I needed a target.
Anything to kill this quiet.
Instead, I was stuck with the endless hum of waiting, the sick twist of withdrawal not from fire, but fromhim. From the chaos in my head that stilledwhen I was on my knees, the pull of him when he was angry and real and too fucking close.
I woke early. Not that I’d really slept. Rio returned from wherever he’d been sometime after four, probably another fight at The Pit. I caught the low thud of boots kicked off and then… the unmistakable rhythm of sex. Loud. Fast. His partner begging, thecrackof a hand on skin, Rio groaning, the headboard hitting the wall, and I lay there with my heart in my throat, shame crawling hot under my skin. At least someone here knew how to get what they needed. A door slammed. Mocking laughter. More shouting. Silence.
I gave up trying to sleep after that.
By five-thirty, I’d dressed in the half-dark—sweats, hoodie, lighter in my pocket like a comfort blanket—and slipped out. The streets were quiet, the sky still that subdued purple before dawn. I walked the long way to Redcars, a circular route past warehouse blocks and down side alleys where shadows pooled thickly.
I didn’t expect anyone to be awake when I got there. I was half-hoping I’d be alone. I entered the code and opened the side entrance, wincing at the creak. My footsteps echoed on the concrete floor. Dim light seeped under the office door, but the mainbay was empty—no Logan, Enzo, or Robbie. Just me and the thick smell of oil and old rubber.
I drifted toward the kitchen, tried to start the coffee maker, and cursed when it hissed at me, but finally, I had a coffee and a purpose. I wanted to be out there doing something. I even had a new property tied to Lassiter that I could go out and watch.
Not to burn.
I need to burn.
But we were on killing pause and not to touch anyone. I fucking hated it. Who were Killian and Rio to tell me what to do?
“Couldn’t sleep?” Robbie murmured from behind me, his voice barely more than a breath. I spun, coffee sloshing over my hand. He flinched at the sudden movement, but didn’t retreat. I didn’t scare him. That was something. Maybe the only good thing.
“Robbie?” I asked, keeping my voice low. “Where’s Enzo?”
“Upstairs. We stayed over.” His words were slow, as though they weighed something. “I needed to…”
He shrugged and went to the fridge and pulled out a tray of cooled cookie dough rounds. His hands trembled as he set them on the counter. He looked pale in the dim light, eyes shadowed with deep purple smudges, as if he hadn’t slept. As if he’d been crying.
Last night must’ve been bad. Bad enough to come back to Redcars, bad enough to bake. He slid the tray into the oven and stepped back without another word.
“Did your favorites,” he said, curling into the nearest chair, legs pulled up tight to his chest. He looked small like that. Lost. His hair was mussed, his sleeves too long, and his gaze fixed on nothing. Vulnerable. Sad.
The air smelled like brown sugar and cinnamon, warm in the stillness.
I saw it when I was about to turn away to give him space.
“Robbie… you want to talk?” The words came out stiff, awkward, and too loud in the quiet kitchen. I rubbed at the back of my neck, glancing anywhere but at him. “Or… I dunno. I could sit here and not say anything. Whatever you need.”
He didn’t look up, but his shoulders hunched and began to shake as he cried, breaking my heart, and I froze, unsure of what to do with the sharp twist in my chest. I was useless when Robbie still had terrors in his sleep and it fucking hurt—worse than anything I could set alight. The helplessness and stillness crawled under my skin like an itch I couldn’t scratch. My temper sat just beneath the surface, fizzing likethe hiss of gas before the flare. I wanted to burn something to feel in control again.
“Robbie? Talk to me.”
He flinched but didn’t look up at me as he wiped his face with his sleeve, smearing a streak of flour across his cheek. “I’m okay.”
He wasn’t. Anyone could see that. I watched him, trying to ignore the hollow ache tightening its grip because I needed to fix it all. I wanted to protect Robbie and tear apart whatever nightmare still clung to him. I tried to find the people who’d done this and make them afraid. Burn down the shadows. Dismantle every fucked-up thing that hurt the people I cared about. I needed to do something. To hand out justice with my own hands, judge the guilty, and be the fire that kept my family safe. I wanted to erase the fear from Robbie’s eyes, remove the weight on his chest, give him even a single night, without waking up scared.
But I couldn’t. I wasn’t fucking allowed. And that helplessness? It made me want to explode.
“Why do you love fire so much?” Robbie’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the silence like a blade.
I didn’t answer at first. I wasn’t sure I could. But he waited.
“Because she doesn’t lie,” I said, voice low, raw. “She takes what you give her, no more, no less. You show her weakness, she devours it. But if you treat her right and understand her—she’s beautiful. Powerful. Pure.”
He frowned, watching me too closely. “You talk about it like it’s alive. Like a woman.”
“She is,” I whispered. “To me. She’s the only thing that ever made sense.” Or was she? Killian silenced the craving when he beat my ass, and fucked me to orgasm, then cradled my face in his hands and asked me if I was okay. Seemed like fire had a rival in my affections.
