Page 102 of Controlled Burn
The air in the bay felt tight like smoke with no fire. Like something was going to blow—and he didn’t know if it would be her, Jake, or himself.
Chapter 38
Possession
Talia should’ve gone straight home after the shift. That was the plan. That’s what survivors do: walk out, nod to whoever asks, disappear.
King had offered to walk her to her car—so careful, so gentle, the opposite of every man here—but she’d lied and said she was fine. She didn’t need saving. Not by him. Not by anyone.
Her skin felt too tight. Her nerves buzzed, lit up by every glance, every unfinished sentence on the engine floor. She was done being a rumor. She needed one minute alone.
So she ducked into the turnout room, closed the door, and let her body go slack in the hush. The air was thick with sweat, gear, adrenaline—every moment of the day pressed into her lungs. She pressed her back to the wall, tried to remember how to breathe.
The quiet didn’t last.
“You think I didn’t see you?”
Jake’s voice, too close, too sure, broke through her fragile peace. Words slithered through the dark, coiling around her like smoke.
She turned. He was already inside, blocking the exit, posture all predatory patience. The click of the latch sounded final.
“I don’t have time for your bullshit,” she muttered, moving for the door.
He caught her upper arm, grip bruising, knuckles white. “I saw you,” he said again, closing the distance until she could smell the smoke on his breath. “Talking to him. Smiling.”
“Let go of me.”
He didn’t. His hand tightened, thumb digging in hard enough to make her muscles twitch. Jake’s eyes burned, but his voice was softer, more dangerous. “You think King’s gonna save you? You think he won’t hear the stories?”
She yanked at her arm, but he caught her wrist, spun her hard, and shoved her into the wire storage cage—metal bit her spine. The room spun.
“Jake,” she growled, trying to knee him, “back the fuck off—”
“You looked at him like you forgot who saw you first,” Jake hissed.
She shoved at his chest, but he pinned both wrists above her head, one-handed, the other gripping her jaw. She hated how her body flinched, but didn’t fight hard enough.
“Let. Me. Go.”
“You didn’t say that the night we made you scream.” The words were filth, but they lit something inside her—something she couldn’t kill.
“That wasn’t you,” Talia spat, twisting her wrists. “That was me ruining myself.”
He smiled, crooked and cold. “You were beautiful when you broke.”
Her chest heaved. She felt her thighs press together. Hated that pulse, low and insistent, betraying her. Hated that she didn’t know if it was fear, want, or both.
“Get off me,” she whispered, voice thin.
Jake leaned in, nose brushing hers. “Say it.”
“What?”
“Say you liked it. Say you liked it when I watched you get ruined.”
“No.”
He kissed her, rough and hungry, breath stealing. His hand slid under her shirt, found her waist, and yanked the fabric up, grazing skin.
