Burn for Me (Chaotic Love)

28. Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Eight

9-3-2024

Did they think my wife wouldn’t burn the world down for my sake?

-Sam

I grin as I dart my tongue out to wet the cut on my lip.

“He's a mole.” the man with a whiny voice snaps. I roll my eyes as he crushes my busted earpiece beneath his boot.

“He’s more than that, you dumbass. He’s the target.” the other man, heaving for breath, gripping his crotch, replies sharply, and I huff a breath of air. This group of idiots has been bickering for the last hour, except for the quiet one in the corner.

After pulling the black bag over my head, we drove for about twenty minutes to get to this location. I knocked the man in the blue cashmere sweater down a few flights of steps, but then the others decided it would be best to drag me up another three into this fuckin’ room. It was a bloody hassle fighting my way through one body and shooting another while trying to prevent us from reaching this spot, but at least it was fun while it lasted.

I look around and brush my fingers over my restraints. They’re zip ties. Typically, I could break free from them, but I guess they knew that, considering there’s not just one, but five around my wrists. At least they couldn't get them around my ankles. Ask the sod still hunched over from where I kicked him in the dick what happened when they tried.

The room is worn, with fading paint and luxurious but dusty furniture. I can only assume it’s a recently abandoned building. I hope backup is here soon; I need to get to Jasmine. The sound of her hoarse confusion still lingers in my ears. After that, my earpiece broke, and all I could hear was static.

“So, Reaper, it seems you’ve successfully destroyed yet another beautiful thing.” the quiet one says. I tilt my head, trying to recognize his voice and let out a low scoff in response. I was convinced I was being held by one of the mafias or perhaps one of those celebrities at the ball, but oddly enough, I don't think that’s the case.

“I'd hardly say your little groupies are anything but beautiful. I believe I’ve done everyone a favor with the damage I’ve caused.”

“Is that all you can create?” The man snaps, stepping in front of the others. He places his hand on his chest and presses a button on his walkie-talkie. “Any eyes on them?”

Static crackles through the device, and a choppy voice replies, “The Cameras just went black on the bottom floor. It looks like you’re getting company.”

I can’t help but grin. Did these dumb arses think my team wouldn’t come back for me? Did they think my wife wouldn’t burn the world down for my sake?

“Pity. It seems our meet-cute won’t last much longer.” I sigh, shaking my head.

“Shut up.” He snaps, turning towards what I can only assume is his men with a nod. One walks to a corner, and the others approach the door.

“I wanted this to last; honestly, I wanted to make you suffer. I've spent years building my business from the ground up, hoping that one day I'll hit the top so I could watch your world crumble to the bottom.”

My brows furrow. I've made enemies throughout my lifetime, but I didn't think it ran this deep.

There's a crackling sound from his walkie-talkie, but the words are garbled: “Two in… moving—shit!”

“What's happening?” Mr. Boss Man demands, but he’s met with grunting and shifting over the speakers. It goes silent momentarily, and I nearly yawn—that's when I hear it.

“Where is he!?” The voice crackles over the speakers, and my heart nearly stops at the beautiful sound.

“Oh, the missus doesn’t sound happy,” I say with a playful tone, but inside, I panic. She's here, and I don’t know what these men can do. I know she can handle herself; she’s proven that time and again, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling useless. What if she needs me? That thought alone is enough to send my body into a full-blown fury.

“Shut up!” Bossman yells and clicks his walkie, “Where are they?”

There's a broken tsk over the comes, then a sigh, “We’re everywhere. Until we can get to you, though, do you mind handing my husband your walkie? I have something I need to say to him.”

“I’m here, Darlin’,” I call out, and he quickly releases the button as if it’d stop my voice from carrying over the coms.

“You're in big trouble, mister.” She teases, but I can hear the worry in her tone. Playtime is over; I need to get to her. I scan the room for any object I can use as a weapon and assess my surroundings for the best possible exits, but a harsh punch to my cheekbone disrupts my survey.

“You're always fucking shit up! Do you realize how hard it was to lure you out here?! How sodden difficult it was to set all this up! I spent a fucking fortune on a worthless building just to get you here!”

My brows furrow, and I rub my cheek against my shoulder.

“I take you, Sam Black Morana, to be my husband…”

“Where the fuck is she?” He yells again, and his crew looks around like she’d magically pop out of the walls.

“She’s probably trying to claw her way out of hell to find me. I think I forgot to do the dishes.” I joke. However, my smile quickly fades when the man on the left starts pouring something onto the carpet and flings it against the walls. The substance is strong and potent, overpowering the musky scent with the smell of gasoline.

“To have and to hold from this day forward.”

“God damn it, you're always fucking shit up! My childhood, my father…”

His… wait, what? I shake my head and pull against the restraints. Red-hot fury starts to churn in my abdomen.

“You've got to be bloody kidding me…” I mutter. There's no way. Even if there is a possibility–it still wouldn't make sense. “Brady?”

“You think this is fucking funny?” Brady pulls his mask from his head. Not much has changed about him since our youth. “I spent years preparing to end my father the way I wanted to. Then you were next for stepping into our lives and making him change.”

“You're seriously fucking blaming me?” I scoff. I understand that PTSD can manifest in various ways. I have my struggles, and Sharkie has hers as well. However, I worry that Brady's experience has shaped his trauma in a more damaging way. I thought I was messed up? His thought process makes mine seem like a walk in the park.

“He only got worse after you came around. He had a plan, and you messed it up. Guess who got the shit end of the stick?” Brady grinds out and steps closer, pulling a lighter from his pocket. He starts to flick the switch.

“I thought you were dead! I spent fuckin years lookin' for you!!”

I always believed he fought his father to protect me, but now I suspect he just wanted to save my life so he could end it himself.

“No, that was all staged. I needed to cover if I was ever going to succeed. I couldn't do that with cops constantly breathing down my neck and doctors telling me that the drugs Hex used on us altered my brain chemistry. Can you believe that? They act as if I'm insane or something!” He laughs humorously, but it fades when the walkie starts to crackle again.

“For better and for worse.” With that, a bullet comes whizzing through a window and knocks the man dumping gasoline to the floor. Blood pools around his head, mixing with the dooming liquid from the red container. Brady growls at the noise and flicks the lighter again, prompting me to blow it out. It’s a dangerous game, but it’s enough to keep him distracted. In all honesty, I’m terrified—not for myself, but for my precious little devil. I can’t see her; I can’t protect her.

“It’s your fault,” he murmurs slowly, utterly unfazed by another body dropping to the floor. “Call your little bitch off so I can finish what my father started. I didn't spend years playing the fucking business game not to succeed. Do you even realize how annoying these sods are here?”

He's close enough that I kick his shin. A god-awful sound comes from the bone breaking, and he screams in pain.

“For richer and for poorer.”

“Talk about my wife like that again,” I warn, and he laughs. After everything my uncle put us through, I scoff, “You’re just as fucked up as he was, but at least you can blame it on the drugs.”

“In sickness and in health.”

“So are you. Except you’re naturally that way.” He wobbles to stand up and grips the front of my shirt as he stabilizes his body before throwing a gnarly punch into my cheek. He's not wrong; I am like him. I take pleasure in the pain I caused only because it gives me control, whereas he does it simply because he wants to see someone else suffer as he did.

“I’d love to give you the same fate as him, but I'm low on time and have a ball to return to. Once you're out of the way, I will expose your perfect little team. Too bad you won't be alive to see what it's like to have all you've ever worked towards be ripped away.”

“You're acting like a spoiled child! You planned on doing the same thing!” I take a deep breath and look around the room again. This is the boy I grew up with–the one I spent so long hunting for so he could live a proper life like we deserved. “Call everything off. Hand me the walkie, and I’ll get her to back down. You can come with us.”

“His life wasn't yours to take! I’m the one that grew up with it! I’m the one who watched the man who’d laugh when we threw a ball turn into a monster who beat the shit out of me for back talking! You just got in the way and made everything worse! It's your fault he started using his own product. It's YOUR FAULT!”

With that, he flicks the lighter toward the corner, and the curtains instantly erupt into flames.

“Till death do us part.”

“I'll see you in hell, Reaper.” The last two guys holding him up cling on tight, wrapping their arms under his to help support him as they guide him out the door. Flames are licking at the edges of the hallway, their bright orange flickering way too close for comfort. The smoke is thick and acrid, making it hard to breathe. What used to be solid walls are now getting eaten away, with the surfaces blackening and cracking from the intense heat. A loud crash sounds and I can only assume that the beams are beginning to crumble and break under the heat.

Suddenly, there's a gunshot, followed by a scream and another crash.

She’s in here.

The flames start to crawl toward me. Taking a deep inhale of whatever depleting oxygen remains, I topple the chair over and hold my restraints above the fire. My fingers go numb from the heat, so I close my eyes and pull against the zip ties, hoping they snap.

“Sam!” it's not static or a speaker. It's her voice . Calling to me with such raw emotion that it forces my eyes to pop open, and I rip from the plastic. The melted parts cling to my skin, my lungs feel as if they are filled with soot, and my skin crawls with the heat nipping at my clothing. But I can't focus on the burn; I'm too busy rushing toward the sound of my fallen angel calling my name again.

“SAM!”

I collide with someone as I exit the room, and we tumble down the stairs. Ignoring a falling beam, I push them away while struggling against the fire.

“God damn it, just stop!” Suddenly, something plastic is pulled over my head, and I gasp for the clean air filtering through.

“Jon?” I pant, and the hooded figure nods. Good, she didn’t come alone, but where is she? I scramble back, pushing through doors and flying downstairs.

Call out to me again, Darlin’.

“Where is she?!” I yell, my voice barely audible over the sound of the building crumbling.

“File out, Sam! The building isn't safe!” Jonathan yells behind me. He’s bloody stupid if he thinks I’ll leave her in here.

“Jasmine?!”

Another gunshot pierces the air, and I rush toward the sound, descending another flight of stairs.

“Here!” Jonathan snaps, tossing me his pistol while drawing his own.

“Where is he!?” The voice is hoarse and broken, echoing off the deteriorating interior, but I would recognize it anywhere. The stairs give way, creating a gaping hole between me and my girl. Without thinking, I back up and leap over the gap, taking another flight of stairs, only to come face to face with a horrifying yet mesmerizing sight: a small body with a thick respirator covering its face and blood soaking through its clothes throwing punch after punch into Brady's face.

He laughs. Something profound and maniacal as he flips them, but before he can raise his fist, I aim my gun. I'm not given any time to shoot before her hand raises, a shot rings out, and he falls limply on top of her.

“No, I need to find him!” Jasmine sobs as she pushes the dead weight off her body and rolls onto her knees. Is she yelling at herself? Has she lost her bloody mind? Within a few quick steps, I wrap my arms around her waist and lift her over my shoulder. I’ll deal with her sudden psychotic tendencies later; right now, I need to get us out of here.

Jonathan rushes in front of me, bursting through a door with his shoulder. When we reach the exit, he's not as fortunate. A large plank of wood lies broken across the floor, with flames licking at it, threatening to spread.

“Fuck!” He yells, and I take a sharp breath, darting my head around for another way out, but there isn't one. There are no windows on the bottom floor, and we definitely can't go back upstairs, given that the building is slowly crumbling around us. Carefully pulling Jasmine from my shoulder, I hold her tightly against my chest. Even though there is no other option, I glance around again anyway.

“I need you to calm down, Darlin’,” I murmur as I tighten my hold around her body.

“We’re trapped. Get Delilah off that damn roof before the fire from this building spreads to that one!” Jonathan huffs and continues to talk, but it's not to me or Jasmine. I can only assume they have their earpieces in, which would explain her yelling earlier.

It's as if Jasmine just now comprehended my voice because she's quickly pushing at my chest and grappling at every inch of my body she can find.

“Sam?!”

I long to savor the relief in her voice or tear our masks off so I can feel her lips against mine but for once… I’m afraid . I promised to protect her, yet I can’t see a way to do that now. I’m not ready to lose her– us . Panic finally washes over her as she realizes our predicament and starts clutching at my clothing, her breathing becoming more labored.

“Everything’s okay,” I murmur as I pull her back into my chest, guiding our bodies to the furthest corner from the door, where the fire hasn’t reached yet. Jonathan is still yelling things I can’t quite comprehend, but he positions his body in front of ours. Slowly, I lower us down and cradle her in my lap, trying to protect her from any falling rubble.

“I—I can't breathe.” she whimpers, and my heart breaks. I can't breathe either . These masks can only filter out so much. I quietly shush her as I rock her against my chest.

I wish I could do more to calm her, but I can't remove the mask that’s keeping her breathing somewhat protected to run my fingers through her hair or kiss her head. I can't promise that this will all be over soon, and I can't reassure her about anything…

“I love you,” I murmur. Suddenly, a loud crash has me ducking my head over her body and clenching my eyes shut.

If this is how I meet my end, then so be it—as long as she's in my arms and understands that she has given me the privilege of feeling something so pure, especially after I thought I could never experience such an emotion again.

“Till death do us part and even after.”