20. Blaze
BLAZE
The second Flick kissed me, every coherent thought in my head disappeared.
Gone.
Sixteen years vanished in one heartbeat.
Her hands caught the front of my shirt tightly like she was afraid I might disappear if she let go.
I kissed her back instantly.
No hesitation.
No restraint.
Because I had dreamed about this woman for half my damn life.
The kiss hit hard.
Not gentle nostalgia.
Not careful reunion.
Need.
Grief.
Relief.
All sixteen lost years crashing together at once.
Flick made the softest broken sound against my mouth, and that nearly wrecked me completely.
My hands slid carefully to her waist.
Holding.
Anchoring.
Like I needed proof she was real.
Thunder cracked outside the apartment windows.
Neither of us noticed.
Nothing existed except her.
Her mouth.
Her shaking breath.
The way she kissed me like she’d been starving too.
God.
I pulled back barely an inch just to breathe.
Forehead against hers.
Both of us wrecked already.
“Flick…”
Her eyes stayed closed.
Tears still clung to her lashes.
“I know,” she whispered shakily.
But I don’t think either of us did.
Not really.
Because this?
This was dangerous in ways the cartel wasn’t.
This could destroy what little control I had left around her.
I brushed my thumb softly beneath one of her tears.
“You sure about this?”
Her eyes opened slowly.
And hell?—
I felt the answer straight in my chest before she even spoke.
“I’ve been sure since I was sixteen.”
That almost dropped me.
My mouth crashed back into hers before I could stop myself.
Flick laughed softly against my lips through tears and emotion and too much history.
Then suddenly?—
BANG.
Both of us jerked apart instantly.
Ranger instincts detonated through me.
I turned automatically toward the apartment door.
Another bang echoed downstairs.
Not gunfire.
The front tavern door slammed open hard.
Voices erupted below.
Angry voices.
Male.
My body immediately shifted in front of Flick.
Protective.
Weapon already in my hand before conscious thought caught up.
Flick’s breathing turned sharp behind me.
“Hersh—”
“Stay back.”
Every soft thing vanished from me instantly.
Ranger now.
Movement thundered downstairs.
Heavy boots.
Furniture scraping.
Trigger’s voice exploded upward:
“DROP THE DAMN GUN!”
Adrenaline slammed through my bloodstream.
Flick grabbed my arm.
“Oh my God?—”
I moved fast toward the stairs weapon raised carefully as I listened.
Wolf shouted something.
A crash followed.
Then Tate roared:
“GET ON THE FLOOR!”
Silence hit suddenly afterward.
Hard silence.
The kind after violence.
Flick stood frozen behind me.
Fear all over her face again.
I hated that look already.
Then Trigger yelled upward:
“Blaze!”
Still alive.
Good.
“What?”
A pause.
Then:
“You better get down here.”
Wrong tone.
Not danger.
Shock.
My pulse immediately shifted.
I glanced back toward Flick once.
“You stay behind me.”
She nodded instantly this time.
No argument.
We moved downstairs carefully.
Weapon first.
Eyes scanning.
But the second I reached the bottom step?—
I stopped cold.
Because there was a man face-down on the tavern floor.
Bleeding.
Badly.
Wolf had a knee planted between his shoulders while Tate covered him with a shotgun.
Trigger stood nearby looking equal parts furious and stunned.
And Ava?
Ava had gone pale.
The man on the floor laughed weakly through blood.
Then slowly lifted his head.
My stomach dropped instantly.
Because I recognized him.
Former Deputy Marshal Eric Vaughn.
Missing six months.
Dirty as hell.
Corrupt.
And staring straight at Flick.
“You should’ve run farther,” he rasped.
Flick made a shattered sound behind me.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Pure horror.
Because she knew him too.