1. Celia
Chapter 1
Celia
Blinding flames of blood orange flicker before my eyes, crackling as they threaten to devour not only the business that I’ve spent years nurturing, but the love I’m only now starting to believe exists. “Rebel!” I twist my wrists and contort my hands, hoping to break free from my handcuffs, but it’s no use. I could rub my skin raw, and I still won’t make it inside the burning building in time to save them—the scarred man terrified of fire, and the brother who charged into Hell to find him.
“Ruin!” I feel the sob in my chest threatening to break free, but I won’t let it. I won’t give in to the anguish burning inside my throat, because nothing is over yet. They’re both still alive. They have to be.
I can’t imagine a future without them.
“Celia,” Rage calls out, our phone call still running. “Stay with me. I’m on the way. Keep talking.”
“I don’t—” I tug at my wrist again, hissing as sharp pain radiates down my forearm. “What do you want me to say? They’re in there, burning to death!” Quickly, I rummage through the glove box a third time, hoping to find the missing handcuff key and coming up empty. With a frustrated cry, I slam my fist on the dashboard. “You’ve got to be kidding me! I’m going to kill him!”
Rebel just had to be heroic. He had to cuff me to the car and run after his brother alone. So fucking stupid and selfless and—I choke on the emotions overflowing from my heart. Anger. Pain. Humiliation.
Fear.
I drown them all out with a scream. “This is such bullshit!” I tear at the handcuffs again, the chains rattling in mockery. “Tell me what to do, Rage! How can I break out of handcuffs? There’s got to be a trick or something!”
“You need to apply enough force to break the chain,” Thanatos chimes in, sounding miles away through the speakerphone. “Or slip your hand through. Is your hand small enough?”
I push my thumb as far into my palm as I can and try to squeeze my hand through the cuff, but it catches on bone and merely adds to the bruises already forming. “I could break it,” I mutter, looking around the car for something to use. “I saw that in a movie once. They broke their thumb and got free.” A chill rushes down my spine and I bite my trembling lip. Looking up at the growing flames, I consider the pain Rebel and Ruin are going through right now.
If I can do this, if I can actually break my hand and free myself, can I still make it in time to save them?
“You will not hurt yourself,” Rage growls. “Do you hear me? We’re almost there. We’ll get you out.”
I stare at the gun that Rebel left with me. “I have a gun. Maybe I can shoot the chain.” I also saw that in a movie, I think. Or was it an axe that Rose used in the movie Titanic to cut the handcuffs keeping Jack prisoner while the ship sank?
Would Rebel keep a hand axe in a Lamborghini?
“Just sit tight; we’re almost there.”
The minutes crawl by as black smoke rises into the night sky. A siren wails in the distance, no doubt heading this way, and all I can do is wait.
For Rage and Thanatos to arrive.
For Rebel or Ruin to reappear from within the flames.
Or for my heart to break when they don’t come back.
If Rebel and Ruin don’t make it out, what does that mean for me and Rage? Will he still want me if I’m the reason they died?
My thoughts spiral as I picture the long stretch of time ahead of me until my death, an empty void of nothing, nowhere, no one. I press my palm to my stomach and close my eyes, praying that if by some miracle I get pregnant, my baby will still have a loving father in their lives. Images of each brother flicker through my mind, one man after the other rocking a baby in their arms. Up until now, I’ve been picturing either Rage or Rebel as the father, but this time, Ruin joins the rotation. With a baby of his own and a family to care for, would he finally be comfortable enough not to hide behind a mask?
I picture Ruin standing by an open window with the baby, a soft white curtain billowing around him and obscuring his face. The man’s silhouette shifts, growing taller, broader, until the curtain falls to the side to reveal not Ruin—but his eldest half-brother Thanatos, a gentle smile curving across his scarred lips as he looks up to find me standing beside him. In his sharp eyes, I see a piece of them all—the deep obsession from Rage, the calm decisiveness from Ruin, the playful affection from Rebel, and something new from Thanatos himself.
Kindness.
When Rage and Thanatos finally arrive, skidding to a stop beside my car, I’m at a loss for words. I don’t want to let any of these men go before realizing whatever future lies ahead for us. The good, the bad, and all the in-betweens.
Thanatos is faster than Rage, jumping from the driver’s seat and lunging for me. While he snaps open the passenger door and grabs the handcuffs, I watch as Rage runs inside the burning building and disappears behind a wall of smoke. My heart leaps to my throat, but Thanatos is already shoving a lock inside the keyhole to my cuffs and twisting. The moment they snap off, he pulls me from the vehicle in one swift motion and swings me around until I’m seated on the hood of Rage’s SUV.
The metal is warm on my bare thighs, and I look up at Thanatos’s face, remnants of my daydream blurring with reality. Dazed, I whisper, “will you take care of the baby?” Tears well in the corners of my eyes, and I hastily brush them away. “I need to know if—if something happens, that I still have someone—that you could—” Huffing, I stop myself from continuing. It’s foolish to think that Thanatos will want anything to do with me if we don’t make it out of this incident unscathed.
His touch is gentle as he lifts my chin, the embers in the air reflecting in his dark eyes. “I promise, Princess, that no matter what happens, I will be there for you and your baby.” Rubbing his thumb across the bruises on my wrist, he lifts my hand to his lips and kisses the tender flesh, looking every bit as kind as he did in my daydream.
Maybe it wasn’t a dream after all. Maybe it was a glimpse of the future.
My heart aches as I breathe in smoke and fumes. Thanatos is blocking the fire from view, but it’s impossible to ignore the inferno growing by the minute. Heat swells around us, but Thanatos makes no sudden movements, keeping his eyes locked on mine. His jaw sets with a firm clench of his teeth, and I get the impression that he doesn’t want to stand here with me—but Rage likely ordered him to keep me from running into the burning building after him.
It’s a smart call. I’m surprised that he didn’t tell Thanatos to drive me home.
But once Rage and Rebel suddenly burst from the front of the building with Ruin’s arms thrown over their shoulders, it makes sense. They need a driver to take Ruin to the hospital.
“Get in!” Rage yells, dragging Ruin’s unconscious body to the SUV. Thanatos and I both jump into action, helping them lift Ruin into the backseat. While I slip through the back door and lay Ruin’s head in my lap, Thanatos and Rage jump into the front while Rebel joins me in the back. We peel out of the road so fast that Rebel and I have to hold Ruin steady so he doesn’t slide off the leather seat.
His body is burning hot, his clothes charred or missing altogether. Shit. I don’t know anything about burns. I don’t have any medical experience. I don’t know?—
“Check for breathing,” Thanatos instructs calmly, “then find his pulse. If you see any burns?—”
“Take his clothes off,” Rage interrupts, “anything restrictive. Belt. Shoes.”
Rebel is already in motion, tackling Ruin’s belt, then what’s left of his shoes, discarding his knife holster and melted boots to the floor. He tears open what’s left of his brother’s pants while I carefully remove the top half of Ruin’s broken mask, my hands shaking.
I lower my ear to his mouth and listen for the rattle of air in his lungs. I double-check that his chest is rising and falling before declaring that he’s alive. “He’s breathing,” I tell everyone, “but it’s not good. It’s—it’s hard to know.”
“You’re doing great,” Rebel says, somehow staying eerily calm. “Check the pulse on his neck.”
His heartbeat is slow, but still present, contrasting the race of my own heart.
Rebel squeezes my hand for a quick moment. “Breathe through your mouth, baby, it’s easier.”
I do as instructed, but nothing prepares me for the sight of Ruin’s body. It’s hard to tell which scars are fresh versus which ones are old, the skin blemished across most of his torso and arms. I keep my eyes on his body for fear of looking at his face. He hasn’t wanted me to see him without his mask, and it feels disrespectful to look now when he might be…
I swallow hard and sweep my gaze across the red patches of skin on his chest and shoulders, breathing through my mouth to avoid the scent of charred flesh. It’s impossible to ignore, but I try as best I can.
“Hey, Ruin,” I murmur, brushing his hair from his face. Even that feels damp, either from sweat or gasoline. Chemical fumes pour from his body and sting my eyes, but I tell myself that if he still smells like gasoline, that means the fire didn’t touch him as badly as it could have. I guess that’s a blessing, if we’re counting miracles.
“Take him to The Box,” Rage says suddenly, “Wren Sakovia will meet us there.”
I glance up and catch Rage’s eyes in the rearview mirror. I’ve heard of The Box—it’s a medical facility the bratva uses when they want to avoid hospitals and legal documentation of patient stays. “Surely he needs a hospital,” I protest, narrowing my eyes. “With a real burn unit.”
“They handled our burns the last time, baby,” Rebel says gently, flicking his gaze from his youngest brother’s face to mine. “They’ll have records of the damage from before and know exactly what to do for him.”
“And which spots to treat,” Rage adds, his gaze piercing mine. “A burn until would fuck him up even more. He has dead zones on his body until you cut deep enough to get through the scarring.”
“It doesn’t look like he’ll need skin grafts.” Rebel flops back into his seat and starts to run a hand through his hair, then winces and pulls it back in front of him. I finally get a good look at his injuries from the side, finding ash smeared across his face and neck. His hands are bright red, shaking as he twists them in the passing streetlight.
“You’re burned,” I breathe, choking on guilt. It’s my fault that we left the house. If I hadn’t been so focused on Sara?—
Sara!
I gasp as a knife twists in my gut, regret flowing freely through my veins. Not only did my men get hurt, but we never found Sara. She could still be out there screaming, begging for someone to save her… and just like with Ruin, I’m too late—too weak—to stop any of it.
Clenching my fists, I blink tears from my eyes and vow to do better. To be better. If I’m going to protect the people I love, I need more than a secondhand gun and a few self-defense lessons.
I need to learn how to put a bastard down.
No more tears. No more second-guessing. No more relying on others to keep me safe. This life is brutal, and the only way we’re all going to make it out alive is by being ruthless.
Someone’s hand finds mine and squeezes. My breath catches as I squeeze back, tearing my gaze away from our joined hands to Ruin’s face. High cheekbones, clean-shaven jawline, smooth-skinned, white scars along the entire right side, a missing eyebrow, and one eye that’s lighter in color than the other, a soft shade of gray.
Breathtakingly beautiful.
He returns my stare with a determined set to his jaw and a fire in his eyes that I can feel in my soul, continuing to squeeze my hand as he works his jaw like he wants to say something.
“Shh,” I coo, running my hand over his hair. “Don’t speak. Just breathe.” Curving my back, I brush my lips over his forehead and press a kiss to his heated skin. “I won’t ever let him hurt you again,” I vow, my determination setting into place once he grips the side of my shirt with a trembling fist. “I promise.”