10. Ember
CHAPTER 10
EMBER
HAPPY WITHOUT ME – JJ, SHANE REEVES, LIL RAVEN & YOUNG LIONS
You joining Sabre Security.
Axel’s words ping-pong around the inner confines of my skull, providing a relentless taunt. I’ve thought about little else than the possibility to join their fight since then.
Lying on my back, I toss my new mobile phone up and down in the air. Two weeks. Two fucking weeks since I gave every last name, description, location and piece of evidence I could recall.
Two weeks.
Two weeks!
While the Anaconda Team investigates Gael, his henchmen and the potential location of his estate, Tom reluctantly agreed to go back to his office during the day. His firm’s contract with Sabre is only one aspect of his job, and he has other cases to attend to.
My phone vibrates when it lands in my palms. I know who’ll be texting me without having to check. The day that Warner delivered the phone after I went to buy clothes, Axel started spamming me.
Sighing, I check our conversation.
Axel:
Ember: What the fuck?
Axel: That was me telling you I’m hungry.
That damn-fine kisser has a brain full of monkeys. His messages vary from out of context thoughts to random selfies and even the odd request for a photo back.
Ember: Then go eat, duh.
Axel: Warner’s making me comb through maps of rural estates that fit your description. I’ve been staring at the screen for eleven hours.
Jolting upright, my thumbs race across the screen.
Ember: You found anything?
Axel: Nah. I’m gonna hand this over to the intelligence department.
Ember: Why didn’t you do that in the first place?
Axel: I stuck a printout of Hyland’s face on my target in the shooting range. Warner got pissed, and he knows I hate desk work.
Trying to drum up a response, I’m struggling to find adequate words. I’ve heard little from Hyland or Warner since we wrapped up my exhausting interviews.
While Warner investigates and Axel flirts, the complicated grump remains on security detail. I haven’t ventured out much, but he’s always there if I do, providing a constant shadow at a respectful distance.
Another message arrives.
Axel: Talk to meeeee.
Axel: I can still taste you on my lips.
Ignoring him, I drop the phone onto my stomach. His suggestion that I join their ranks and put my skills to good use is intriguing, but given their radio silence, I gather it didn’t go down well with the others.
I’m not sure how much longer I can sit around, watching bruises fade from purple to yellow, itching to do something but stew. Literally anything.
When my phone buzzes again, I pick it back up with an annoyed sigh. Axel’s a classic double-texter. AKA, he’s a needy little fuck. Though I’d never admit to him that I quite like it.
Unknown number: How are the stitches healing, sweetheart?
A cold flush of recognition sweeps over me. Surely not. This is a brand-new number with encrypted text messages, courtesy of Sabre’s programming. No one can find it. Especially not him.
Another message comes through.
Unknown number: Come to Unit 17b, Albatross Industries.
“Shit!” I jolt upright.
That ridiculous, aristocratic accent swims through my mind, calling me sweetheart before the psycho flung me out the back of the van. It’s Blaine Madden.
There’s a chance that someone else is trying to lure me in. I don’t know who would know about his ridiculously British pet name, but I can’t be too careful right now.
Ember: How do I know this is you?
It’s a few tense minutes before two back-to-back texts arrive.
Unknown number: I told you I’d be more of a gentleman next time.
Unknown number: Find me.
Indecision is a warring force, but the possibility of information seals my choice. I’ve been tearing myself to bloody shreds while battling night terrors and trying to be patient for two weeks.
No more.
Quickly dressing in the sports bra and workout leggings I found in a box of old work clothes, I throw my hair into a high ponytail before shoving my spare cash into my bra.
I’m twitching all over, full of anticipation and nerves. I have no idea what Blaine’s intentions are, but if he wanted to harm me, he had ample opportunity. Instead, he saved my life.
I need to know why.
And I’m done being patient.
As I’m throwing on my running shoes in the hallway, the door clicks open with a loud buzz from the security system. Tom stumbles in, wearing his usual tailored suit and carrying a box of files.
“Oh, Em. Little help here?”
Rushing towards him, I wrestle the heavy box from his grip. “Did you lug this all the way home?”
“I had my assistant deliver it downstairs,” he grunts, dropping his leather laptop bag. “So technically, only up four flights of stairs.”
“You really need to start working out again.”
“Probably,” he admits through pants. “Between work, Jamie, life… I dunno, it never seems like a priority.”
“Well, you’re not getting any younger. Gotta keep up that cardiovascular health.”
“Oh, thanks,” Tom says sarcastically. “You’ve hit the big thirty yourself now. So watch it.”
“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”
Placing the box down on the floor, I roll my shoulders to relieve the slight twinge the weight created in my spine. While my injuries are healing up, I still get stiff.
“Are you going out?” Tom looks me over.
“I’m gonna take a run.” I try for a placating smile. “Get some air.”
His furrowed brows communicate his disapproval.
“I have security. I’ll be fine.”
“Well… Hyland is still parked outside glowering at everyone who walks past.” He sighs through his nose. “Fine, but make sure you take him with you.”
“Like I have a choice.”
Reaching to tug my ponytail, Tom studies my face. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie. “Just need to get out of here.”
Shucking off his suit jacket, he hangs it with the other coats and jackets next to the front door. While June has arrived with infrequent bursts of heat, the weather remains unpredictable.
“What did you do today?”
“Just hung out.” I shrug listlessly. “Did some stretches. Watched some stupid dating show.”
“Since when do you watch reality TV? You hate that shit.”
“Since I’ve been declared a prisoner of your apartment building?” I joke flatly. “My life and business are gone, Tom. I have nothing else to do and nowhere to go.”
“I’m sorry. That was insensitive.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Sympathy invades his expression, and it turns my stomach. It’s no secret that I’m mourning the destruction of my entire existence while I was gone. But I don’t want nor need his pity.
“I know you’re bored out of your mind, Em.”
Shrugging, I finish lacing up my running shoes. “What was your first clue?”
“You have the same look on your face as when Mum used to ground you for getting into scraps at school.” He smiles at the memory.
“Those bullies deserved to be punched.”
“I’m not sure she agreed, Em. You know her policy was always be the bigger person .”
An unexpected surge of grief infiltrates my mind. It isn’t often that I allow myself to think of our mother. She struggled as a single parent, but even in the depths of her illness, she did the best she could.
I credit a lot of my determination to be independent and build my own life to her. Seeing her illness slowly steal everything from her—including her life—terrified me as a young adult.
“I don’t have to go into the office, you know.” Tom watches my facial expression. “It feels crappy, leaving you here alone with all this going on. I’d rather be keeping you company.”
The thought of Tom hovering like a mother hen all day long and just waiting for me to break is infinitely worse than watching Destiny, the blonde Barbie from Beverly Hills, try to find love.
“You have a life and a career. I don’t need you to babysit me.”
“I know. I’m just worried about you.”
With my laces secure, I reach up to press a kiss on his clean-shaven cheek. “Don’t be.”
“Isn’t it kinda my job?” Tom teases, loosening his striped, blue tie. “If I didn’t worry, I’d be a shitty big brother.”
“Like you could ever be that even if you tried. I want you to go to work and continue living your life. Who knows how long the investigation is going to drag on for?”
Tom kicks off his shoes. It’s his routine. He gets home after six o’clock most nights, yanks off his formal persona then snuggles up with me to binge watch TV.
While I love the normality of his routine—waiting for him to come home, bickering over dinner, gossiping about his boyfriend—it isn’t enough. Pretending this is all normal is slowly killing me.
“You need to rebuild, Em. Find a new purpose.”
“Like it’s that easy. I can’t even leave the apartment without a guard. We don’t know who we can trust or who works for Gael. I’m barely fucking alive!”
“Hey.” He stretches out a hand to squeeze my arm. “I know this is hard, but we need to know you’re safe while Gael is still at large. I won’t allow him to hurt you again.”
“The investigation could take years! I can’t hide behind a bodyguard forever.”
“You won’t have to. With your intel, Warner and the Anaconda Team will hunt these bastards down. Once they’ve been apprehended, you’ll be safe.”
A million different versions of the bright future he’s dangling in front of me dance through my mind, yet all I feel is hopelessness. I’ll never live a normal life. Or return to the person I was. Or forget all that I’ve seen. Or sleep soundly without nightmares ever again.
Gael is too powerful to be caught. My life will always be under threat as long as he’s out there, determined to reclaim his prized champion. That means I’m indefinitely stuck in this awful limbo.
Tom can’t handle that truth, and I understand why. Just like I refused to entertain the specialists who told us that our mother’s life was coming to an end. Sometimes, the truth is too much to bear.
“I only just got you back, trouble.” Tom’s voice cracks as his shining eyes duck to the floor. “Let me take care of you now.”
Sealing my lips shut to trap my next complaint inside, I nod jerkily. He isn’t trying to hurt or control me. I can see that. His protectiveness is how he shows that he cares.
As much as I appreciate his concern, I need control. I can’t go another night tossing and turning, imagining the parade of battered women being shipped in and out of Gael’s estate.
“I’m gonna get some air.” I grab the light jacket and baseball cap hanging next to the door. “Eat without me. I want to do at least ten miles.”
“You bloody health freak.” He deflates with a strained smile. “Any requests?”
“Nope. Surprise me.”
“Alright, Em. Be careful.”
Taking my phone and my copy of his apartment key, I blow him a kiss. “Always am.”
The moment the door clicks shut behind me, a tense breath heaves from my lungs. I love my big brother. But honestly, I’m about ready to remind him that I’m a grown, thirty-one-year-old woman.
With the cap pulled into place, I shove my phone and key into my pocket then take off. I’ll have to play this smart. Hyland is monitoring the entrance to the building, and he can’t know where I’m going.
At six thirty, he always swaps over with another Sabre agent. They rotate every twelve hours, allowing him to return home overnight. If I time it right, I can slip out during the distraction of the changeover.
With ten minutes to go until his shift ends, I hang out in the stairwell just out of sight. His blacked-out company SUV is visible outside, allowing me to watch him.
When another of Sabre’s cars pulls up, parking a few metres ahead of Hyland, I zip up my jacket and tilt the baseball cap farther down to cover my face. I’ll have only one shot at this.
Archer climbs out of his SUV, easily recognisable by his gleaming bald head and steely expression. I watch him approach Hyland’s window so the pair can exchange words.
All it would take is one look for Hyland to spot me. Shit, I’m never going to slip past unseen. But when Archer points towards his car, my inner-meltdown halts.
Climbing out, Hyland gestures for Archer to show him something. The pair walk over to examine the rear tyre. It looks a little low from here.
Bingo!
While they study the tyre, I break out of the apartment and quickly dart away. They won’t even know I’ve left if I’m careful, but I have to make this quick. Tom won’t buy my story if I’m gone for hours on end.
Once I’m a safe distance away, I yank out my phone to check the location that Blaine sent me. I’ll have to flag down a taxi to get across London to the industrial estate marked by the map.
This is probably a stupid idea.
But so was underestimating me.
After the taxi drops me off two streets from the industrial estate, I walk the rest of the way while taking in my surroundings. We’re deep into northeast London, far from the chic residences of Marylebone.
The early summer sun hangs low on the horizon, casting streaks of red and pink across the tightly packed, metal warehouses. Evening shifts must be in full swing. The estate hums with noise and activity.
No one has tried to call or text me yet, so I can only assume my ruse hasn’t been uncovered. Steeling my shoulders, I resolve to hunt down the address, confront Blaine, then book it home.
Easy, right?
Each manufacturing warehouse is labelled with printed signs. All manner of companies, small and large, hold factories here. The numbers pass in a blur as I walk between corrugated metal structures, counting into the teens.
14. 15 . 16.
The next row of units roars with thumping bass music, blending into the constant soundtrack of urban life all around us. London is permanently loud and over-stimulating.
Unit 17a looks like a basic office for warehouse employees. Something to do with a delivery company, by the looks of it, though the blinds are drawn. I carry on to unit 17b.
More thudding bass music echoes from the structure, beckoning me inside. Searching for an entrance, I snake around the side, spotting a reinforced door set far back from the path. But it’s guarded.
“Wasn’t sure you’d show up,” a voice calls.
Smoking a roll-up, a beefy man lingers outside. I immediately recognise his light hair and seemingly permanent glower from our introduction in Mexico. He helped Blaine to free me.
“You.”
“Me,” he deadpans.
Walking up to him, I keep my head on a swivel. “What is this?”
“Besides a stupid risk, fuck if I know. You alone?”
“Obviously.”
“It’s my job to protect the boss, lady. Don’t bite my head off for asking the obvious.”
“Your boss invited me here,” I point out.
“Don’t fuckin’ remind me.”
With a low curse, he wrenches open the rusted steel door. The sound of music grows even louder, accompanied by enthusiastic shouts and cheers. It’s a familiar symphony.
“What is this place?”
“Nowhere special.” He flicks his wrist dismissively. “But it’s ours for the night.”
Casting the thug a wary glance, I step inside the warehouse. It’s dimly lit inside, the din intensifying when he slams the door shut behind us to block out the remaining daylight.
We’re in some kind of backroom staff area. Not exactly what I was expecting. From the Post-it note laden bulletin boards to overflowing paper baskets and the lifeless coffee machine, it’s an ordinary space.
“Not exactly a typical criminal haunt.”
“You talk too much, woman.”
“So I hear.” I look around in a circle. “Have you got a name?”
“Spyder.”
A snort rips free. “I’m sorry, do you think this is a TV show or something?”
“Keep your opinions to yourself around here.” He glares ominously. “You’ll get stabbed for less.”
Grumbling under his breath about what a bad idea this is, Spyder leads me deeper into the unit. It’s chilly, despite the summer warmth outside, with frigid shadows enveloping the space.
The farther we wind through metal shelving stacked with unlabelled boxes, the louder the shouts grow. After delving deep into the warehouse, a break in the labyrinth finally arrives.
Flickering lights and grunge music overwhelm my senses all at once. Surrounded by packed boxes and shelves, a large space has been cleared in the centre.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter in shock.
“You should be used to this kinda thing.”
Similar to the Mexican fight clubs I’ve become familiar with, the set-up is rudimentary but functional. Bloodstained concrete. A circle of onlookers. Two smoking thugs overseeing the fight taking place.
There are no barriers. Not a single wall nor rope to hold back the grappling pair in the centre. A full-on dogfight is taking place, spurring on the cries of all who watch their battle.
“She’s savage,” Spyder observes from beside me. “I wouldn’t take that bet.”
Blinking hard, it takes a moment to realise I’m staring at familiar blue hair. It’s cut short and dyed the colour of a midnight sky, showing off ears laden with rows of multicoloured piercings.
“Yield!” Raye screams like a banshee.
“Piss off!”
The younger guy she’s attempting to strangle from behind spits the insult back at her. They’re well suited, both gangly and muscled, seemingly unafraid of close-contact confrontation.
“Come on, Lee,” she cackles. “You can’t beat me.”
Despite his packed abdominals, visible without a shirt on, Lee seems to know he’s screwed. The poor bastard is thrashing and flailing, trying to wrestle his way out of the headlock.
Every time he attempts to pull Raye off balance, she tightens her grip around his neck. For a relatively thin woman, she’s unbelievably strong. I can’t help but feel impressed.
“I’m bored now.” Raye pretends to yawn.
“Fuuuuuck!” he screeches.
“That’s it. Scream!”
One arm still locked around his neck, she smashes her fist into his face. Blood squirts from Lee’s shattered nose, covering the concrete below. Still, she doesn’t relent or show any mercy.
Another blow knocks him for six. He wavers against her body, clearly running out of steam. His fatal mistake was allowing himself to be cornered in the first place. Now he’s done for.
“Do you yield, bitch?” Raye’s spittle flies from her mouth onto his inflamed cheek.
Nothing.
Another direct hit to the face opens up a weeping cut above his eyebrow. My admiration increases when I notice she’s dislodged a piercing, causing the hoop to tear free and fall to the floor.
“Argh!” Lee’s wails mimic a terrified animal.
The sound only seems to fuel Raye’s savagery as she lands punch after punch, trapping him in place with her arm while her fist goes to town.
“Yield! Now!”
Her racerback tank top reveals colourful floral tattoos up her arms and shoulders, both sweaty and tensed. She squeezes his throat to what must be excruciating proportions, her muscles rippling.
“P-P-Please,” Lee wheezes faintly. “I yield.”
His hand flaps in the air, finally begging for relief. One of the smoking men, clearly acting as a referee by presiding over the match, drops his cigarette to intervene.
“Time!” he calls out. “We have a winner.”
Raye releases her arm, yelling for applause. The gaggle of onlookers go wild, screaming their praise and waving cans of beer in the air. I can’t help but smile a little.
His knees giving out, Lee collapses on the concrete in a limp puddle. Two figures from the crowd come forward to drag his ass away while Raye saunters off to lavish in her victory.
She has to know where Blaine is lurking. Last I saw her, Raye was acting as his closest support. I’m about to follow her when the referee calls everyone to attention.
“Alright, alright! You know who’s up next, but we don’t have an opponent yet.”
An odd hush falls over the warehouse. It’s thick with palpable tension, silencing the applause and excited yells in an instant.
“Now you’re in for a show,” Spyder mumbles.
“How so?”
“Just wait and see.”
Sweeping his gaze around the circle, the referee smiles broadly. “Who dares to challenge the Phantom himself?”
The… Phantom?
Circle parting to allow space, someone approaches the makeshift fighting ring. My whole body goes rigid, swarming with electric recognition.
I absently notice his half-shaved, tousled raven hair, visible facial scar and determined onyx eyes first. But honestly, it’s his bare chest that grabs my attention and refuses to surrender it.
My throat dries.
Lungs seize.
Brain sputters in shock.
For someone who looks to be covered in more scars than skin, Blaine Madden sure doesn’t seem to have a problem parading around in little more than denim and visible tattoos.
His defined chest is a harrowing sight to behold, littered with silvery marks. Long. Short. Mottled burns. Faded stripes. His pectorals, smattered with dark hair, boast small, circular marks.
Cigarette burns?
Despite this, Blaine doesn’t show an ounce of hesitation. Suave confidence practically drips from his gait. Even his posture is self-assured—ripped shoulders back, head held high, black gaze fierce.
“Anyone?” His formal accent calls out. “Don’t be shy now.”
For an intimidating man who talks like a member of some upper-class, royal offshoot, he certainly doesn’t look the part. Especially not bearing the marks of untold violence.
“Well?” Blaine grins at the room.
Not a single person volunteers or steps forward. I assume at least some of these people are part of his… well, organisation. Perhaps gang isn’t the right word, if I want to avoid getting stabbed as Spyder warned.
Turning his back to face the other side of the circle, strong arms spread wide in challenge, I get a clear view of his spine. Ink swirls from the base of his neck to his tailbone, spelling out a phrase across each nodule.
My brain works fast. It’s been years since I helped Tom study for his Latin finals as part of his law degree, but I remember enough to puzzle out the words.
Vincit qui se vincit.
“He conquers who conquers himself,” I whisper to myself.
Spyder shifts on his feet. “He’s always been a poetic son of a bitch.”
“Won’t anyone fight him?”
“Nah,” he chuffs. “No one is brave enough.”
Blaine rotates around again, his attention casting over the whole warehouse. When those coal-black irises land on me, swimming with awareness, a hot flush electrifies my skin.
We stare at each other across the warehouse, locked in an open appraisal. The scar that warps the entire right side of his face is stretched thin to accommodate the smirk that he unveils.
Realisation dawns at the sight of his little spectacle. The invitation. His grand, half-clothed parade. Looking to pick a fight.
Is he… showing off for me?
“If no one volunteers, it’s luck of the draw,” Blaine calls out. “Choose wisely.”
The cocky psychopath is actually going to force one of these people to fight him. Even though they’re all clearly terrified of whatever authority he holds over them.
Fuck that.
He isn’t my boss.
I pull off my jacket to chuck at Spyder, already rolling my shoulders back. “Steal my shit and I’ll be the one doing the stabbing.”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“He wants an opponent. I’m willing.”
Barking a laugh, he drapes my jacket over his shoulder. “Now this I want to see. You ain’t gonna need your shit after the boss snaps your spine.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Abandoning him in the crowd, I push through onlookers to approach the inner circle. Blaine’s eyes widen with each step I take towards him. For the first time, he looks surprised.
“I’ll challenge the Phantom,” I call loudly.
All attention turns to me, accompanied by varying sounds of shock, awe and trepidation. If I wasn’t preoccupied by Blaine’s smirk transforming into a glare, I’d be amused.
“Not a chance.” He shakes his head, hands on his tapered hips.
Circling him, I stretch my arms and joints. “Scared, Phantom?”
There’s no way in hell he’ll back down in front of the countless criminals gathered all around us. His reputation would be toast.
“What game are you playing?”
My eyes narrow in response to his glare. “You asked me to come.”
“I did, but that invitation wasn’t to fight.” Blaine lazily trails his obsidians over me, shoulders rising with each breath. “You look good, sweetheart.”
“I’m not here to flirt.”
“Too bad.” He cracks his knuckles. “Thought I owed you a drink.”
“You do. Perhaps not here, though.” I motion to our surroundings. “Is this what you do now?”
Blaine erupts in laughter that licks my alert senses. “Among other things.”
“Things like rescuing the family members of the people who put you behind bars?”
Sobering, he openly appraises me. “I told you before, sweetheart. Spoilers.”
“Right. Is that a second date kind of topic?”
“Depends on how the first date goes.” Blaine rolls his neck.
Clearly, he isn’t going to spill his grand master plan or provide any information about Gael so easily. I’ll have to bargain with him.
“You have two choices here,” I spell out. “Fight me or back down in front of your entire crew. But if I win, you’re going to answer all of my questions. Including how you found me.”
“That’s a tall order.”
“It’s a reasonable bargain. Take it or leave it.”
The referee looks to Blaine, then when he eventually receives a nod, he begins to call for bets. Suddenly, the murmurs around us erupt into blaring noise as everyone rushes to get a piece of the action.
“I suppose it would be un-gentlemanly of me to refuse your bargain,” Blaine acquiesces with a wink. “Though I doubt laying you out would win me any brownie points either.”
Stretching my legs, I can’t hold back a laugh. “What makes you think I’d let you?”
Blaine shrugs, rolling his lip piercing with his tongue. “I’ve never lost.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything. I’m going to enjoy ripping that inflated ego out of you by your throat.”
Lips parting on a chuckle, he halts in front of me. He’s close enough for the scent of peppercorns and bergamot to waft from his exposed skin and tickle my awareness.
Unlike Axel, Blaine isn’t completely covered in tattoos. There are a few odd pieces dotted here and there—a feathery pair of angel wings dipping into his jeans, a geometric design above his left pec, scrawling text along his ribcage.
The urge to trace each intricate piece with my fingertips overwhelms me. It’s quickly followed by a burst of irritation. This man threw me out of a van and abandoned me.
I’m not interested in him.
I just want his intel.
“This suits you.”
“Fighting in a dirty warehouse?” I spread my feet in preparation. “Gee. Thanks.”
“Standing by my side,” Blaine corrects. “Surrounded by my people. In my territory.”
“Cute.”
Mouth now curled in a grin, he shamelessly looks me up and down. “You want to arrange that second date now?”
“Depends on the outcome of the first,” I throw his words back at him. “And since this is a street fight… rules don’t apply, right?”
Ignoring the bets being placed around us, I lunge at him to strike the first blow before the match has begun. Fuck the rules. I’ve had enough of cocky, self-entitled men… Even when they have a body like his.