17. Ember
EMBER
LITHONIA - CHILDISH GAMBINO
Leaving Richards’s beloved therapy room, my usual blend of rage and annoyance hasn’t surfaced. In fact, I feel a little lighter. Like I’ve shed a sack of rocks and let it fall to the depths of the ocean below me so I can kick my way to the surface a little easier.
I’m not sure I’ll ever love talking to the guy, but I can appreciate an outlet that isn’t one of my teammates or somehow wrapped up in our case. Hearing Richards’s appreciation for my work with Gunnar doesn’t hurt either. Apparently, he was impressed by how I held my nerve and remained calm.
I allow myself a smug little smile while heading for the elevator that’ll take me to the gym.
Blaine rode with me into HQ so Hyland could take Axel for his next checkup, leaving Warner to get some more rest. After recent revelations, Blaine seemed content to be left with a boxing bag and his bottomless rage while I spoke to the doc.
Sabre’s vast workout and training space hasn’t changed since I sparred down here with Warner, and he pinned me to the floor of the boxing ring. It feels like a lifetime ago. The hot memories tickle my mind as I slip in undetected, following the sound of aggressive grunting.
“Have you been here this whole time?” I say in greeting.
Viciously attacking a swinging leather bag, Blaine doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes.”
“I feel sorry for that punching bag.”
“You should pity its predecessor.”
Brows raising, I pan around to spot where a busted heap sits discarded, torn from its hook. “Damn. How’d you manage that?”
“It looked at me the wrong way.”
I’m not sure if he’s joking or not. From the stony set of his jaw and the icy look that’s crept over his face, I doubt he’s trying to be amusing. I suppose I should be glad it’s an inanimate object and not a person on the ground.
“Have you turned up any intel about Angela?” I dare to vocalise the question that’s been niggling at me.
Scar-laden fist cocked, it sails into the bag. Once. Twice. The third time sends the battered leather swinging at such a violent angle, it’s a miracle the chain doesn’t snap clean off from its place in the ceiling.
“Spoke to a couple of old timers still loyal to me.” Halting, Blaine snatches a rag from the floor to wipe his brow. “They recognised the rendered image. It’s her.”
Seismic shocks rattle through my skeleton.
“How is this even possible?”
“I don’t know.” He speaks through clenched teeth, his pitch dropping to a rumble that vibrates with suppressed rage. “From what I knew, she was sent packing over two decades ago then died. All my father wanted was an heir.”
“That’s a long time to survive in the cartel’s world.”
“But she managed it.” Blaine grimaces at whatever thought invades his mind. “Fuck, I can’t even think about what’s been done to her in all that time.”
“From what Gracie told me… she’s protected.” I try to sound comforting. “It sounds like your father treats her as a madam more than an asset. She cares for the other girls.”
“And that’s better somehow?”
“No, but it’s something. Maybe that’s how she survived.”
With the sweaty fabric discarded, Blaine resumes taking out his frustrations on the boxing bag. His knuckles are cracked and bleeding. He’s assaulting the thing like it’s personally responsible for withholding his mother all these years.
“I need to know if she fled Estonia with him.” The remark is made between breaths.
“I doubt he’d leave her behind if she’s that high value to him.”
“Then she could be here. Right now. In England.”
“It’s a possibility.”
Pangs of heartbreak race over my chest. I know what he’s thinking. The woman he’s fantasised about his entire life could easily be within reach. Only nothing about verifying that fact will be easy, let alone staging any attempt at a rescue.
I decide to risk moving closer, gliding a hand over his bunched shoulders. Somewhere in the flurry of anger, he’s removed his shirt. Gnarly burns and slashes tickle my finger pads. I’d do anything to repay the favour to his son of a bitch father sometime soon.
“We will do everything in our power to find her, Blaine. I swear it.”
His movements cease, chest shaking up and down. “It may already be too late.”
“Perhaps, but that doesn’t mean we won’t try.”
“I just… I need to know.” He clearly struggles to get the words out. “What’s she like? Where has she been? Did she ever… fuck… ever try to get back to me?”
I can’t take it for a second longer. Sweat and bloodthirst be damned. I wrap him up from behind, cheek pressed to his back muscles, arms pulling as tight as I can muster.
“You can’t keep torturing yourself.”
“I’ve had a long time to think about it.” His voice cracks, swelling with anguish. “I don’t even know what she sounds like.”
Unable to offer anything resembling comfort, it’s all I can do to hold him. Front to back. Skin on skin. Our heartbeats racing in mutual understanding. Blaine’s sweat sinks into my pores, and I willingly take his essence where I can stash it for safekeeping.
After a silent stretch, Blaine pulls at my linked hands, allowing him to turn in my embrace. I tilt my chin upward to meet his weighty stare, drilling into me with biblical resonance.
The kiss that lands on my mouth is heavy, passionate. Lips move like blunt instruments to tease out my obedience, one energetic peck at a time. Each brush inserts electrodes into my nerve cells and feeds pure adrenaline into the most primitive part of my brain.
I let myself open up, willingly taking the swipe of his thick tongue. Heat passes between us, a mutual need bubbling from beneath the surface like groundwater vying to escape its prison cell. Dammit, I need this man like I need air to breathe.
Our frenzied tangle is rudely interrupted by the trill of his phone ringing. With a grunt, Blaine reluctantly disentangles his limbs from mine. He stoops to retrieve the device from a pile near where the rag lays.
“Raye?”
The moment the line connects, Blaine’s entire posture transforms from loose and turned on into a ramrod of tension. Near-black inkiness creeps from his pupils into his irises, swallowing all residual colour.
“Slow down… I can’t hear you. Raye?”
Tinny echoes emanate from the speaker. It sounds a lot like yelling. At the faraway ring of pew, pew, pew, I feel panic start to creep in. Gunfire has an unmistakable sound.
“Raye! Answer me!”
A dial tone cuts off the call. I distantly register surprise that the phone hasn’t split or cracked in the sheer tightness of his grip. Blaine quickly redials, but there’s no response. It doesn’t even ring this time.
“The line’s dead,” he states frantically.
“Were they being attacked?”
“She could barely get a word out, but I know what I heard. We need to move. Now.”
“And go where?”
“They’re in a new location. I have to help them!”
Our hands join on instinct. United. I chase him from the gym to take the elevator upstairs, intent on locating my phone and weapon. Blaine’s foot soldiers may not be my favourite people, but Madden doesn’t get to hurt anyone else.
“We need reinforcements.” Blaine skids to a halt in the corridor. “I’m going to speak to the directors. Get ready and meet me on the helipad.”
“You think they’ll let us take the chopper?”
“We have to. The warehouse is too far to drive; we’ll never make it in time. Go!”
My footsteps hammering on the carpet mirror the uneven drum beat that fills my ears. I stashed my belongings in Warner’s office. There’s no time to call the others—a quick message to the team will have to suffice.
No one is going to be happy about a last minute rescue op in unknown territory. Yet that isn’t going to stop me from helping Blaine. Jabbing numbers into the keypad on the discreet closet behind the door, I rush towards Warner’s Kevlar and extra weapons stashed inside.
I quickly pull on and fasten the vest then holster two guns. My phone is screaming for attention on his desk. Grabbing it, I shove the screaming device into the utility pocket on my bulletproof vest without acknowledgement.
The ride to Sabre’s sprawling rooftop is brief but tension-filled. Thankfully, the company is agile. It moves fast in a crisis, and whatever Blaine has said clearly worked. The chopper is already whirring on the helipad, beating the frigid air with sprawling metal rotors.
“Ember!”
Over the loud noise, an unwelcome sight climbs from the cockpit.
“What are you doing here?” I shout at Gunnar.
He scans over my hastily applied protection. “Got summoned.”
“You’re coming with us?”
“All hands on deck, I hear.”
Now this is a scene Axel definitely won’t like. Something tells me his twin wouldn’t be top of the list for mission teammates. Particularly as he isn’t here to take part himself.
Skin prickling with uncertainty, I wave for Gunnar to resume his pre-flight checks. Before much longer, the doors to the skyscraper’s roof are thrown open to admit our backup.
Blaine moves in lockstep with Hudson, now dressed in all-black. It’s been a while since I’ve seen the director himself armed and ready for a fight. He looks equally lethal in military-style cargos and an array of stowed weaponry.
Behind them, two members of the Falcon Team follow—Archer and Kyle. Just enough to fill the chopper’s limited seating.
“Em, you should stay here.” Hudson trains an authoritative glare on me. “Your last seizure wasn’t long ago.”
“I’m coming and that’s final!” I bellow over the wind.
“I can’t have you getting hurt on my watch.”
Approaching the group, Gunnar nods in my direction. “I’ll cover her.”
I’m tempted to knock his head off his shoulders for making me sound weak, even if he is working in my favour. I don’t need covering. Least of all by him.
“Anything happens to her, you can answer to the three men blowing up my direct line,” Hudson growls at him.
“Is my brother one of them?” Gunnar grins wolfishly.
“Fuck off,” I snarl. “You know he is.”
“Just checking.”
“Enough! Let’s move!”