We all carried something dark. Enzo found his purpose in the obsessive protection of the man heloved. Rio fought his temper, slipping sometimes, hurting before he could pull back. And me? I didn’t fight whatever lived inside me. I let it burn and created the fires of Hell on Earth.
I watched the video on repeat.
And sue me if I got off to thoughts of the fire that had consumed Mitchell’s house.
FOUR
Killian
The morningafter the fire that had killed John Mitchell, I stepped through the doorway into Redcars and was faced with a welcoming committee.
There was no sign of Logan or his new partner, Gray, which was a relief because Gray being a documentary maker freaked me out. If he put me in his crosshairs—stand-up member of the community, lawyer, blah blah—then he’d find out about the other parts of my life and that wouldn’t hold up to the scrutiny.
Rio Villareal was the first one I saw—a fighter, quiet, stoic. His posture was relaxed until he noticed me, but I’d seen him fight; he was the kind of man who could strike fast and hard. From how he stoodbetween me and the rest of the garage, it was clear he was already weighing me up as a threat. Arms crossed, feet planted—a man braced for impact, reading me like a puzzle he couldn’t solve. That kind of silent tension didn’t need fists to speak. I knew it too well. I’d worn it myself, threading rage through every courtroom exchange and every backroom deal made with men who could end lives without ever lifting a finger.
He looked defensive. Worried. Because he had to know I’d figured it out—he’d been part of what had happened to Mitchell. And the last time we’d crossed paths, he’d just come back from handling Vinnie with Enzo. He had too many secrets, and I knew too many of them. That was why his stare felt more calculated than hostile. This wasn’t only anger, he was nervous.
“Enzo. Jamie,” Rio called.
Jamie Maddox stepped in, wiping oil from his hands with a rag. Jaw locked tight, glare loaded for war. He was shorter than me, all fire and fury, opposite in every way—and magnetic as hell. I couldn’t look away. Every line of him was wound tight, one spark from detonation. He didn’t need words. His presence said enough. And yeah, he was sexy. Blue eyes, sharp edges, and that undercurrent of something broken beneath his skin.
“What do you want?” Jamie asked.
“Easy there,Pretty,” I drawled, low whistle and a grin to match, just to make him bristle. I didn’t know why I thought of him like that. Sure, he was gorgeous—blond hair, eyes like cut glass—but behind all that shine was something dangerous. Quiet danger. Patient, coiled, waiting.
It made no sense. He was the last person I should’ve been attracted to—volatile, closed-off, an ex-con with a past, complete with trauma all stitched together—but there I was, wanting to push him. Not because it was smart. Because I needed to know what he looked like coming apart—how the fire in him burned when it wasn’t rage but something else. I imagined it hot and unyielding in his kiss, reckless in a way that matched everything about him. And I hated myself for it. For wanting the chaos. For craving the exact kind of hurt I should’ve known better than to chase.
Not that I’d go there for real. Redcars had been my home once. Tudor didn’t need me fucking up the balance. I respected him too much for that.
I adjusted the cuffs of my suit jacket with the ease of someone long used to walking into rooms full of predators. This wasn’t the first time I’d stepped into a space like this, and it wouldn’t be the last. These mendidn’t know me much past my law degree and a moral compass prone to breaking when it came to Redcars. But I didn’t miss the looks that were much more than a hatred for lawyers—maybe it was fear? I couldn’t get a read on either of them.
“Heard there was a tragic fire,” I said, and with those six words, the energy in the room shifted. I held my hands as if I were scrolling a phone. “Yeah, local businessman John Mitchell, dead in a house fire. Arson suspected.” I waited for one of them to crack a smile of satisfaction.
“Shame,” Rio murmured.
I gestured at Jamie. “That’s your MO, rightPretty?”
Nothing. Rio stoic, Jamie silent. Tough crowd.
“Okay, then, we got enough from Robbie’s data for tomorrow’s headlines to shift from tragic arson to ‘murdered businessman with ties to organized crime.’”
“So job done,” I widened my arms, stepping closer to Jamie, almost within touching distance. “Group hug?”
Jamie took half a step back before reining himself in. “Touch me, and I’ll kill you.”
His whole body buzzed like a live wire, every nerve sharp and ready to snap. There was a currentbetween us, a charge that made the air taste like static. He wasn’t loud, didn’t need to be. That threat, that promise of violence, sat under the surface—quiet, deliberate, simmering. It made my skin prickle.
And fuck, it made him hot.
That tension in his stance, the tight coil of restraint in every movement—he was precision wrapped around a fuse, and I wanted to see what happened when it blew. Not smart. Not safe. But Jesus, he was the danger that got under my skin. Not my type at all. And yet, I couldn’t stop watching him.
Fucking an ex con would mess with my straight-laced lawyer cover, which had taken years to build. A bad decision, yes, but a one-and-done taste would be nice.
I removed my jacket and placed my briefcase on a familiar stack of tires.
“Who wants to start?”
“Start what?” Enzo asked as he joined us and we exchanged nods as Rio pressed a button to roll down the shutter doors.
