Page 109 of Controlled Burn
He hadn’t touched her. Not really.
Not the way Dean had. Not the way Jake wanted to. Not the way Brooks stalked from shadows and screens.
He didn’t need to.
Sometimes he caught the way she flinched when someone got too close. How her shoulders curled inward when Jake entered a room. How her hand hovered near her pocket—like she was ready for something. A blade, maybe. Or an exit.
He noticed.
And he didn’t push.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to.
Talia Cross wasn’t soft. She was flint. Calloused palms, bitten-off nails, bruises half-faded and never explained. She snapped her gloves on like armor and never asked for help unless someone else was bleeding. And when she smiled—barely, just a ghost of it—it felt like sunlight through smoke.
She was wild in a way most men didn’t understand. Like a beautiful, untamed horse—full of fire and instinct and fight. The kind you didn’t break—the kind you earned.
And God, he wanted to earn her.
Not claim. Not conquer. Just… hold.
Still, he wasn’t stupid.
He saw the way Maddox looked at her—jaw tight, hands always half-curled like he didn’t trust himself to reach. He saw Jake watching too, lurking, seething. And the new whispers about something caught on camera, a note passed, a warning unspoken.
This wasn’t a normal firehouse.
Something was festering here—something dark and quiet and waiting to explode.
So Elijah kept his distance.
Watched her favor her left leg. Watched her lie about it.
Watched her go still whenever the word “video” came up in the dayroom.
And he wondered—not if she’d break. But when.
And whether she’d let anyone help pick up the pieces when she did.
Chapter 41
Tipping Point
Talia
The bay after midnight was supposed to be a sanctuary. But tonight, it felt like a confession booth.
Engine 12 gleamed from its final rinse-down, chrome catching the soft amber flicker of emergency lights left on low. The air smelled like damp concrete, diesel, and secrets.
And she wasn’t alone.
Elijah King leaned against the rig, arms folded. He didn’t leer like Jake. Didn’t hover like Ryan. Didn’t unravel like Dean.
He just watched her.
Steady. Quiet. Like a man who knew restraint.
Talia had spent weeks surviving. Bracing. Being touched without permission. Watched without consent. A living target. A breathing secret.
