Scorched Hearts (The MacTavish Heirs #6)

Prologue

Wallace…

Twelve years ago…

“I hope Martina and Leo are there!”

We’re stopped at a red light as a trolley lumbers past us and my little sister Isobel is bouncing from one end of the backseat to the other, climbing over me and managing to knee me in the crotch. Wincing, I angle away from her as my mother sends me an apologetic smile.

“Isobel, honey, come over here and put your seatbelt back on. Your cousins will be there. No more climbing on your brother, aye?”

We’re on our way to yet another one of my family’s fundraisers, so Isobel is a wee princess in a fluffy taffeta dress, and I’m itching in the custom-made tuxedo my mother insisted on ordering for me.

It’s not my fault I keep outgrowing my suits. My father’s ridiculously tall. Now that I’m sixteen, it looks like I’ll be even taller than him after this latest growth spurt.

Mum’s checking her messages and smiling in that misty way that makes it clear Dad’s sending her one of his gross, over the top texts. I once read one over my mother’s shoulder and was punished by never being able to forget what I’d seen. Never. And I’ve tried.

“Your father’s going to meet us at the hotel,” Mum says, rapidly tapping out a message. “We’ll skip the front door nonsense, I dinnae want to put ye thr-”

The truck hits us at full speed.

Our heavily armored Bentley SUV shudders violently, going up on two wheels before landing back down heavily. The bulletproof glass bulges and shatters outward from the force of the hit and as I see the bright, searing light, I think it’s the truck’s headlights.

Until the heat.

Wildly kicking at Mum’s door, I get it open as a bodyguard yanks it free from the other side, pulling her out. She’s screaming wildly, Mum is, reaching for us, eyes wide with terror.

My arm’s on fire.

Isobel, oh fuck Isobel had moved again she’s next to the shattered window. The flames shot through and hit me first but there’s a trickle of flame scorching her dress, gathering speed and-

Another firebomb tears through the driver’s window, greedy fingers of flame reaching over the seat to her. I grab Isobel, wrap my arms around her, snuff out the flames on her fancy dress, curling my body around her and pushing toward the open door.

Another blast of heat. Agonizing. I swear I hear the flames make a purring sound as they burn through my jacket and into my skin. I’m shoving with my feet, my knees, pushing across the melting leather with Isobel in my arms.

Get her out.

She’s so quiet.

Is she dead?

“Isobel!” I roar into her soot-stained face, laying her on the sidewalk behind a hedge.

Her big, blue eyes open wide and she wails, tiny arms reaching up at me as a heavy weight thuds across my back, sending shards of agony through me.

It’s Mum. She’s hitting me, slapping violently at my melting tux and I realize she’s putting me out. I’m on fire.

Bullets bounce off the concrete and two of our men rush to cover us. I hear the fire behind us, consuming our car, whispering secrets I don’t understand.

Then, the pain. Agony searing through me.

Am I still on fire-

Everywhere, it’s everywhere-

Gnawing on my skin-

I scream like a baby before falling gratefully into the dark.