Chapter Thirty-Five
MY THOUGHTS SLIPPED to earlier, to the moment I crept in through the service door after the noise had died down, a shadow among shadows, unseen and watching.
High Voltage reeked of beer, sweat, and sin—nothing holy left in it.
Just the dying breath of neon and the low murmur of voices clinging to corners best left in the dark.
I hadn’t come to interfere. Told myself that. Just a glance. Just a look. Just to see how far she’d fallen.
Then I heard her.
Her voice, soft and clear, drifted through the office door, threading through the dark like smoke.
It struck something in me, something raw.
The blood under my skin went hot. Not rage—not yet.
This was slower. A thick, suffocating heat that burned behind my ribs and spread like oil catching fire.
Her words reached me, too close to the man inside with her. Too steady. Too damn comfortable.
She didn’t sound lost.
She sounded like she didn’t need saving.
She sounded like she’d forgotten every vow I placed on her tongue, every truth I carved into her soul. She told him yes like it mattered, like that word was hers to give. Held her head high, voice proud, unshaken, like she hadn’t once trembled at my feet, begging for grace she didn’t deserve.
And then she laughed.
That sound tore through me like a whip. Bright. Free. It didn’t belong to her. Not anymore. It wasn’t the sound of a woman mourning her fall. It was the sound of a woman who believed she’d risen.
I pressed my palm flat to the wood. It was cool under my skin, but I could feel them through it. Hear them. Their voices low, threaded with intimacy, each syllable another turn of the blade.
I imagined his hand on her back, his breath against her neck, her body leaning in, mouth parting, eyes closing.
My jaw locked until I tasted copper. The fury that rose in me didn’t come from the Flame.
Not at first. It came from someplace older.
Something buried beneath ash and prayer.
She was mine. The Flame had chosen her. I had tended her soul, burned away the rot, molded her in light.
And now she dared offer that sanctified skin to another.
I told myself this was holy anger. That the fire surging in me was His will, not mine. But even I could feel the edges of that lie.
The doorknob turned.
I stepped back into shadow, eyes on the sliver of light spilling out as the door opened. They didn’t see me.
She walked out beside him, small but unbowed, shoulders squared, her chin lifted like she was proud of what she’d become. Proud of her sin. The scar I gave her caught in the low light—evidence of who owned her. A brand. A reminder of who she truly belonged to.
Outside, the motorcycle came to life with a roar. She slid onto the back of it, arms winding around him like some common whore. Like he hadn’t stolen what was never his to take.
I followed in silence. Truck lights off. Distance kept. My grip on the wheel tight enough to ache. Her hair whipped in the wind, wild and defiant, her body pressed close to his, moving with him like she was built for it.
They left the main road, gravel crunching beneath their tires as trees swallowed them whole.
I stopped.
Watched their tail light disappear into the dark.
My pulse calmed.
The fire cooled, not extinguished—just sharpened. Focused. Became something more than fury. Became purpose.
The Flame had tested me long enough. It had stripped the weakness, laid bare the truth.
She thought she could leave. Thought she could love another.
But she was still mine. Still chosen.
And I would bring her home.
***
I DIDN’T DRIVE straight back to the motel. The night was too alive for sleep, too loud with memory. The road hummed beneath the tires, and the ghost of the motorcycle’s taillight still burned behind my eyes, a red smear I couldn’t shake.
When I finally stopped, it was at the same forgotten gas station I’d used before—the one with the broken sign and the pay phone that still worked if you hit the side of it just right. Some places refuse to die. They linger. Waiting.
I stepped out of the truck and let the damp, heavy air settle over me. From my pocket, I pulled my phone and a folded scrap of paper. One number. No name. There never was one.
The phone rang twice.
“Yeah?” The voice on the other end was low, cautious.
“It’s me,” I said.
Silence. Then, tighter this time, “You shouldn’t be calling.”
“I told you I would,” I replied evenly. “When it was time.”
“You said it was over.”
I smiled faintly, watching my breath fog the glass. “It’s never over, you will always serve the Flame.”
The line stayed quiet long enough for me to hear the hum of the fluorescent light above the the forgotten phone booth, the steady buzz of insects throwing themselves against the glass like they thought pain might lead to freedom.
Finally, he spoke. “What do you need?”
“She’s with him,” I said. “The one who pulled her out. He’s getting too close.”
“Are you sure she’s worth it?”
“Don’t question me.” My voice stayed calm, but I felt the edge beneath it sharpen. “She’s forgotten who she is, but the fire in her eyes hasn’t changed. The Flame marked her for me.”
Another pause. Longer this time. “What do you want me to do?”
“Watch,” I said. “Listen. The biker’s name is Chain. I want to know what he means to her—and how to separate them.”
“That’s risky. They’ll notice.”
“They won’t,” I murmured. “You’ve always been good at pretending. That’s why I chose you.”
He exhaled, dry and uneasy. “And when I know?”
“I’ll be in contract.” I softened my voice, let it turn almost gentle. “The Flame will reward you if you don’t fail.”
The line went dead with a quiet click.
I hung up but let my hand linger on the cool metal, grounding myself in the certainty of it. Somewhere beyond the station, the first hint of dawn was bleeding into the sky—thin and red, like the edge of a wound that hadn’t decided whether it wanted to heal.
I closed my eyes and whispered the words I’d carried for years.
“From ash, the Flame is born anew.”
Then I got back into the truck and drove toward the horizon, steady now. Certain.
Because the Flame had spoken.
And soon, it would reclaim what was His.