Surrendering to His Siren (Silver Spoon Heroes)

Chapter Three

Emmett

B y the time we get the fire out, and I finish combing through the wreckage, I'm fucking exhausted. I'm also positive the fire was intentionally set. I'm not convinced Nina did it, however. Rivin, our fire dog picked up a trail of accelerant leading away from the house. There's no way she set the fire, went back in, and made it upstairs before getting trapped.

It doesn't make sense. Not to mention, the remnants of the gas cans we found were piled right inside the front door. Whoever set the fire didn't make it much further inside the house than that. The asshole didn't even check to see if it was unoccupied before setting it ablaze.

I'm mad as hell about it.

"Yo, Madden!"

I glance up to see Sheriff Dillon Armstrong striding my way, his cowboy hat pulled down low over his face.

I scrub a hand through my hair, hauling myself away from the tree I've been leaning against to go see what he wants. It's nearly dawn. Too damn early—or late—for his bullshit. "What's up, Sheriff?"

"The neighbor down the street says she saw someone running through the woods about five minutes before the fire started," he says. "Male. Dressed in all black."

I grunt, glancing toward the dense spread of woods running the length of the neighborhood. "Did she get a look at his face?"

"Nah," he says. "She thought it was just one of the neighborhood boys out for a run. Didn't think anything of it until she heard sirens and saw smoke. But she saw two men lurking around twice yesterday. Both tall, dark hair, one with a goatee. They may or may not drive a black sedan. That's about the only description I could get out of her."

"She saw them hanging out around this place?" I ask, trying to confirm.

"Yep. She thought maybe they were family, but when she drove by yesterday and they were lurking around the second time, they made a point of trying not to be seen."

"She didn't call it in?"

He shakes his head. "Said it's not the first time shady motherfuckers have shown up around here, looking for Vincent. She assumed they'd disappear once they figured out he was dead." He rips a sheet off his notebook, holding it out to me. "This is her name and number. Doubt it'll do you any good, but I figured you'd want it."

I glance at it before shoving it into my pocket. "Thanks."

He cocks his head to the side, studying me. "Is this one the same as the other fires?"

I hesitate for a moment, not entirely sure how to answer that question. On the surface? Yeah, it's the same, right down to the amount of accelerant used. But something feels off about this one, and I'm not entirely sure why.

"I'm not sure," I answer carefully.

"Why aren't you sure?"

I scrub a hand through my hair, glancing at the steaming wreckage. If any hot spots flare up, we'll hit them with more water, but for now, the damn thing is out. The only thing left of the house is rubble and charred ruins. I have a feeling Nina won't be thrilled with that bit of news.

"The house wasn't vacant. The other two were."

"Vincent died a little more than a month ago," Dillon reminds me. "I'm sure they thought the house was vacant."

"Maybe, but the other fires were set in the middle of the night. It was what? Eight or nine when we got the call for this one?"

Dillon glances down at his notebook. "Call came in at 8:37."

"Right. So, a good three hours earlier than the others." Arsonists get sloppy. It's usually what gets them caught. Eventually, just setting fires isn't as exciting anymore so they take bigger risks to get the same thrill. But there's usually a more gradual descent down that slippery slope. This feels more like a rolling dive down the damn slope than an escalation of behavior.

"You think this is a copycat?"

Do I think that?

"I'm not sure," I admit. "On the surface, it's the same as the other two. But something just feels…off. I can't put my finger on it. I need to talk to Nina, see what she knows." Chances are that I'm wrong and this is the same motherfucker, but my instincts say I'm missing something. The panic in her eyes when I told her that I had questions…well, she knows something.

"Nina Gregori," Dillon says, nodding.

I eye him sideways. "You know her?"

"Motherfucker, I'm the sheriff. I know everyone in this town."

"What do you know about her?"

He smirks at me, amusement lighting his eyes. "I know that look," he drawls. "I've seen that look, Madden."

"Shut the fuck up. This is strictly professional."

"Uh-huh. I've heard that before."

"You going to answer the question or not?" I ask, refusing to play his game. I know how he operates. His nose is in everyone's business. I swear to Christ, the man spends more time fucking with people around here than he does actually working. I don't know why we keep paying him. Honestly, it'd be less of a hassle if we paid him to sit in his office and not bug the fuck out of everyone in town. It's a kink with him at this point. And I'm not one to kink shame. But Dillon Armstrong? Well, he needs a little shaming. The bastard.

"Depends." He gives me a shit-eating grin.

"On what?"

"On whether you're going to make my job difficult like every other motherfucker in this town does when they decide to fall in love." He points at me. "Because I do not have time for this bullshit, Emmett. I've already got Easton losing his damn mind over my dispatcher."

My brows furrow. "Easton's losing his shit over a dispatcher?" This is news to me. Easton and I worked together back in Dallas when he was a cop, and I was just starting out on the fire department there. I was honestly surprised when he decided to move here after being shot a few months ago. "Which dispatcher?"

"Molly."

I laugh loudly. "That poor bastard."

Molly is going to eat him alive. She doesn't like cops. I don't think she likes firefighters, either. But she definitely doesn't like cops.

"He'll be fine. I think she likes him. But I don't need shit from you too."

"Who said I was going to give you shit?"

"That look on your face says it."

"What look?" I scowl at him.

"That look," he growls. "That I'm asking for purely personal reasons and haven't figured it out yet look."

"This isn't personal," I insist, knowing damn well I'm lying. I'm pretty sure it was personal the second I heard Nina screaming from inside that damn bathroom. I wasn't even scheduled to work tonight, but… something told me I needed to bring my ass to work. Call it instinct or intuition or fucking fate, I don't know. I just know the feeling wouldn't stop gnawing at me until I showed up at the fire department.

But am I telling this asshole that? No. Do I look like an idiot? Also no. The last person I need in my business is the sheriff.

"She's a witness. I'm an arson investigator," I say. "One plus one equals two. I know math is hard for cops, but keep up, buddy. Damn."

"Do you want to get shot, Emmett?" He quirks a brow at me. "Because I will shoot you."

I smirk at him. "Do you want me to tell your wife that you were late last week because we were playing poker at the fire station?"

"You think she doesn't already know?" He laughs quietly. "Jules knows every goddamn thing, motherfucker. She just lets me think I'm getting away with my bullshit so she gets a night out with the girls out of it without me tagging along."

"You could just let her go out like a normal person."

"I do," he protests.

" Without following her."

"Yeah, fuck that," he grunts. "My wife is gorgeous, and men are assholes. There's no way she's going out without me following her."

"Jesus Christ." I shake my head, not even touching that one. The man is obsessed with his wife. Everyone knows it. "Just tell me what you know about Nina so I can go question her."

"Question does not mean sleep with," he reminds me.

"I may shoot you now," I say cheerfully.

He shakes his head, heaving a clearly beleaguered sigh even though I'm the wronged party here. "She lives in Granite Hills with her brother, who she's been raising for the last few years," he says. "She took a teaching job at the school here a few months ago after their elementary school burned down."

My goddamn heart clenches. "She's raising her brother?"

Dillon jerks his chin in a nod. "Vincent couldn't get his shit together after their mother died. First, it was gambling, then it was drinking and gambling. Nina got tired of picking him up from jail every few days. As soon as she was old enough, she took Nate and got the hell out, told the old man they'd be back when he got his shit together."

"Did he?"

Dillon gives me a look that asks what the fuck I think. "She's been raising the boy alone since she was eighteen. Vincent never even tried to get it together. Said they were better off without him, and that was that."

"Jesus," I mutter.

"The only thing he did right by those two was leave them in peace." He nods at what remains of the house. "They grew up here. Vincent left it to her when he died."

"And now it's gone."

"Yep," Dillon confirms.

I stare at the house for a moment, thinking. She's clearly been through a lot. "Any chance he still owed gambling debts?"

"Shit, probably. The man was at the horse track every chance he got. Why? What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking she's a sweet girl to have been through so much bullshit," I mutter, hesitant to tell him my suspicions just yet. I don't know enough to bring them up, and I'm not going to disrespect the dead by pointing fingers at her father and his gambling problem when the real culprit is probably the same fucker we've been chasing for a week already, not whoever Vincent Gregori may or may not have owed.

Dillon throws his head back and laughs loudly. "Did you meet her, Madden?"

"Yes. I carried her out of the house. Why?"

He pats me on the shoulder, his lips twitching. "No reason. You're right, though. She's sweet as pie. Very docile."

For some reason, I get the impression he's lying through his fucking teeth. Which makes no goddamn sense. I met her. I held her in my arms. She's about as sweet as they come.

Christ, I want that sweetness for myself. Every damn inch of it.

"You can't hold me hostage here."

"You aren't a hostage, Ms. Gregori," Dr. Belle Arakas murmurs, her voice soft and soothing. "You're a patient."

"Then I'm free to leave," Nina says from the other side of the privacy curtain, her voice raspy, as I stride toward the room the nurse at the desk pointed out to me.

"Afraid not," Belle murmurs, refusing to give up that easily. She may be tiny, but she's got balls of steel. Then again, they probably come with the territory when you're married to the head of the Arakas crime family. "You need oxygen and rest."

"I need to go home!" Nina cries, frustration in her tone.

"You can go home after you've had oxygen and rest."

"Or you can let me leave now. Holding people hostage is against the Geneva Convention."

The Geneva Convention? What the fuck?

I pause a few steps from the curtain, biting my lip to hide a smile. I guess she thinks Silver Spoon Falls is a war zone now?

"And letting you leave is against the Hippocratic Oath, so I guess we're at a stalemate," Belle says, a smile in her voice. "Get some rest, and then you can file a complaint with the UN about being held at the hospital against your will by a doctor who hasn't declared war against anyone." The curtain rustles before Belle sweeps out in her white lab coat.

"I'm writing everyone," Nina grumbles from the other side, her voice pitched low, as if she doesn't intend anyone to hear. Except she's obviously shit at whispering because I hear her loud and clear. "I don't want to rest. I want to leave before that stupid-hot firefighter gets here."

Belle chuckles, letting me know she heard her too. And then the good doctor notices me standing there, eavesdropping. Her gaze rakes across me in a quick assessment, humor glinting in their depths. "Emmett," she murmurs, smiling at me. "I take it you're the stupid-hot firefighter she's trying to avoid?"

"Guess so," I rumble, scrubbing a hand through my hair. What'd I do to piss her off? "You're her doctor?"

"I am." Belle nods.

"She's cranky."

"Noticed that, huh?" Her lips twitch.

"Uh, why is she cranky? She was fine when she left the scene of the fire." My brows furrow. "What did you do to her?"

Belle stares at me placidly. "What makes you think I did anything, Emmett Madden?"

Well, shit. I know that tone. I know that look too. And both tell me that I've officially managed to piss off two women tonight. And I only know why the one standing in front of me is annoyed. The one behind the curtain is a complete mystery.

"Sorry," I mumble. "That didn't come out right." I blow out a breath. "I'm sure you took excellent care of her, Doc."

Belle grunts quietly and then shakes her head, softening incrementally. "Maybe you can be taught, Emmett. To answer your question, I don't know why she's cranky, but if I had to guess, I'd assume it's because she's been stuck in the ER all night with no news."

Shit. She's probably right. No one wants to spend all night in the emergency room, especially when their father's house is burning to the ground a mile away.

"Does she need to stay much longer?"

"She can go anytime," Belle says. "I've only been keeping her because Dillon called right after she got here and told me not to let her leave until you had a chance to talk to her."

Damn. Maybe the fucker isn't so bad after all. I'm definitely not telling him that. But he can't hear my thoughts, so I'll think it quietly.

I glance toward the curtain, trying to see Nina on the other side, but all I manage to glimpse is a sliver of the bed through the crack. "Is she okay?"

"She inhaled a lot of smoke," Belle murmurs, her voice soft. "But we've had her on oxygen since she got here last night. Her vitals are good. We didn't see any damage to her airway or lungs." She pauses. "But if she starts having increased difficulty breathing, her cough gets worse, or she starts displaying signs of confusion over the next thirty-six hours, you need to get her back here immediately."

I nod, more than familiar with the signs and symptoms of serious respiratory damage from smoke inhalation. In this line of work, it comes with the territory. God only knows how long she was in that bathroom before we got her out or what kind of toxic chemicals she inhaled with the smoke.

"She needs plenty of rest and fluids," Belle continues. "And it'd be best if she had someone stay with her to keep an eye on her."

"She's got a brother at home. I'll pass on the instructions."

"I'll get her discharge paperwork ready. You can break the news that she's free to go." Belle grins at me. "Maybe she'll like you a little more if it comes from you."

"Thanks," I mutter. "I don't even know what the fuck I did to piss her off."

Belle pats my arm as she sails past, laughing quietly. "You're the reason she's here. Guess that makes you the enemy."

Fuck my life. What was I supposed to do? Leave her in the damn bathroom?

I heave a sigh and then slip through the curtain into the room with her. My heart clenches when I catch sight of her curled up in the bed. It's a little fucked up how my dick jerks in my pants at the sight of her when she looks like she's having the worst day of her life. And yet, the hard bastard reacts anyway. It's fucking impossible to keep him from reacting when she's so fucking beautiful. Even miserable, she's stunning.

Her long red hair is tangled across the pillow, but even under the dim lights, it shines. She's regained a little color since I saw her last, leaving a healthy glow to her porcelain skin. Her eyes are closed, her long lashes fluttering as she mumbles to herself. Even miserable, there's no missing the stubborn stilt to her chin. She's full of life and fire. The hospital gown should look like a goddamn potato sack on her, but it's tangled around her, hugging every voluptuous inch of her body.

And that body? Fucking hell. My hands itch at the memory of feeling her pressed up against me. Even through my fucking turnouts and gloves, I felt how soft she was.

Nina Gregori was built for a man like me. She's thick and lush everywhere, her curves overflowing. It's sexy as hell, even when it shouldn't be. Like right now.

"If you're here to tell me that I'm not allowed to leave, you can save your breath," she says without even opening her eyes. "Dr. Arakas has been telling me the same thing for the last nine days."

I grin down at her, unable to help myself. "Nine days, huh? Time must move differently in this room than it does on the other side of the curtain. I could have sworn it'd only been a few hours."

Those gorgeous blue eyes pop open, fixating on me. "A few is more than two but less than six, Emmett."

"Your math is off, Red. A couple is two. A few is three to six. Several is seven to ten."

She scoffs dismissively and then grimaces, reaching up to massage her throat. "I don't know where you learned math, but you suck at it. I've been here all night. That's more than a few ."

"I learned in Dallas."

"That explains it."

"Is your throat sore, baby?" I ask, ignoring her cute little attitude to focus on more immediate concerns, like the way she's rubbing her throat.

She shrugs noncommittally and quickly lowers her hand…which I take to mean it does, but she doesn't want to tell me. So, she's stubborn then. I can work with that. Why the fuck do I like the thought of working with that so much?

Jesus Christ. She's a witness.

Maybe if I tell myself that often enough, it'll sink in.

"Why are you here, Emmett? I don't know anything about the fire."

She's a terrible goddamn liar.

"I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't ask anyway, Red," I murmur quietly, my eyes locked on her as I try to get a read on her. What is she hiding? What doesn't she want me to know? It's definitely something. "You could have died in that bathroom."

"Believe me, I'm well aware. It doesn't change the fact that I didn't see anything."

"You were in the bathroom the entire time?"

"No. I was in the attic, trying to pack up some things," she says, shivering slightly. "I smelled smoke and went down to check it out. By the time I got down the ladder, there wasn't anywhere for me to go…" She swallows hard, squeezing her eyes closed. "I tried to get out through a bedroom but it was already on fire. I saw the bathroom and thought maybe if I could get it wet enough, it'd give me a chance."

I don't have the heart to tell her that it doesn't really work that way. A fire that hot needs more than a little bit of water to slow it. The fire would have burned off most of the water relatively quickly. All she was going to do was create a little steam before she either drowned in the bathtub, died of smoke inhalation, or cooked to death.

"You didn't see or hear anything?"

"Nope. Nothing at all."

I eye her for a long moment, trying to decide if she's telling me the truth or not. Part of me thinks she is actually being honest right now—she didn't see or hear anything. But I get the sense that isn't the full truth. Just because she didn't see something doesn't mean she doesn't know something. And judging by the way she studiously avoids looking at me, she knows a whole helluva lot more than she's saying.

But she's not in a talking mood right now. And the distrust is written all over her face. I could probably drop to my knees and beg, and it wouldn't do me a goddamn bit of good right now. She's scared of something. The men who were lurking around?

"Do you know anything about two men lurking around outside your father's place, Red? Tall, dark hair, one with a goatee?"

She startles on the bed ever so slightly, fear blazing in her eyes before she blinks it away. "N-no. Why?"

"No reason," I lie, quickly deciding not to push for more. I got what I needed. Whoever the fuck they are, they're definitely involved somehow. Is she protecting them? Afraid of them? I'm not entirely sure, but I intend to find out. Just…not right now.

She needs rest more than she needs me hounding her. And despite what she thinks, I didn't come here to grill her. I came because I couldn't fucking stay away. I needed to see for myself that she was okay.

"Thanks for your help," I murmur. "But that's enough with the questions. Let me get you home."

"Why?"

"Because you've been here all night, and you clearly aren't happy about it. You'll rest better in my bed."

She narrows her eyes at me, startling again.

"Shit. I meant your bed."

That's a bald-faced dirty lie. I definitely meant my bed. I just didn't intend to say it out loud.

"I'm not sleeping with you, Emmett."

"Of course you aren't," I lie. She's absolutely sleeping with me. Just not yet. She needs rest. And I need to find out what she knows first. I don't want her thinking she's in my bed because I need information, and I have a feeling that's precisely what she'll think if I do this in the wrong order. She's…prickly for some reason. Because she's obviously hiding something? Maybe. Probably.

But I think there may be a little bit more to it than that. I'm guessing she's always been the one calling the shots, always been the only one she could depend on. She's prickly because prickly survives. Like a fucking porcupine. Their quills and barbs keep them alive in a world full of predators.

I'm guessing she's dealt with a few too many of those in her life.

She was sweet as hell back in the fire. I'm guessing that's who she really is underneath this prickly attitude. But she's had all night to convince herself that she can't trust me. All night to build walls and try to shore up her defenses. I'm a motherfucker who likes a challenge. And knocking down those walls and slipping beneath her defenses is appealing on levels I can't even begin to explain.

I want her to make me work for her trust because I want her to know I'm the kind of guy willing to do it. If I want her to trust me with her secrets, she needs to know I'm not just another asshole. Fucking her raw and then asking for answers will not get me where I want to go with her. Slow and steady.

Do not fuck this up , I order myself. Or my dick. I'm not entirely sure which of us I'm coaching here. But at least one of us needs to play nice or neither of us is getting the girl. And Dillon—damn him—was right. This is personal.

"How about we get you home to your brother?" I suggest. "He's probably worried sick about you. I would be if you were my sister. I mean…I'm glad you aren't my sister." I grimace when her brows lift. "I mean, I'm glad you aren't my sister because it'd be fucking weird to think you were hot if you were my sister."

"You should probably stop talking now," she says sweetly.

She's right. She's absolutely fucking right. But do I listen? Fuck no.

"What I mean is that I do want to fuck you." Jesus H. Christ. My dick is currently operating my mouth. And the bastard is trying to ensure we never get to experience heaven.

She stares at me with wide eyes.

"Fucking hell," I growl, tugging at the roots of my hair. "What I mean is that I am ungodly attracted to you. I do want to fu…uh, sleep with you. But I'm not going to do it."

Something floats through her expression, but I'm not entirely sure if it's relief or regret. And I don't get a chance to find out before my goddamn dick decides he isn't finished ruining my life.

"Yet. I'm not going to sleep with you yet, Red."

Yeah…that was definitely relief. Because now she's pissed. But she doesn't blow up at me which I honestly probably deserve at this point. Instead, she opens her mouth and then snaps it closed again, pointing toward the curtain.

"Get out of my room."

Retreat is the better part of valor. Alessandro told me that shit. It seems like good advice, especially with her glowering at me, so I decide to heed it.

"I'll be outside while you get dressed," I murmur before quickly ducking through the curtain.

And then I quietly bang my head against the wall, scowling down at my dick.

What the ever-loving fuck just happened in there?