11. Kane
Chapter 11
Kane
I should leave. Get in my truck, drive home, and put as much space between me and Grace as humanly possible.
But I don’t.
Instead, I turn around and walk right back into Hooplas because I’m an idiot. Because I like to push boundaries. Because every time I get near her, I get this sick kind of thrill watching her try—and fail—to ignore whatever the hell is between us.
The bar is still packed, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the space, but my focus narrows the second I step inside. My jaw is tight, my muscles coiled like I just walked out of a fight, and in a way, I did. A fight I lost, because Grace is still in my goddamn head, and I can’t shake her.
I stalk toward the bar, signaling for another drink I don’t need, my thoughts tangled in the way she can walk away from me, chin high, back straight, all fucking grace and confidence. She always looks like she has the upper hand, even when I know she’s seconds from throwing something at me.
I should hate it .
I don’t.
She’s a fucking knockout, and she doesn’t even try. Every move, every glance, every sharp, biting word out of her mouth is laced with something that keeps me coming back for more. She’s not soft, not easy, but that’s what makes her impossible to ignore.
The bartender slides my drink over, and I toss back a sip, rolling my shoulders as if I can shake off this restless energy riding me hard.
I shouldn’t be thinking about the way her dress hugged her curves tonight. Or the way her hair slipped loose from that too-perfect knot on the nape of her neck, a few dark strands teasing against her throat, making my fingers itch to brush them aside.
Shouldn’t be thinking about the way she looked up at me when I leaned in just a little too close. How her breath hitched—so quick, so quiet, like she didn’t want me to notice. But I did. Fuck, I always do.
And then there’s the way she looked when I told her she was going to find love. Real love. The kind that lasts.
The way she flinched.
Like I’d peeled back something raw, something buried so deep even she didn’t know it was there.
And then she walked away.
I let her go.
I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling hard, because I have no business chasing her. But damn. I’ve fought wildfires less dangerous than the thing sparking between us, and yet, I keep getting closer, keep daring the flames to burn me down.
A laugh breaks through my thoughts, sharp and familiar.
Hudson.
I glance over my shoulder, spotting him at a corner booth with Jax and a couple other guys from the station. He waves me over, and I take my time crossing the room, still feeling the weight of Grace’s absence in my chest like she stole the oxygen from the place when she left.
I drop into the seat across from him, resting my elbow on the table as he eyes me knowingly.
“You look like you got hit by a truck,” Hudson remarks, smirking. “Let me guess—Grace?”
I grunt, tipping my drink back again, because there’s no point in lying. “What gave it away?”
Hudson chuckles. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the way you keep looking at the door like you expect her to walk back in here just so you can argue with her some more.”
Jax snorts, shaking his head. “You two have some of the weirdest foreplay I’ve ever seen.”
“Not foreplay,” I snap, too fast.
Hudson just raises an eyebrow, looking entirely too amused. “No?”
I grit my teeth. “No.”
Jax leans back, stretching an arm over the booth. “You sure? Because of the way you talk to each other? That’s not normal, man. That’s the kind of heat that burns.”
Like I don’t fucking know that already.
I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders like I can physically shake the tension off. “Doesn’t matter. She hates me.”
Hudson grins. “And yet, she keeps coming back for more.”
I don’t have a response to that.
Because he’s not wrong.
Hudson and Jax are still smirking at me like they know something I don’t, which is fucking annoying, but I let it slide because I’m too wrapped up in my own bullshit.
I take another drink, slow this time, trying to drown out the way my skin still burns from being near Grace.
It should be easy. It should be simple. But nothing about her is either of those things.
The guys are talking about something—probably Hudson’s wedding again—but my focus is on the glass in my hand, watching the condensation bead along the rim like it might give me answers to questions I don’t even want to ask.
Then Chance slides into the booth, dropping a thick file onto the table with a thud.
“Alright, Mitchell,” he says, yanking me out of my own damn head. “Enough daydreaming about whatever—or whoever—has you so worked up. We need to talk.”
I glance at the file, instantly shifting gears.
“Tell me you’ve got something,” I say, setting my drink down.
Chance exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Not much, but it’s something.” He flips the folder open, revealing grainy security cam stills and a timeline of fire reports. “Moe’s statement checked out. There was a man lurking near the Cedar Grove warehouse before the fire started. No clear shots of his face, but he fits the description—tall, dark jacket, cap pulled low.”
My jaw tightens. “And he stuck around to watch it burn.”
Chance nods. “Yeah. And that’s not all.” He pulls out another report, sliding it toward me. “Got this from an ATF contact. Two months ago, a fire broke out in a residential neighborhood up in Jacksonville. Same pattern. No forced entry. No clear ignition source. It burned hot, fast, and precise.”
I scan the page, my gut twisting. “And?”
Chance taps the report. “And we’ve got a connection. The owner of that house in Jacksonville? I used to work for a real estate developer out of Miami. Guess who owns the Cedar Grove warehouse?”
Hudson leans in, frowning. “Same developer?”
Chance nods.
“Fuck,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair. “That’s not random. That’s targeted. ”
“Exactly,” Chance agrees. “Which means this guy isn’t just some pyro looking for a thrill. He’s methodical. Deliberate. He’s got a reason to be doing this shit.”
I exhale hard, my mind spinning through the implications. “And he’s getting bolder. Started with a yacht, then an empty house, then a warehouse. Next, it’s going to be something bigger. A bigger target, more people.”
Chance’s expression darkens. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
Hudson crosses his arms, nodding toward the file. “What’s our next move?”
I flip through the reports again, my pulse picking up as pieces start clicking into place. “We need to get ahead of him. If we know his pattern, we can predict his next target.”
Chance blows out a breath, shaking his head. “Easier said than done. There’s no obvious connection between the victims besides the developer and I can’t find any reason for the other random fires he’s creating.”
I smirk, tapping my fingers against the table. “Which means we’re missing something. He’s got a reason, which means there’s a thread tying all this shit together—we just have to find it.”
Hudson glances between me and Chance, his gaze steady. “Then let’s find it.”
I nod, my focus shifting from the lingering fire Grace left in my veins to the very real one waiting to burn through this town.
This guy thinks he’s untouchable.
He’s about to learn otherwise.
I step out of Hooplas, the heavy night air sticking to my skin like a warning.
The investigation is eating at me. The arsonist isn’t just setting fires—he’s hunting, and we’re still playing catch-up. But right now? My head isn’t on the case. Not entirely .
No, my head is on her.
On Gracie.
Fuck.
I scrub a hand down my face as I cross the lot toward my truck, but it does nothing to clear her from my mind. She’s everywhere. The way she tilts her chin up when she’s pissed. The way she rolls her eyes, like I’m the biggest pain in her ass. The way she fucking laughs—like she doesn’t want to but can’t help herself.
And the way she looked at me tonight? Yeah, that’s staying with me, too.
Like she didn’t know if she wanted to shove me or kiss me.
Like maybe she feels this thing between us, too.
I yank my truck door open, gripping the frame hard enough to feel it in my bones. I shouldn’t want her this much. Shouldn’t crave the way we fight; the way we push each other to the brink.
But I do.
I’m not just drawn to her. I’m obsessed.
And now I know why.
Because I’m in love with her.
I drop into the driver’s seat, my pulse hammering, my breath coming sharp. It’s not just lust, not just a game I want to win. It’s her. The way she challenges me; the way she sees right through me. The way she makes me feel alive in a way I haven’t in years.
I’ve fallen in love with Grace.
And I have no fucking idea what to do about it.
I grip the wheel, staring out at the darkened lot, every excuse I’ve ever made unraveling in my head. She’s complicated. Difficult. She’ll fight me every step of the way.
But so what?
So will I.
And maybe that’s the point. Maybe we’re not meant to be easy. Maybe we’re meant to burn.
I exhale, my decision settling in my gut like steel.
No more holding back.
No more fighting it.
No more pretending I don’t want her, need her, love her.
I’m done running.
It’s time to go after Grace.
And this time? I’m not letting her push me away.