, and that fucker is an inferno and you’re the air.”
She winked again.
At her words, and the memory of Gage pulling me out of a burning building and knowing he was coming back, I relaxed into the bed. Something I never would’ve done under normal circumstances.
But normal was a construct.
Thankfully.
Gage
“Who could’ve done this?” Cade demanded the second he sat his ass at the gavel.
It didn’t escape Gage that Cade was looking straight at him when he uttered the question. Now he was faced with his president’s blame along with his own.
Not that it added to the weight he’d felt the second he’d pulled up to Lauren’s house. Drove past as he had every single night for the past week, but didn’t toy with going in like he had before. He’d climbed off his bike the second he pulled up to the curb. When he’d seen the fucking flames. Felt the smoke snatch away his oxygen, even though he wasn’t near enough to breathe it in.
She had been near enough to breathe it in.
That was enough to suffocate him.
The mere fucking prospect of her not drawing air on this earth.
The reality of it was enough to kill him.
He didn’t speak immediately, mostly because his fucking throat was paralyzed by the thought of losing her, so Cade continued.
“We aren’t running shit that’ll get us killed anymore,” he said, voice hard, mimicking his face that was the default when sitting in that chair. Despite the relative peace they’d been enjoying, Cade was always bracing. As were the rest of his brothers at the table who had it.
Something Gage vowed he’d never have.
Something to lose.
Because living a hard, fast, and deadly life was fucking great if you were young and stupid or old and tortured. And only if you were willing to get right with the fact that death was something you dealt as well as dodged every day.
But the second you grasped on to something you never wanted death to fucking breathe on, let alone touch—that’s when you were fucked.
And Gage had watched the men around him finding that shit, getting fucked, almost losing everything that mattered to them. He’d brushed away the demons that had clawed at his mind when he’d done so, and his resolve had strengthened to never be in their position again.
Sure, they had good women who they thought invented fucking Harleys, a family that brightened this shitshow called an existence, but all that could go. Instantly.
Gage’s chest tightened as those demons gained hold.
The ones that were as old as he was, and the newer ones, ones that smelled like strawberries and had skin like peaches and cream.
He tightened the grip on the knife he’d been clutching, itching to sink it into flesh. To stain it with the blood of whoever was responsible for nearly taking his woman from him.
Because it had to be someone. There weren’t just accidental fires that almost took away his entire world. No, that shit didn’t happen.
It had to be a real, tangible enemy.
“So what you got going on the side to bring in circumstances that’s getting a woman’s house burned down, almost with her inside it?” Cade snapped Gage from his thoughts of sinking that knife into someone’s flesh.
He met hard gray eyes that had lost a fuck of a lot of their menace thanks to a hot wife and two kids.
“I ain’t runnin’ nothing on the side,” he bit out. “Well, nothing that would have people burning down my woman’s house, almost with her inside it. If they wanted revenge, they’d go for me. And if they were gonna go for her, they wouldn’t be going for almosts and burning down a house. They’d be putting a bullet in her brain.”
The second the cold and seemingly empty words left Gage’s mouth, he wanted to snatch them from the air, rip them into fucking pieces so they didn’t exist in this world, so the prospect of his woman staring at him with lifeless eyes did not fucking exist.
He clenched the arms of his chair with enough force to splinter the wood.
“Any way this could’ve been what the fire inspector is thinkin’?” Cade asked. “Accidental?”
Gage thought on the possibility of a fucking accident almost taking Lauren away. A breach in some wire. A stove left on.
Accidents didn’t exist in his world.
Not when it came to life and death.
“No,” he growled, standing, unable to take the itch for nothingness a second longer. “Someone did this. We’ll find them, and I’ll flay the skin from their body.” He thought of Lauren’s blistered and charred palm and fought the urge to carve out his own hand just so she wasn’t suffering alone.
But she wasn’t.
No fucking way she would be again.
He’d already been trying to find the strength to walk through her door, swallow his words and his demons and give her something. He was never going to be able to exist much longer without everything, not without chasing the nothing of the needle. She was his cure, and he was her disease, but that wasn’t stopping him anymore.
“For now, I’m going to my fucking woman.”
Lucky exhaled a loud sigh. “You’re back together now? I don’t have to worry about me getting shot because I drank the last beer?”
Gage glared at him. “My woman was almost burned alive tonight. What the fuck do you think?”
Lucky’s expression sobered. “I think maybe you’ll shoot me anyway,” he murmured.
“Might, if I didn’t have somewhere better to be.”
And he did.
Home.
Seventeen
Lauren
Two Weeks Later
I couldn’t go anywhere alone.
Anywhere.
Even to freaking work.
There was someone on a motorcycle sitting outside the offices all day.
All freaking day.
Like some gorilla group might come up and try to kidnap me in the middle of the office.
Jen had peered out the window on the second day I was cleared for work—which was only three days ago, and that had not been Gage’s choice. In fact, there was talk of handcuffing me to furniture.
“Gage, I’m not going to stop living life because of pain. You taught me that,” I whispered.
His eyes hardened. “This is not the kind of pain I was fuckin’ talkin’ about,” he said, cradling my hand. “You should never
fuckin’ suffer this. You’ve had enough.”
I didn’t release his gaze. “No, I’ve never had enough. Not when it comes to pain.”
And then the handcuffs were used. But for a much different reason.
So there I was, working. I couldn’t do much, on account of Niles barely letting me do anything because “I’m not getting scalped by your boyfriend if you burst a blister.” But I was there. And keeping busy.
“Wow, this man must be super serious about your safety,” Jen continued, still peering out the window, cradling her coffee. “And these guys are also seriously hot. He’s kind of doing us a favor, even if it’s unnecessary.” She glanced back to me. “The fireman said it was accidental, right?”
I screwed up my nose to fight the stab of pain at the thought of my charred home. It was going to take months to repair—fully rebuild in some parts. I obviously had full insurance coverage, because I was me, but insurance couldn’t replace what had taken me years to put together.
“You’ve got your life, Will,” Gage murmured. “And I’ve got you. The rest of it can be rebuilt. Together.”
I blinked away the tears. The trauma of having my house almost burn down—with me inside—had kind of distracted me from having to face reality. The one where Gage was back and holding me and not letting me go, his entire form squeezed into my hospital bed, me lying pretty much on top of him. The nurses had tried to stop him, of course, but Gage had glared at them and they’d backed away. And he held me, gripped me like a life raft in the middle of stormy seas. After he’d seemed so adamant to never let me hold him again.
“Together?” I whispered, the one word a pathetic plead. I didn’t even care at that point.
He tightened his hold around me. “Of fucking course, babe. You think I’m gonna be stupid enough to let you go when I literally pulled you out of the flames and you’re somehow still here? Either the Devil or God has given me a miracle. Not stupid enough to let it go.”
A tear ran down my face.
Gage wiped it away.
“But you said you couldn’t… you didn’t want—”
“I was a fuckin’ coward. Not sayin’ it’s gonna be tomorrow. But I’m gonna be ready to give you everything one day. ’Cause you’ve done that for me. Made me stop cravin’ nothing. That deserves everything.”