Chapter Nine
Max
Ember’s already awake when I return from the car. Eyes droopy, looking slightly dazed, but half-conscious.
My brows pull together. Does she ever sleep? It seems like she subsists on rage and fear alone.
Twenty-three-year-old Ember is a sharp, shocking contrast to the girl she was. Still whip-smart with an even smarter mouth, but she used to be quiet. A little shy. Occasionally withdrawn.
There’s nothing shy about her anymore—at least, not in the ways she once was. She doesn’t mince words. Doesn’t care about cursing up a storm. Doesn’t seem to care about anything aside from getting back to Dagon.
“Morning, sunshine,” I say brightly, dropping the duffle on the foot of the bed.
“Now, you passed up a shower—true shame, I’d have loved to watch you soap yourself up—but you will get an option regarding tonight’s sleeping arrangements.
” I check my watch. It’s nearly 5a.m—it’ll be dawn soon, and I don’t want to be back on the road before 10p.m. “I can either knock you out with a sedative, or you can sleep like you are.” I grin.
“With those lethal hands tied to the headboard.”
“Didn’t you say something about punishing me?” she asks groggily, blinking. “Or are you only capable of empty threats?”
“I always follow through on my threats, Flame. I’m a lot of bad shit, but I’m still a man of my word. That much hasn’t changed.”
“Your word.” She scoffs. “An assassin’s word.”
“Not worth much in theory, but worth quite a bit in practice. At least when it comes to me.” I jerk my chin at her. “I’ll sort out your punishment when I’m not fucking exhausted.”
“When will that be?” her eyes sharpen. “Where are you taking me?”
“Home,” I say simply. I could tell her about the Nighthawks, but I think dumping all the information on her would give her an excellent reason to kill me, and considering what she managed with a plastic toothbrush and a shower curtain, I’m not eager to get in another fight with her.
“I don’t think there’d be room for me in whatever hole you crawled out of,” she remarks.
I don’t rise to the bait by revealing anything. “Sedative, or the good ol’ natural way?” I ask.
“No drugs,” she hisses. I waver. There’s a story behind that—one I’d like to pry out of her, but now’s not the time. I’ve barely slept for the last three days; I need a good sleep as much as she does, after all the fighting and exertion.
“Alright. Rules for avoiding the needle are simple. If you try to escape, I drug you. If you scream, I drug you. Basically, if you do anything but sleep, I’ll drug you.
” My smile falls. “I might not look it, but I’m exhausted and fucking pissed, Ember.
It’d be in your best interest to avoid pissing me off further. ”
Her lips seal, she gives me a careful up and down, appraising me, before offering me a small nod of agreement. I hope to fuck that means she’ll let up, at least for now.
“Quick question.” I point at her. “How come Dagon didn’t install a tracker in you if he’s so desperate to have you by his side? If he intends to make you his fiancée?”
“Do we need to do a Q this girl is going to be so much fun to tame. I’m having a hard time staying mad at her, even though she tried to kill me less than an hour ago.
“Two reasons. First of all, I checked you while you were unconscious—I have a scanner for microchips and tracking devices. Second, if he had one in you, I assume he’d have already come for you.
At least, considering how… possessive he sounded over you.
” My gaze locks on her bare ring finger.
I think I would like to see a diamond there, but not one that belongs to Dagon.
“He didn’t put a tracker on me because he knows I’ll always come back to him.” Her jaw tightens, and once again, her eyes flash with anger.
There’s no doubt in my mind that Ember despises Dagon, yet she’s in quite the hurry to return to him. “What does he have on you?” I ask for the second time.
It’s not the life of her father; he died from liver failure a few years ago, not long after Ember dropped off the face of the earth. Before I could get the answers I needed from him.
She turns her head away. I let the topic lie, for now.
“Do you like to be the big spoon or little spoon?”
“If you touch me, I will bite out your fucking jugular,” she says flatly.
“Kinky. I like it.” It would probably be safest to knock her out… if I leave her awake, she’ll doubtlessly try some shit.
Which will give me an excellent reason to think up a phenomenally creative punishment for her once we get back to the Nighthawks’ fortress.
“I’ll be the big spoon,” I decide. Frankly, the idea of holding her until she falls asleep is mouthwatering. There was a time where I assumed Ember would be the only woman I ever held, all night every night.
Unfortunately, I never got to enact that fantasy before my world shattered, and the one person I always thought I could depend on vanished.
“Are we clear on the rules?” I ask her, stripping off my pants. She pointedly averts her gaze, looking at the wallpaper as if it holds the answer to all of life’s problems.
“Ember,” I prompt when she doesn’t respond.
She licks her lips, cheeks painting a lovely red color. “Yes.”
I don’t know if she realizes just how breathy the word sounds. Or how utterly fucked I am—and not in the way I want to be.
My lifelong fantasy is mostly naked and bound on a bed in front of me. This is the start to so many fun scenes… except I can’t engage in them. At least for now, I have to keep my cool.
Tomorrow night, we’ll get to the fortress, safe and sound. Then, I can focus on my new objective.
First: fucking Ember until she forgets that she wants to escape.
Second: killing Dagon as slowly and painfully as possible.
I slip into bed beside her. Her breath hitches, and her breasts rise up.
While I’d love to take this opportunity to make her blush in places she didn’t even know she could blush in, I settle for flipping her onto the side, arranging pillows to take the pressure off her wrists, and sliding my hand over her flat belly.
She exhales a long, shuddering breath. With it, a noise escapes her—it takes me a moment to realize it’s a whimper.
Not one of fear, and not exactly one of arousal.
“Ember,” I say slowly, stroking my thumb over her skin. “You’re trembling, Flame.”
She audibly swallows. “I haven’t been touched in…” she trails off. “Not for anything that didn’t involve some measure of pain.”
My heart just about shatters in my chest. Ember was never the cuddliest person, but she was accustomed to physical touch. We hugged all the time. When I went through my man-bun phase, she delighted in braiding my hair.
Now, being spooned is enough to make her tremble. Not from fear, but from neglect.
I’ve fucked, cuddled, and chucked plenty of women in the last five years.
Well, cuddling was actually pretty rare, but it was always available.
Even after the destruction of my world, I lived my life.
Admittedly, I didn’t live it in the healthiest way—I became a fucking assassin, after all—but at least I got to experience it.
What has my Little Flame experienced that made her so…jaded? The brightness and vivacity that used to cling to her like a perfume is gone, replaced by suspicion and detachment.
I want my Ember back. And I’ll fucking find her. She’s still in this Ember’s chest, somewhere. I’ll dig deep until I’m able to retrieve her.
“Sleep, Flame,” I say quietly. I’ll figure out all the bullshit once we’re both better-rested.
I wake up in the evening, feeling rejuvenated. Ember’s still in my arms, her breathing slow and rhythmic, chest rising and falling.
She didn’t escape—didn’t even try to. If she had, I’d have felt it and woken up.
“You awake?” I murmur, voice thick with sleep.
“Yup.” Her voice has a noticeable edge to it. “If you’d care to unwind yourself from around me, I’d appreciate it. I’m not a stuffed animal, and you’re not five years old.”
I smile sleepily.
“You’re right.” I yawn. “After all, I wouldn’t want to fuck a stuffed animal. I have my kinks, but that isn’t one of them.”
She doesn’t respond to that, and it’s just as well.
I unwind myself from around her and stand, heading to the bathroom so I can brush my teeth and assess the damage on my body.
Ember is good, and she got some serious hits in before I managed to subdue her.
My nose is swollen, and both my undereye bags have turned a dark color.
My cheekbone is an angry red, and the stab on my shoulder looks a few beats away from a nasty infection.
I sigh, retrieve the duffel from the bedroom, and set to work patching myself up.
I keep the bathroom door open so I can have eyes on Ember through the mirror, but she doesn’t move much.
Either she’s given up on the idea of escape, or she’s planning something.
I hope, for her sake, it’s the former. But considering the last 24 hours, it’s probably the latter.
After my nose has been relocated, my shoulder’s cleaned and patched, the claw marks on the side of my face have been disinfected, and I’ve checked the bruises on my body from the shootout, I return to the bedroom.
Ember’s still on her side. I flip her to her back, brows touching when I get a look at her face.
Her eyes are bloodshot—the bags beneath them are large enough to house an entire city—and her features are sunken.
The fuck?
“Were you crying?” I ask.
She lets out a derisive scoff. “Please. I haven’t cried for years.”
I blink slowly. “You look like shit.”
“You really know how to worm your way into a gal’s heart.”