Page 12 of Blaze

I have to get out of here, out of this town before whichever thug is here kills me or hurts anyone else trying to get to me. I have no idea where I’m going in this sprawling estate, but I keep turning corners. There’s got to be another way out.

“Claire!” Blaze bellows my name from the other end of the hall.

I have to outrun him, too. I might not have experience with bikers, but I doubt they’re much different than mafia families. Reaper is in charge, and if he wants me out front, Blaze will drag me out there. By the hair, if necessary, I’m sure. Enzo did that once and it’s not an experience I want to have again.

God, kissing him had been unreal. It was like he was consuming me, claiming me so thoroughly there was no chance for escape. Then when he forced my legs apart and cupped my sex... it’s embarrassing how close to orgasming I was.

I skid to a halt in one of the empty halls, finally having found a small, four-paned window. Dark desert fills the view beyond, and that’s good enough for me. I run my fingers over the window, ignoring how my legs are shaking. I find the latch and let out a burst of air in relief. Sliding the latch to unlock it, I then lift the window open and take a quick look below. Another stroke of luck that the ground is clear below and no more than four feet from the bottom of the window. I swing my leg through and follow with my hips as my head and shoulders face inward while I maneuver my way out backward, ducking down and biting my lip in concentration as I do.

“Dammit, woman!”

I jerk my chin up as Blaze strides towards me, a frown firmly in place.

Squeaking, I rush the rest of the way out the window and fall into a heap on my hands and knees. It burns, but I ignore it and scramble up and away from the window just in time to avoid Blaze’s sweeping hand. I look over my shoulder as I start to run toward the darkness of the desert, and fear fills my gut at the anger on the massive man’s face. Turning forward, I run faster, not caring where I’m going.

Right now, all that matters is putting as much distance between me and the combined forces of Santi Pastori and the Knights of Hades.

The fear doesn’t relent, and it’s like that first day I ran all over again. Except this time, I’m not in a car with a packed bag and cash. All I have is a borrowed dress, jacket and slip-on flats.

The hit comes out of nowhere, and I scream as someone tackles me from the side. We hit the rocky ground and my teeth rattle from the impact, my vision swaying. I push through it and try to get away from my attacker.

“Gotcha now, bitch,” an unfamiliar man says as I struggle against his hold. I might not be a badass, but I took a couple of college jujitsu classes. I grab his elbow and wrist and hook my foot over his and buck upwards. He’s bigger and stronger and hardly moves, but the second time, I’m scared enough that I succeed in rolling us over so that he’s now pinned under me. I punch him in the face then shove up off of him, running again and cradling my hand to my chest. Punching someone really freaking hurts.

The sound of him getting up is as loud in my ears as the sound of my own breath and I run faster, sparing a look over my shoulder to see how close he is.

I slam into a brick wall that turns out to be another man. Before I can even attempt an escape, he’s got his arms around me. Looking up, I freeze in shock. Blaze is holding me, but his eyes are literally ablaze and there’s smoke and licks of flames coming from his shoulders and head. He brings up a hand, cupping my face, and this detached person I’ve become notices how his hands literally have black claws.

“Stay behind me.” His voice is different, as if he’s speaking from deep within a cave, like he’s the heart of the volcano itself. His words reverberate around me and fill the desert’s emptiness. He’s profane, something not of this reality, but I can’t bring myself to be afraid of him.

Blaze’s eyes lift to look above me and he releases me, guiding me back as he steps around me.

“Think I’m scared of you, freak?” the attacker says as he slides metal knuckles onto each fist, the moonlight glinting off them. His lip is bleeding and satisfaction makes my aching hand worth it.

Blaze strides forward, his arms loose at his sides. He doesn’t appear to care that the man, dressed in all black, looks like he’s former military, and I’m talking the special forces ones dishonorably discharged for fucked up reasons.

The man bounces loosely, eyes targeted on Blaze and his slow, steady walk forward. “Did you know there’s a bounty on her head? Two-fifty Gs, all for a piece of pussy. Another hundred for the car’s return. We don’t even need to fight. We could split it.”

Two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars for me? I gape at the man. No wonder people have been chasing me across the entire country. I get the price for me, but the car? A brand new one is less than that.

“I’ll give you one chance to turn around and walk away,” Blaze says as he comes to a stop in the moonlit desert, halfway between me and the man. “Fight, and you’re a dead man.”

The man laughs then spits at Blaze’s feet. “After I’m done with you, I think I’ll see what makes her pussy worth a quarter of a million.”

A rumble fills the night air and I fall back a step, searching for the danger. It sounds like a rockslide, but the hills are miles away. My heart lodges in my throat when I realize it’s coming from him, from Blaze. The smoke from his shoulders is rising like eerie dancing phantoms in the moonlight.

The attacker lunges forward with a roar, his fists clenched tight and brutal focus on his face. Blaze hardly moves, shifting his feet wider, his sinewy muscles coiling with raw power. When the man is within reach, Blaze moves with the grace of a predator. He effortlessly evades the smaller man’s attack with an almost ethereal grace. Then Blaze spins and lashes out, slamming his fist into the thug’s ribs, drawing an agonized grunt from him and sending him bent over to his knees.

The man gets his feet back under him and launches himself at Blaze again. The fight erupts in a flurry of punches and kicks.

Blaze’s movements are precise and powerful, evading most of the man’s hits with agility. Once, the man lands a punch with those brutal knuckles to Blaze’s stomach, but when Blaze immediately lands a blow that sends the man sprawling in the dirt, I realize he let the hit happen.

The man is able to get back on his feet before Blaze is on top of him, but even I can tell he’s getting tired. Blaze doesn’t look as if he’s out for more than an easy stroll. With fatigue-sapped skill and more desperation, the man throws himself back into the fight. A flash of moonlight reflects from the knife he’s just drawn.

“He’s got a knife!” I warn Blaze, curling both hands under my chin in worry. I can’t stand the idea of Blaze getting hurt to protect me.

Undeterred by the new danger, Blaze attacks in a mesmerizing dance of brutality and violence. Wow, he can fight. And he looks damn good doing it. Watching him shouldn’t be making my heart race, but I’m breathing as heavy as I was when he’d caged me against the bar.

Blaze is unyielding, unwavering, his every move precise and calculated. He weaves through the air, their feet stirring up dust around their large forms, his strange shadows and flames trailing behind him like a comet’s tail. He strikes faster, harder. The man isn’t able to keep up, retreating and blocking what blows he can. With every step, Blaze tightens his grip on victory.

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