2. Ember
CHAPTER 2
EMBER
MR. RAGER – KID CUDI
Marched down the corridor, three shifty-looking characters are gathered around an unconscious heap on the ground. One glowering, light-haired man looks up at the sound of us nearing.
“He’s still down, boss.”
Blaine lengthens his strides to carry us towards his crew. “Good.”
“Their security is held up with our friend upstairs, collecting Gael’s earnings. We’ve got one minute until guard change.”
Their friend?
“Then let’s hurry, hmm?” he responds, his grip on my arm flexing. “Watch our six.”
Gesturing for one of the others to follow, the duo take position behind us. We’re left following a third, blue-haired figure. It takes a moment for me to register that it’s a woman.
“This is stupid,” she hisses under her breath. “What are we doing here, Blaine?”
“I don’t want to hear it. You know I have my reasons.”
“We should be focusing on your fath?—”
“Enough,” Blaine interrupts icily. “You have your orders, Raye. Follow them.”
Shaking her navy pixie cut head, showing off rows of multicoloured ear piercings, she doesn’t bite back. The sounds of the jam-packed club roar in the subsequent silence as we near the rear exit doors.
With a final surveying look behind us, Blaine tows me outside into the blazing heat. Even after years, the raw intensity never fails to steal my breath. It’s the kind of heat that crisps bare skin into a dry lake bed within minutes.
“ Gracias .” Raye stops to shake the hand of the first guard we meet, palming him a roll of Pesos. “You’ll want to split quick once we’re gone.”
Both guards nod in deference, avoiding looking at me. I’ve seen them here before. This underground club has been on my fight list several times before, and they’re regular staff.
“Head down,” Blaine murmurs to me. “We don’t need attention.”
“Why should I trust you?” I snarl at him.
“Believe it or not, sweetheart, I’m not here to hurt you.”
“That means nothing to me.”
“Fine, try this... If I meant you harm, don’t you think I would’ve done so by now?”
My next sassy remark dies in my throat. He had the opportunity to take me out in the changing room. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to trust these unknown people who sound like home.
Something inside me breaks when I lower my head as told. Instead, a defiant animal, salivating for its next kill, tucks its tail. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t fight off this group.
“Get in.” Blaine nods towards an unmarked blue van close by. “Quickly.”
Raye throws open the back door, her feet remaining planted on the dusty road. The abandoned warehouse that conceals the fight club seems so unsuspecting in the early evening sunshine.
Teeth gritted, I climb into the van as quickly as my injuries will allow. Not even the return of my surging adrenaline can distract me from the pain wracking my entire frame.
The other two men climb into the front while Raye joins me and Blaine in the back of the vehicle. We take off in a squeal of spinning tyres, causing me to clatter against the thin metal wall.
The impact jolts my spine, aggravating nerves on the verge of splitting apart. The pain from being repeatedly acquainted with a concrete wall is quickly making itself known.
Rubbing a hand over his five o’clock shadow, Blaine looks at me. “You’re not gonna like this next part.”
“Try me.” I hold in a cry while straightening.
“Where did they put it?”
“Huh?”
Crouching on the van floor, Raye unzips a backpack to pull out a small travel case. She clicks it open, exposing two glinting scalpels embedded in foam and a compact suture kit.
“The tracking device,” Blaine explains grimly. “Our intel says that all of Gael’s assets are implanted with one. He can still track you.”
A solid lump gathers in my throat.
“Quickly, Ember. We don’t have time for you to deliberate.”
“Fine.” I sigh. “Forearm.”
His nostrils flare, the sapphire in his irises churning with anger. “Lay down. We’re getting it out.”
“Here?”
“You got a better plan, princess?” Raye quips sarcastically.
“We’re in a moving vehicle.”
“Fuck, Blaine,” she grumbles. “I can’t believe we’re risking everything for this dumb bitch.”
Lips thinning, I narrow my eyes on her while dropping myself to the van floor. Her dyed-blue brows lift as she watches me lay down without another word.
“Just do it,” I grit out. “Before I break your fucking nose for calling me a dumb bitch, you miserable cunt.”
Bursting into laughter, Blaine moves to kneel beside me. “You are a miserable cunt, Raye. She’s got you there.”
“She has not.” Raye scowls while selecting a scalpel to disinfect.
“Right. We don’t have any sedatives.” Blaine quickly sobers, returning his gaze to me. “And this ain’t gonna tickle.”
“I can handle it.”
“Of that I have no doubt. Let’s take this back off.”
He helps me to remove the sweatshirt, exposing my right arm. The tracking device was surgically implanted not long after I was sold to the cartel. It bulges beneath a puckered scar.
Accepting the antibacterial swab that Raye passes to him, Blaine deftly cleans the incision site. An inch or so below it, closer to the crease of my elbow, lies another scar.
The mangled skin is far darker and messier, twisted from a severe burn. But no ordinary burn. It was delivered by what can only be compared to a cattle brand, the warped iron glowing with heat.
“What the fuck is that?” Blaine’s voice is low and dangerous.
Memories I’ve long held back threaten to break free from their prison. The brand. My sobbing. Gael’s whip slicing deeply into my back. It takes all my willpower to hold the horrors at bay and stuff them back into their prison cell.
“My name.” I stare up at the ceiling. “768.”
There’s a muttered curse.
“Your intel didn’t tell you about that?” My laugh is forced.
“No.”
A muscle in Blaine’s neck convulses, his jaw clenched tight. Even the vein at his temple seems to throb, visibly pulsing beneath his skin.
“You’re the first person to use my old name in a very long time,” I admit croakily.
An unknown emotion seems to cast a shadow over his features as he contemplates. “Your name is Ember. Not 768.”
“I stopped being that person the day they took me.” I watch him finish cleaning my arm. “If she survived the kidnapping, she died in the years that followed.”
Blaine halts to glance at me. “Someone told me you have 210 undefeated fights under your belt.”
“More or less. I have plenty of defeats too.”
“Yet you’re still alive.”
My stomach flips and twists. “I suppose so.”
“Well that doesn’t sound like dying to me. In fact, I think that makes you a survivor.”
He shifts to let Raye slide closer, the blade poised in her hand. Blaine moves to my head, yelling at his men to drive carefully while we work. We’re careening along at breakneck speed.
“Hold still,” Raye instructs.
She offers no further warning before pushing the scalpel into my forearm, slicing through my skin to access the device. If I wasn’t physically spent, I could probably hold my cry inside.
Instead, it rips out of me, ricocheting around the van’s hollow interior. The blade feels like a scorching laser point, carving into my flesh. Sweat quickly breaks out on my forehead.
“Shut her up, Blaine. I need to concentrate.”
A large, calloused hand moves to cover my mouth, clamping down on my whimpering. The faint scent of spicy peppercorns and citrusy bergamot emanates from Blaine’s wrist.
Trust this smooth talker to wear expensive aftershave on some kind of fucked up kidnapping mission. I know a fine cologne when I smell one. My brother’s lifestyle used to demand no less.
“Not the way I usually like to make a stunning woman like yourself scream.” Blaine’s smirk hangs over me. “In an ideal world, I’d buy you a drink first.”
“Stop flirting,” Raye mutters.
“Ignore her.” His night-sky eyes seem to sparkle good-humouredly. “She’s just jealous because a chick broke her heart. Now something tells me you’re a wine drinker on a date.”
Knocking his hand aside, I pant raggedly. “The last m-man I dated had me kidnapped and trafficked.”
Lines arch around his mouth when he laughs. “I’m not opposed to kidnapping, though I’d prefer it to be consensual.”
Is he for real or just insane?
“I suppose the cliche is for people like me to swirl whiskey in their crystal glasses and smoke a cigar, right?” he continues. “In reality, I’m partial to a fine pinot noir.”
“People like you?” I repeat shakily. “Who are you?”
Blaine winks at me. “Spoilers, sweetheart.”
With a sudden stab of pain, I feel something in my arm pop. The rapidly spreading heat feels like I’ve been branded all over again, joining the medley of injuries sapping my strength.
“Gotcha.” Raye lifts her head, a metal chip caught between her wet fingers. “Slippery little bugger.”
“Undamaged?”
“Do I look like an amateur to you?” she barks.
“Don’t bite my fucking head off. Put it somewhere safe, it’s coming with us. We need to throw Gael’s men off the scent until she’s clear.”
Nodding at Blaine’s command, Raye deposits the tracker into the foam-packed case. “I need to stitch her up.”
“I’ve got this,” Blaine intervenes. “Your sutures are shit.”
“You’ve never complained before.”
“Look at my damn face. Your fault I look like this.”
Rolling her eyes, she clambers out of the way to clean up her supplies. “Whatever, pretty boy.”
Blaine swipes the suture kit then shuffles to pull my bloodied arm into his lap. With his head lowered, he preps the suture needle then moves to apply pressure to my forearm.
My hazy vision clears long enough for me to study the scar that bisects the right side of his face and defined bone structure. It’s pulled taut as he concentrates on my arm, causing the corner of his eye to crease.
“She stitched your face?”
The faintest shudder rolls over him. “Yes.”
“The scar looks old.”
“It is.”
“You get stitched up by friends often?”
His lips twitch. “On occasion.”
Each clipped response tells me to shut the fuck up. I don’t know this dangerous man, and I certainly don’t want to piss off the person getting me away from that seedy warehouse.
The feel of the needle slipping into my skin delivers a familiar jolt. I’ve been patched up enough times by Gael’s well-paid doctor. Sedatives weren’t on offer then either.
My mind clouds, floating in an exhausted fog. Flashes accompany my semi-conscious daze. A filthy, constrictive cage. Gracie’s begging. The doctors who took our measurements. Years of half-assed examinations that followed after a fight.
Locking the memories away and giving myself no option but to remain strong has kept me alive. I survived not through skill but sheer stubbornness. Never once allowing myself to break or feel.
When the sound of low voices rouses me, I jerk back to the present. I must’ve drifted for a while. Blaine has halted the bleeding, and he’s now almost done stitching me up.
“You’re back.” He lifts his lips to form a small smile. “Thought we’d lost you there.”
“I’m back.” I blink moisture from my eyes.
“Good.”
Taking a few seconds to steady my breathing, I swallow hard to lubricate my throat. My voice still comes out raspy.
“Why are you helping me?”
“Purely selfish reasons.” He shrugs casually.
“What does that mean?”
Blaine ties off a suture then snips it. “Curious much?”
Weak laughter balloons in my chest. “I was held captive for six years before you showed up. I think that warrants a few questions.”
“It does. I’m not obliged to answer them, though.”
“Ow! Careful!”
Pulling the needle back out from where he pushed too hard, Blaine tuts. “Stop distracting me.”
“Asshole!”
“And that’s the second time you’ve called me that. I may start taking it personally.”
“You should.” I shudder at the suture being tied.
“Quiet. Let me finish.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, my logical side tries to find a reasonable explanation for his insanity. No one pays attention to me. Not even the other women unwillingly tied to the cartel. They hate me for my position and the protection it brings.
I have no friends. No allies. Not even Carlos can stand the sight of me after the hundreds of hours he’s spent beating his lifetime’s fighting experience into me. No one would ever help me.
So why him? Why now?
Tying myself in mental knots while Blaine continues working, I can’t find a viable explanation. I’ve never met this man. Not once. He’s a total stranger, offering me a chance at salvation.
“What’s the plan, boss?” a voice shouts from up front.
“Near Acapulco airport like we discussed,” Blaine calls back.
“Coming up.”
“Airport?” I jerk in surprise.
“Still,” he snaps. “Last one.”
“I don’t have a passport!”
“I said still! For fuck’s sake, Ember.”
The use of my real name is equivalent to being sucker-punched all over again. I hate the way he cherishes each syllable, letting them roll off his tongue in a sensual, whiskey-smooth drawl.
“There.” Blaine catches the bandage that Raye tosses him then begins to wind it around my arm. “You’re clean.”
“Fantastic,” I hiss out.
Sitting back on his haunches, he trails a critical eye over me. “How badly are you hurt? Those bruises look pretty bad.”
“Had worse.”
“Don’t fucking tell me that.”
A raspy chuckle pulls from my lips. “Why do you care?”
Ignoring my challenge, Blaine tips his head towards Raye. “Check to make sure nothing’s broken. This doesn’t work if she’s dead before they arrive.”
“I’m no doctor,” she argues. “Or at least I’m a severely underpaid one.”
“Do you ever shut up?”
Flipping him off, she knee-walks across the cramped space to reach for me. I ball my busted hands into fists at my sides to stop myself from hitting the sour-faced bitch.
“This isn’t your first rodeo.” She probes my stomach, watching my reaction. “Not even a flinch.”
“Look where you found me,” I growl at her.
“Hard to tell without an X-ray, but I’d expect more swelling by now if you had a fracture. You are bruising bad, though.”
“Then stop poking me, dammit!”
Raising her hands in surrender, Raye pulls back. “Want to show me your back?”
“Not a fucking chance. You’ll stick a knife in it.”
“Whatever.” Her tone is thick with sarcasm. “She’ll live, Blaine. Nothing a personality transplant won’t fix.”
“Then go sit up front,” he orders.
Raye clambers to her feet, disappearing between the seats to find an empty space. Blaine shakes his raven head at her retreat then stretches out a hand in offering to me.
I reluctantly accept, allowing him to slowly pull me upright. It causes more tears to spring into my eyes when I twist to rest my back against the wall, but I keep my teeth gritted tight.
“Listen to me,” Blaine says urgently. “Gael isn’t the kind of man to let his assets run off. He will come for you, no matter where you run or hide.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“I don’t care what you think you know. This is real life now.”
“Get to the point,” I demand in frustration.
“We’ll buy you a few hours before tossing the chip, but he’s going to throw everything he’s got into getting you back, if your fighting record is to be believed.”
“Then what do you suggest I do?”
“Exactly what I tell you to.”
I was wrong earlier when I labelled his swagger as confidence. It’s more like blind stupidity if he thinks I’m going to follow his orders. I’ve listened to enough men telling me what to do.
“What exactly do you want from me? Spoilers or not, it’s abundantly clear what people like you want in return for their help.”
His mouth hooks up in a pleased smile. “I just want you to tell the truth, sweetheart. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“What truth?”
He leans closer, causing his black t-shirt to strain over his chest. While muscular, Blaine is svelte and wiry like all good hunters are.
“That Blaine Madden saved your life. Think you can remember that?”
“Well, it’s rather bloody complicated.”
Snorting, his tongue flicks out to touch his piercing again. “I like your smart mouth.”
“I’d like to know who the hell you are.”
“Call me… an acquaintance of an acquaintance.” He grimaces at his own choice of words. “That’s not right. More like an enemy of an acquaintance.”
My blossoming headache triples at that head fuck.
“Meaning?” I press.
“Meaning you’re gonna sing my praises from that gorgeous, pouty mouth of yours to those bastards at Sabre Security. Capiche?”
My lungs tighten into a vice.
Sabre… Security?
Too many old memories resurfacing at once make my skull throb harder. Acquaintance is definitely not the right word. I can make a good guess at who he’s looking to manipulate.
“We’re ten miles out, boss,” the voice calls again. “Seems as good a place as any.”
Reaching into his leather jacket, Blaine plucks out an old flip phone. It looks like a relic from decades ago, all bulky and scratched. He quickly tosses it at me.
“This is yours.”
I manage to catch the phone. “What’s it for?”
“You have a phone call to make.”
“Wait, I don’t understand…”
Squealing fills the rear of the van as the brakes are hastily applied. I’m thrown forwards by the momentum, straight into Blaine’s awaiting arms. A surprised grunt hums in his chest.
Every hardened inch of his cut frame presses into me. It’s a solid, steady weight that elicits feelings I didn’t think I was still capable of after years of watching and experiencing unfettered violence.
Aside from beatings, the odd whipping, and Gael’s physician, no one has touched me in years. Not a single time when I sobbed, begged or pleaded. Nor when I pondered whether it would be better to die than continue living.
I survived alone.
Until now.
“I swear, I’m usually more of a gentleman.” His formal accent rolls over me again. “Maybe next time.”
Releasing me, Blaine reaches behind his back. I hear the van door click open, but the sluggish realisation comes too late for me to react. I’m spun around then unceremoniously shoved outside.
“Apologies again!” he shouts.
“Argh!”
Thin air wraps around me, failing to slow my rapid plummet. Bracing myself for a hard collision, the impact feels minimal when I smack into a relatively soft surface.
Breath swooshes out of me, cutting off my ability to yell his name. A split second later, my balled-up sweatshirt lands on top of me.
Sprawled out on what feels like a sandy bank, I have to watch that son of a bitch sweep his devilishly dark gaze over my body.
“See you very soon, sweetheart.” His grin reveals a single dimple on his unscarred cheek. “I’ll buy you that drink.”
“Stop! Wait!”
“Don’t forget whose praises you’re singing.”
His lips pucker up to blow me a kiss. Then the slamming doors swallow him. When the van takes off, it leaves a thick sand cloud behind.
Staring after them, I watch until it vanishes from sight. I’m on what appears to be a deserted road, littered with rocks and surrounded by sun-scorched land and distant farms.
“What the fuck?” I scream into the nothingness.
Part of me wonders if I’ll wake up to find myself being driven to my next fight. Or perhaps back at the infamous Gael estate, preparing for another punishment in my constantly monitored room.
No matter how many times I squeeze my eyes shut and reopen them to blazing sunshine, the scene remains unchanged. Those insane people rescued me then… What? Dumped me?
My fingers clench around the flip phone still clutched in my hand. You have a phone call to make. Blaine’s self-assured drawl fills my mind as I wrestle myself upright and flick the phone open.
It takes me a moment to remember how to use the keypad. I’m hardly green at thirty-one years old so this isn’t my first Nokia. After fumbling for a second, I locate the contacts menu.
There’s just one.
My stomach churns in shock, loss… and hope.
Warner Mead — Sabre Security.