Page 111 of Into the Fire

“Yes.”

“Where were you going to stay tonight if you didn’t come home?”

She frowned. “Ani?”

He let out a huff of laughter. “Of course with me.”

“Then how about we go back to Anson’s place and go to sleep? It’s late. It’s almost two in the morning. Nothing good happens after two in the morning,” I said.

“OK,” Rosalie mumbled. “But don’t trick me and take me home. Not tonight.”

“You have my word,” I said solemnly. “Come on.”

I helped her out of the booth, and Anson waved goodbye to everyone after tossing his keys to a guy while telling him to bring his car back to him.

While I could tell Anson wasn’t wasted, he was stumbling a bit. He’d probably still take on everyone in that bar in a fight and win.

I got Rosalie into the passenger seat of my Jeep while Anson got into the back. Once that was sorted, I climbed behind the wheel and started the engine before pulling out of the parking lot and heading to Anson’s place.

Rosalie had passed out, and her head was lolling against the headrest.

“I really did try to get her to leave,” Anson called out.

“I know.”

“I’m not the bad guy. Not really.”

“I know that too,” I said, making a right turn.

“Sometimes I feel like we have the same song on repeat, hoping it’s a different tune. It’s never different, Fox. How long are we going to keep playing it?”

I caught his eye in the rearview mirror.

“I don’t know, Anson. However long it takes,” I answered softly.

He sighed and closed his eyes, his head against the headrest.

I focused on the road, knowing his words had more than one meaning. Anson wanted in. I knew he did. Maybe not as a horseman, but he wanted Rosalie, and he wasn’t afraid to say so. Judging by what a fucked up job we were doing lately, I’d say he was closer to getting her to go with him than we were to keeping her.

I swallowed hard, not hating the idea like I once had.

That terrified me, but it also made me realize something needed to be done quickly, or everything would just go to shit.

And there was no way in hell I was letting my Rosie go there alone.

THIRTY-SIX

ROSALIE

Iwas jostled but didn’t care. The sky spun above me. I’d drank way too much.

The rattle of keys.

Anson’s soft voice.

My Foxy.

Lying on soft cushions. Footsteps disappearing.

---