Page 5 of The Fire We Crave

There’s eight years between us in age, but now there is only eight feet in distance.

She’s barefoot with turquoise nails, and flour dusts the hem of her pale blue sundress. It’d be a pretty picture to come home to, if she weren’t defiantly standing with her chin tipped up at my arrival.

But there’s enough left of the young girl who used to follow me around like I was her hero. I see the same confused misery in her face that I saw the day her sister disappeared.

My heart doesn’t just jolt, it hammers hard enough to hurt. Maybe it’s because of the emotional overload of everything else in my life right now, but it’s hard to keep the memories buried where they belong.

You let her go. You let her die.

She still looks at me like I stole something from her, when the truth is, I had nothing to do with Melody’s disappearance. Over the years, I tried to figure it out, partly so I could silence those who thought I did it, but was never able to.

“Smoke,” Quinn says, as if she’s trying hard to be civil. “I was just making lemon meringue pies. Would you like one?”

When she got caught up in that whole Bratva thing a couple of weeks ago and asked if she could stay at my house for a couple of days, I did the right thing and said yes…even though every part of my body said no.

Which leaves me confused as to why every part of my body is now saying yes.

She should be long gone, taking the scent of lemons with her.

“What I’d like to know is why the fuck are you still here?”

2

QUINN

“Isn’tthatthe burning question?” I admit, craning my neck to look up at him.

Sweat clings to the back of my neck, and my heart tilts.

I’ve been avoiding thinking of this moment every day since I moved in here the night Ember’s bar burned down. Since the sound of sirens scared the men away, and I managed to cut myself free from the cable ties around my wrist and run from the bakery without looking back.

After I gave those men the five thousand dollars they asked me for when they returned a second time, taking my savings as if it meant nothing.

I don’t want to be home. I don’t want to be in the bakery. I want to be far from the center of the town. I want to shrink and be invisible to the men who bring the very fear they want me to pay to prevent.

But I need to keep the bakery running, or I won’t be able to make ends meet.

Butcher is being gracious because of my relationship with Ember. There’s a prospect or biker permanently on me. Theydrive behind me to the bakery, no matter the time of day. They hang out in the kitchen and patrol the rear and front of the store, looking for signs of trouble. Then, one of them sits out on the porch overnight.

I take whoever is on watch a couple of pastries and some coffee before I give Bones a last walk outside and then go to bed.

Still, the feeling of unease sits with me constantly.

And while Butcher has told me they’ve taken care of the problem, and Ember reassures me that while she can’t say much, I should believe her father, I can’t. I paid them. It was a mistake. But now that they know I’ll give them money, I’m sure they’ll be back.

While I thought a night or two stay, somewhere outside of town, somewhere remote where they wouldn’t think of looking for me, would help, Smoke’s home has become my sanctuary.

It’s the only place I feel like I can breathe.

So, a night or two became…more.

The property is stunning. It’s a luxurious log cabin with pointed roofs and vaulted ceilings. Inside, there is a large chef’s kitchen with more industrial equipment, which makes sense since the property used to belong to Margie. She sold it to Smoke when her husband passed away, and she moved in above the diner she co-owns with Wraith, her son-in-law. At least he was, before her daughter, his first wife, was murdered along with their child. Outside, there is a wraparound porch. Every evening, before dinner, I sit outside with Bones while I read and gently rock myself on the handmade swing. The log cabin is surrounded on three sides by tall pines but fronts onto a huge meadow.

Once the sun has gone down for the evening and the air is a little cooler, it’s a perfect spot to sit and watch the stars that illuminate the ink-blue sky.

One thing I know for sure is that, even if I could move, I could never afford something as beautiful as this.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Smoke asks, running his hand over his hair. He shaves it every year before jump season, but it’s already growing back. It’s thick and brown with dirty blonde and reddish highlights that a woman would pay a fortune for at a salon. He’s tan after spending so much time outdoors, making his pale gray eyes even more mysterious and his cheekbones even more chiseled.

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