Chapter 4
Blaze’s voice echoes from the opposite end of the hall as I exit our flat, the red steel door banging shut at my back. Hands in my pockets, I walk straight down to the end, his voice a deep bellow that I follow towards one of the other empty flats converted into an open space for meetings just like this.
Door open, I slip inside, darkness beyond the windows, yellow overhead light illuminating the room, shadowing the men and women standing inside it. I kick a foot up against the wall beside the door, fold my arms across my chest, and stare at where Blaze sits on the opposite side of the space.
An old fabric armchair, once a pale green, now a faded, aged grey, is what he perches on the edge of. Forearms on his spread knees, chin tipped down, dark brown eyes, so much blacker than Phoenix”s, flicked up from beneath his lashes.
He licks over his lips, clasping his hands, and I watch as his chest inflates, his breath held, he screws his nose up, just for a split second, licking over his top teeth.
And watching it, his discomfort, irritation, that none of these men or women could read from those simple actions, except me, except Cole, Phoenix, fills me with a perverse sort of satisfaction. This girl has got him all tied up, and I’ve never seen my adopted older brother behave like this over anyone before.
“We’ve got cargo in Tower Four,” he states coldly.
Attention is like a live-wire in the room, everyone snapping to life. It’s early, none of these people want to be here at this time of the morning, but now there’s intrigue. Cargo in Tower Four has been so many different people over the years, I’m sure every single one of the soldiers in this room are itching to get a look.
Gaze flicking to Cole where he stands at my brother’s back, his expression gives nothing away. Though, there is a slight tightness to the outer corners of his fiery amber-hazel eyes that tells me he’s pissed about this.
Cole’s not really one for relationships, friendships, he likes to be left alone for the most part, just to exist, to work, to be with us. We’re his family even if we are a bunch of fucked up hooligans, and he loves us, as much as he says he doesn’t. But I can imagine having this woman here, close to his space, occupying his best friend’s attention, is likely unsettling for him.
He runs a hand over his short hair, dark afro curls cut close to his scalp, the sides faded to bare skin just above his pierced ears. He glances up at me, and I can’t help grinning, I know how much he hates my mania.
“It’s to be manned twenty-four-seven. Nobody gets in, nobody gets out,” Blaze says, dark eyes roving across each member of our crew.
“Who is it, Boss?” someone asks from the back of the crowd, and the silence of the room seems to deepen, like everyone is collectively holding their breath.
My eyes roll back to my brother, Cole stiff and seemingly larger, more imposing at his back. But Blaze doesn’t move, only cocking his head to one side, licking his lips, dropping his gaze, a dark curl slipping over his brow.
“You think it’s appropriate to question me?” Blaze’s voice is cold, low, deep, making the room temperature seem to plummet with his tone.
The guy says nothing in response, I don’t look, but I hear him shift his weight, shuffling his feet, as though he’s uncomfortable. Knows he fucked up. A smirk curls my upper lip, but I bite into my bottom one, watching Blaze’s eyes, deep pits of black, slowly lift to hone in on him.
Every bone in my body seems to vibrate as I wait, seeing what he’ll do. You just never know, he’s cool and calm one minute, explosive fire and bolts of lightning the next. And chat-back could go either way.
“No, Boss,” the guy says, loud, confident, in an attempt to show no fear.
Blaze will either respect that, or feel it’s a mockery, depends on the day.
There is silence, and then, after too long, the seconds drawn out, Blaze says, “Good.”
The room seems to deflate, a collective exhale, and then Cole starts to speak, stepping forward, splitting soldiers into teams, putting them on shift rotations. Blaze stands, saying nothing more until he gets to me, walking past, out of the room, expecting me to follow him. Which I do.
This tower block, Tower Five, is our home. The four of us share our space, split over two levels, this and the one below, all of it converted so we have internal stairs. We could have chosen our own spaces, but we are a quad, a family, and as such, none of us wanted to live alone. But on this floor, the top floor, we only live in half of it. The other half of this huge floor, the building once housing hundreds before the council condemned it, two things we all felt we wanted nearest us, is our meeting room and armoury.
Which is where we stop, the guard at the door side steps out of the way, nodding to us both in greeting.
I have so many questions, so many things I want to say, to ask, but I know better than to say anything in front of others. So I bite my tongue. Waiting as Blaze inputs the six digit code to the auto-locking door. We listen for the beep, then the internal bolts slide slowly back into the door, disconnecting the mechanisms, a dull creaking as it cracks open.
Strip lighting automatically buzzes to life as Blaze enters first, alerting the sensors. Closing the door at my back, I walk in, plant my elbows down on the large, felted island in the centre of the space, and prop my chin onto my knuckles.
“Why are we keeping her?” I ask.
Flicking my eyes over the room, each wall lined with various display cabinets of weaponry. Machine guns, pistols, shotguns, hand grenades. Drawers beneath them I know to be full of bullets, ones we specialise in, Dragons Breath, Incendiary rounds and other fire related arsenals. Everything built and created in Tower Six.
“You said you just wanted to play with her.”
“I do,” Blaze grunts back, crossing to the far end of the room, his back to me as he enters a code into the top drawer of knives.
“How long ‘til it’s my turn?” I breathe in deep, thinking of shoving my hand down the front of her jeans, the swipe of my fingers through her dripping wet folds.
She liked being scared.
Was fucking soaked by it.
Cocking my head, I watch him open drawer after drawer, removing different pieces, not answering me. “You’ve interrupted me fucking my man twice in the last twelve hours, you know.”
“I know,” he mumbles in response, unaffected.
I roll my eyes, “And for what?” I flex my shoulder, stretching my neck, “To watch you order others to play guard for your little bitch?”
Blaze says nothing, closing the drawers before turning back to face me. He bites into the inside of his cheek, chewing on the flesh as he stares at me as though he’s wondering how much to say.
“You’re my brother,” I say, cocking a brow. “What aren’t you telling me?” I imagine there are so, so many fucking things, but this one, this secret feels like a monumental shift in space, time and all that other fucking shit.
“A lot,” Blaze says slowly, walking towards the felt covered peninsula where I lean my elbows, chin propped on my hands.
He comes to the other side of it, opposite me, placing down two M1911s. The sleek matte black finish on them always pisses me off, greasy fingerprints show up in it too easily and he knows how much it irritates me.
He smirks as I scowl down at the guns, his deep voice a sleek rumble, “You’re to watch her first.”
Slowly, my heart thudding in my chest, I blink, lift my gaze onto his, “Excuse me?” I’m not a fucking security guard.
“Don’t fucking touch her,” he snarls, predatory, licking over his teeth, like I get no say in this fucking shit. “Just watch her.”
“Watch her?” I crack my neck as I twitch it to one side, re-eye the guns, wanting to smack him in the forehead with one of them.
“Yes, Flint, watch. I know that’s some sort of foreign concept to you, but I believe somewhere inside you, you do actually have a semblance of self-control,” he sniffs, redrawing my gaze.
“Why does she need watching though, why can’t the door just be monitored, what exactly am I watching for?”
“Suicide watch,” he grunts almost casually, like it’s not a big deal.
A single brow raises on my forehead, and I can’t help the laugh that bubbles in my throat, the smile pulling my lips, “Why do you care if she offs herself or not?”
The glare he shoots me is nothing short of death, I imagine he’s thinking about plucking my eyeballs out and forcing them between my teeth.
“Because I do,” he grunts, “which means, so the fuck do you.”
Well.
“If this girl means sooo fucking much to you, why the fuck can’t you do it?”
“Because, I’m telling you, that you’re fucking doing it. Don’t argue with me.”
“Wonderful, thanks, Boss, I’ll get right on that,” I laugh sarcastically, still leaning forward, chin propped on my fist. “You think leaving me alone with her, I’ll keep my hands to myself?”
“She’s mine,” he bites out, gnashing his teeth, straightening to stand, to intimidate.
I’ve not been frightened by anyone a single day in my life, I’m certainly not about to start today.
“Great, then you watch her.”
“Flint.” Blaze inhales so deeply it feels as if he might pop a lung when he says my name.
My eyes roll once more in mockery. I do not follow blindly, that’s something Kenny McCoy taught us both.
Benefit of being adopted into a well-respected gang leader’s family, I suppose.
“Flint,” he blows out a breath, carding his fingers through his loose dark curls. “I can’t be left alone with her right now,” his hand is shaking as he plants it down on the island, green veins pronounced ridges in the backs of his scarred hands as he rocks on the balls of his feet. “I want her alive.” He lifts his eyes to mine, holding my gaze. “And if I go in there right now,” he rasps, looking suddenly vulnerable, something I don’t think I have ever witnessed in him before, “I will kill her.”
For a moment, I watch him silently, the way he grits his teeth, gnaws on his lip ring, flexes his fingertips into the felt topped island.
I drop my hands, lean on the length of my forearms, lift my chin, “Who is she, Blaze?”
My brother stares down at his hands, the guns on the felt peninsula between us, “To me,” he rasps, looking up, black eyes lifted from beneath heavy lashes. “Everything.”