I took two steps at a time up the stairs when my mobile rang.
“Something came up. We’re already three hundred miles out,” a reluctant voice pulsed through the phone.
Dean.
“Were you found?” The Avery’s stayed low-key, survived off the minimum, and never lived in one place too long. He’d told me some story about their history, but at the time, I had to be either too drunk or exhausted to take it seriously.
“They killed him.”
“Who? One of your brothers?” I fell back into the couch. He had two brothers, Luke and Ash, and talked about them often. The three of them were close, and I envied their brotherly bond. If anything happened to one of his brothers there was no telling what Dean would do. Apart from murder. The Avery’s didn’t kill. He’d reminded me too many times to count.
“Our pops. Long fucking story. But I can’t help anymore. There’s shit I have to take care of. Luke’s on a mission of his own. Everything’s set up for you. Keys are in the office. Ask for Mandy. I left her with the bag.”
Fuck. Their dad. I leaned my elbows over my knees and brought my hand to my forehead to squeeze my temples. “I’m so sorry, mate.” I’d never met Dean’s dad, mum, or brothers, only him. But Dean and I were close. Friends were hard to come by for the two of us. He’d spent his life on the run with his family for reasons I couldn’t comprehend. Now his dad was dead, which only meant one thing. The other three were completely dependent on Dean’s direction. He had to step up for his family.
I waited until he was able to fight out more words. His silence screamed emotion. “Thanks, E.”
“Is there something I can do?”
“Nah, man. This is something you don’t want to get involved with. You can’t get involved with. You wouldn’t understand. But I appreciate it. I do.”
“There may come a time when you need someone to do your dirty work. Just ring, and I’ll be there.” I would. Just because they didn’t believe in taking matters into their own hands—just because they couldn’t kill for whatever reason—didn’t mean I couldn’t. I’d do it for him and for everything he’d done for me these last few years.
Dean chuckled through the phone, but it was empty and forced. “I’ll keep that in mind. Listen. Stay safe, E. I’ll give you a call when I can.”
“You too.” The call disconnected, and I spent the next few hours packing the car and scrubbing the house of evidence—of any indication Mia was here. Nothing to trace her back to me. By three in the morning, I slipped downstairs to find Mia exactly where I left her.
Her brown eyes were still open and gazing through the window into the night. I’d already tried talking to her. I’d tried to explain myself. She wouldn’t listen. I wanted to scream no one cared about her. I was the only fucking one. Everyone, her entire life, had done nothing but lie to her and toss her as if she was rubbish.
My clothes smelled of bleach. I stripped down to my boxers and laid in my spot beside her. She had to have been cold. The heater didn’t work down here. Whether she liked it or not, I pulled her on top of me inside my arms. She didn’t say anything or fight me on it. She obeyed like a puppet. My puppet. Which only made it harder not to please her the way I wanted to. A constant war against my head and my … well … head.
I could fuck her so easily and sleep even easier.
But I wouldn’t do that, not unless she wanted me to.
Swallowing the temptation, I kept my dick in my boxers and let my hands stray over her cold skin to warm her, up her thighs, over her arse, across her back. She’d never flinched, and each night I took it further, testing her, breaking her. One day she’d realize Masters had never cared about her, and until then, I’d remind her how much I did. I could make her feel good, ease her mind, and bring back the spark within her.
The struggle to breathe woke me as I fought for air. A cloud of smoke tumbled down the stairs and seeped into the room. My eyes burned. “Mia!” She wasn’t at my side. My pulse hammered in my chest. Coughing, I sat up to bright fiery lights bouncing against the walls from the top of the stairs. The smell of burning. Panic. “Mia!” I couldn’t get my pants on fast enough. No time for a shirt or shoes, but the heat from the fire was too much. I ran back for my shirt to cover my head and ran back up the stairs. There wasn’t time to think—to plan. The fire roared in the kitchen. Orange, red, and yellow flames danced over the stove and crawled up the wall, the curtain’s being eaten away by the rage of the heat. It was spreading fast. My burning eyes darted around the thick smoke. Mia was laying over the couch, bright white tee against the black fog with her eyes closed. An angel wrapped in hell. Had she lost her bloody mind?
The car keys were laying on top of the fridge. There was no way I could get to them. Thank God for a spare inside the car. It was all I needed.
I scooped up Mia and flung her over my shoulder.
“Stop it!” she screamed against the sound of the cabin burning down. “Let me go!” I hadn’t heard her voice in so long. In that moment, she had more fire in those five words than my childhood cabin. Her screams had the power to slice through the smoke as she fought against my tight grip. Each cry stole another breath I couldn’t afford. Another punch to the gut.
My knees hit the floor, and she fell from my arms.
Flames and smoke surrounded us, and I couldn’t see anymore.
Her cries turned into coughs, and both of us gasped for air, crawling across the wooden floors, searching for clean oxygen like deprived junkies.
Mia wanted to die—to burn both of us alive.
We were going to die.
“Shhh …” Ashlyn giggles. “My dad will hear us.”
“I want to see you again.” I’ve never been this real with anyone, this raw. Ashlyn has the power to make me say things I would typically never say out loud. She’s some sort of enchantress. “I like you. Like a lot. Already. Have I gone mad?”
It’s dark, and the single light buzzing above reveals the blush crawling up her neck. “Tomorrow,” she whispers, answering my first question. Her blush answered the second.
“Okay. Tomorrow.” We have tomorrow. We have this entire holiday.
“Goodnight, Ethan.” Ashlyn steps forward. It’s small but enough. She wants me to kiss her again. I smile because I can’t help it. Our first time was messy. I didn’t know what I was doing before. But this is my chance to make it right. I close the distance between us and pull the glove from my hand. My touch is warm against her cold cheek.
I don’t hesitate and lower my head and kiss her. The force causes her to take a step back, and I sneak my arm around her waist and pull her against me. Chest to chest. Heart to heart.
And this time, it’s perfect.
I WASN’T PERFECT.
I’d never claimed to be better than the next person. I’d made mistakes, continually throwing my own spanner in the works to save my arse when the time came. This was that time.
And suddenly, I was thankful for my grudge against Oscar.
Once Oscar had pinned the attempted murder of Brad on me, I’d stolen White Fox out from under him. The money, assets, accounts, I’d drained and hidden the cash in a secure location no one would be able to find or trace back to me—cash I had fully intended to give to Brad’s wife and two kids. Though their dad had a taste for prostitutes, preferably Mum, his family was innocent.