The heat melted my tactical vest into my skin. The smoke turned my lungs black. I carried Torres out first. Already dead. I went back in for Briggs. Dead weight. I dragged Kowalski out last. The roof collapsed three seconds later.
The smell of burning flesh never leaves a man. It bakes into the bones. It poisons the blood.
I survived. They burned.
I made a vow on the bloody asphalt outside that warehouse. I swore off connections. I swore off giving a damn about anyone outside the remaining brothers of the Broken Halos. Caring makes you weak. It makes you slow.
The woman in the emerald silk is looking at the vibrator on the mattress with an expression that is doing something catastrophic to my vow.
A violent flush of pure crimson explodes across her chest. The dark red stain creeps up the elegant column of her neck. It consumes her cheeks.
She stares at the toy. Her lips part. Her breathing goes shallow.
She doesn’t look away. She doesn’t cover her face.
She slowly lifts her gaze from the mattress. She looks right into my eyes.
The sheer, unfiltered defiance in her stare hits me hard. Humiliated, and she refuses to surrender an inch of ground.
I cross the room. I eliminate the space between us in three long, aggressive strides.
I stop one foot away from her. The rose scent surrounds me. It chokes the oxygen out of the room.
“Security protocol,” I state. My voice is a lethal rumble.
“You checked the room.” Her voice shakes. She clears her throat and tries again. “You found nothing.”
“I’m not finished.”
I step into her airspace. I crowd her against the wooden doorframe of the closet.
She tilts her head back to maintain eye contact. Trapped.
“Lift your arms, Firebird.”
The nickname slips out. It tastes like ash and honey on my tongue.
Her eyes flare wide. “What did you call me?”
“I called you a liability.” I lie through my teeth. “Arms up.”
She hesitates. The panic returns to her eyes. She glances over her shoulder toward the dark interior of the walk-in closet.
She’s hiding something in there. The realization clicks into place with cold certainty.
I’m going to tear those floorboards apart. But first, I have to clear the target.
“Do it,” I command softly.
She slowly lifts her arms. She holds them out to her sides. Her hands tremble.
I step in close. My heavy boots trap her bare feet.
I place my large, calloused hands on the delicate curve of her bare shoulders.
Her skin is blazing hot. The contact sends a violent current straight up my forearms.
She gasps. Her fingers curl into tight fists.