1. Ember
EMBER
STARING AT THE SUN – TV ON THE RADIO
PRESENT DAY
Punch.
The boxing bag swings from the impact of my strike.
Punch.
Fire races over my bare, busted knuckles.
Punch.
My muscles clench, twitching in clear warning.
Punch.
Life was easier when I didn’t care. When I didn’t feel at all. When the only person’s survival I had to worry about was my own. While I wasn’t alive for those six long years, it was easier to struggle alone.
My sole priority was ensuring my next breath. Existing in a constant state of fight-or-flight for so long will do that to you. All I cared about was surviving another day.
After all, I had no option for flight; all I could do to guarantee my survival was comply. In all the violence, constant fighting, injuries, training, punishments and scars… I learned to prioritise the small things.
A successful breath. My next meal. Keeping stitches dry and wounds clean. Helping Gael’s other captives whenever possible. I could somewhat control those things.
But now… I can’t control anything.
Least of all what happens to my brother.
It’s already been one torturous week since Tom was taken, and a full twenty-four hours since Luis made contact to demand a full surrender in exchange for his life. I can still hear his smug words.
When you’re ready to accept my terms, call this number. No tricks, no games. Leave Sabre Security out of this, and your brother will live.
Frankly, I was ready to hand myself over.
“Fuck Warner and his stupid fucking investigation,” I hiss angrily. “Fuck Hyland. Fuck Axel. Fuck the directors. Fuck Doctor Richards. Fuck Blaine. Fuck them all!”
Every single one of them is responsible for my current predicament. Because they demanded my trust. My patience. The promise that I wouldn’t do anything reckless before we locate Tom.
Delivering each blow in fast succession, thoughts of what horrors my brother could be suffering through taunt me. I know how sharp those whips bite. The way skin shreds and weeps with blood. How every strike chips away at your hope and faith.
Dark memories hit hard and fast like rapid gunfire, each bullet slashing deep into my traumatised brain tissue and disturbing ghosts I’ve tried to keep buried. Only now, the image of Tom locked in a cage haunts me instead of my own wails.
“Fuck!” I growl out.
Punch. Kick.
“Goddamn Luis!”
Kick. Kick. Punch.
“I’ll kill you for this!”
Punch. Kick. Punch.
No matter how many times I assault the swinging bag until my knuckles split and muscles screech in warning, the fear refuses to shift. Jagged, ice-cold tendrils have already made their home, curled around my skeleton.
They asked me to trust them, but at what cost?
I’m failing again.
First Gracie. I failed her. I couldn’t keep her safe. I abandoned her, despite what anyone says otherwise. And I’ve failed to find her in the months that I’ve been free from Gael. According to Luis, she’s already dead.
Now… Tom.
Do I have to lose him too?
All my life, it feels like I’ve danced a non-consensual tango with death. First, it was our mother—the death that I don’t allow myself to dwell on. But it made me who I am. At least until I was taken. Then death became a daily occurrence, and I forged myself in those icy fires.
One more day.
That’s all I’m giving them. One day then I’ll go. I don’t care if I have to cut them all down to escape this damn building and make contact with Luis. I’ll surrender. I’ll be the bait. I’ll do anything.
I won’t lose anyone else.
At the feeling of warmth trickling from my knuckles down my jelly-like arms, I let my knees collapse. Crumpling on the hard floor of the training room, bone-deep pain and exhaustion set in fast.
I’ve been beating the shit out of the punching bag for almost three hours, pushing past every last physical and mental limitation I encounter. Never once acknowledging the warning signs of an attack blaring like a red flag to a bull.
Knees folding to curl up into my chest, I hug my trembling legs tight, waiting for the dizziness to subside. Despite taking my new medication, I can feel a blackout hovering on the precipice. All the signs are there.
Disgusted with myself, I unlace my arms then attempt to wrestle myself upright. The room tips and sways, eaten by spilled ink blots. Blinking rapidly does little to alleviate the intense vertigo.
I’m forced to press my forehead into the floor to halt the freefall. My vision dips in and out as a swarm of vicious hornets drown out my hearing, filling my skull with static. The whole world is spinning out of control.
HELP.
Four letters. One word. It should be easy to ask for it. Yet if I could open my lungs long enough to scream the word, I doubt I’d have the courage to. Not when my suffering is justified. If Tom is in pain, then I should be too.
I was selfish to let Blaine free me. I was selfish to let Tom take me in. I was selfish for ever thinking that Gael would let me escape without a fight. And now I’m being selfish by denying Luis’s demands and trusting the team.
The harder I fight to stand, the more my body sags. Battling scenarios worsen my steadily splitting skull, the fatigue and nausea worsening to an extreme peak. Tom dead. Tom alive. Tom imprisoned. Tom tortured. Each scene adds to my spiralling meltdown.
I’m pathetic. I can’t even help myself, let alone him. How can I ever expect to save Tom’s life and make Gael pay when I can’t scrape myself off the fucking floor?
What feels like an agonising eternity later, doors slam open, and footsteps stomp into the large training room. The thunderclaps rouse me from a semi-conscious daze, forcing air back into my chest.
“Ember? You in here?”
The steps circle around then suddenly halt.
“Shit. Ember!”
My hand lifts to wave weakly. “I’m f-fine.”
“Bloody hell.”
Thick rubber soles squeak against the training room’s wipe-clean floor.
“How long have you been like this?”
“I… d-don’t know.”
“Fuck, red.”
Hyland’s gravelly baritone betrays his concern. But if I didn’t recognise his deep voice, then his huge legs, ever-present army boots, black cargos and bulging calf muscles would be a dead giveaway.
A calloused hand wraps around the back of my neck beneath my sweat-soaked braid, squeezing lightly. His touch is electric for all the wrong reasons, causing my skin to tighten and prickle with forbidden desire.
“Are you with me?”
“I’m not sure,” I pant out.
A low huff spells out his frustration. Well, same. We’re all frustrated.
“Deep breaths.” Hyland gently massages me. “And tell me what happened.”
“Dizzy… working out.”
“Let me guess. You pushed yourself too hard again.”
My lungs rapidly fill and empty with each heaved breath. “No.”
“Sounds like bullshit to me.”
“F-Fuck off.” I drink in another breath.
“Otherwise you wouldn’t be nearly unconscious on the floor.”
“Maybe it l-looked comfortable!”
“Sure,” he drawls disbelievingly.
It’s not the first lecture he’s given me. He was quick to shut down any plans I had to surrender. That particular argument rumbled on for several hours. Despite being the definition of protective, Hyland is a hot and cold grump with a huge chip on his shoulder.
When his hand moves from my neck to trace down my back, a shiver sweeps over my still-shaking frame. I feel Hyland move to cup both my hips as he guides me upright then backwards into his wide chest.
My spine presses against each firm, carved inch of his massive torso. He’s a solid presence in every sense. Huge and intimidating but obsessively protective in all his fury.
Beneath his gruff facade and huge limbs, Hyland also harbours a gentle heart. One forged from heartbreak. He loves unbelievably hard but only shows it to those he deems worthy of his time.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “Let me help. You’re bleeding.”
Vision swimming, I force my voice box to work. “I am?”
“Busted your knuckles. Dammit, Ember.”
“Oh… Yes.” I wince in realisation. “Got lost in my head. I’m alright.”
“Beating a bag bloody is far from alright.”
“You told me to be patient. This is how I’m doing it.”
“By hurting yourself?” Judgement pours from him.
“It doesn’t hurt,” I try to justify. “And I don’t need your help.”
“Are we still having this argument?”
Letting myself slump into him, I secretly enjoy the fresh scent of a salty sea breeze that slips over me. My body works against me by relaxing into the sense of solidity his immense size provides.
Seeming to read my silent defeat, Hyland spreads his trunk-like legs on either side of me to plant his butt on the floor. Rock- hard steel cinches around me as his arms encircle my frame, holding my back to his chest.
“Fine. Just for a minute.”
“Just a minute,” he repeats softly. “I’ve got you.”
Still overwhelmed by sickening vertigo, the sense of grounding that his weight provides tethers me to reality. I grab hold of the feeling, needing to find a safe landing spot before I pass out or throw up.
“Why weren’t you wearing wraps?” His accusation flies like tossed acid.
“I don’t know.”
“Christ. What were you thinking?”
“It was just a dumb mistake.”
“You can’t afford to be so careless,” he lectures with impassioned authority. “Not now, not ever.”
Ignoring his scolding, I focus on his body heat pouring into me.
“You feel good.” The traitorous admission escapes before I can swallow it.
“Me?” Hyland whispers.
“Mmm.”
“Just take some breaths for me, red.” Feeling his torso expand with a breath, he seems to amend his stern tone. “We need to get your heart rate down. I’ll take you to the hospital if I have to.”
“I’m—”
“Don’t even say it,” he cuts me off. “You are so incredibly not fine right now. Hell, none of us are.”
“You’re right.”
“Well that’s a first.” Hyland snorts.
“Don’t get used to it.”
Head rotating, my cheek presses against the over-washed softness of his standard-issue, black t-shirt, allowing me to look up at him. His mouthwatering scent intensifies, like his wild essence is baked into the fabric.