Page 168 of Controlled Burn
She set the clipboard down, forced her body to stay loose, her heartbeat drumming in her ears. "Say what you need to say and walk away."
Jake stepped closer, the stale scent of sweat and rage radiating off him. "You think you're in charge now? Acting Lieutenant? You think any of them respect you? They're just waiting for you to fall."
Talia's voice was pure steel. "You're projecting. Again."
"You used me."
"No. You let yourself be used. Big difference."
His face twisted, every muscle in his jaw corded with frustration. He lunged forward, his hand snapping out and closing around her upper arm—fingers digging into her flesh, possessive and desperate. For a second, the world narrowed to his grip—cold, hard, familiar. Her skin remembered every old bruise, every time someone tried to remind her she didn't belong.
She didn't scream. She didn't flinch.
She drove her knee into his thigh and shoved him back, putting every ounce of her anger and training behind it.
"Touch me again," she said coldly, "and you'll leave here in cuffs."
Jake stumbled just as McKenna and King strode through the bay door.
"HEY!" McKenna's voice cracked like a whip, slicing the tension. "Get your damn hands off her!"
King's body filled the space between them, a wall of muscle and loyalty. Talia's heart thundered, but her face stayed stone.
Jake raised his hands, a sneer twisting his mouth. "You all think she's innocent? She's been fucking her way through this station!"
"Enough," McKenna said, stepping forward, her authority absolute. "It's on camera. All of it."
For the first time, genuine fear flickered in Jake's eyes.
The bay door slid open again. HR entered—clipboards in hand, expressions blank as a firing squad.
"Firefighter Hastings, please come with us."
Hastings
He couldn't believe this.
They were all staring at him as if he were a criminal, like she hadn't played them all. Like they couldn't see what she was.
He searched for an ally—Reyes, Brent, King. Nobody would meet his eyes. No one was on his side.
And there was Talia. Arms crossed. Chin high. Cold as ice.
Judging.
Winning.
He wanted to scream. Wanted to break something. Wanted her to feel as small as he did.
Instead, his mind spun back to Kennedy—her mouth, her obedience, her worship. The sick thrill of power he'd found there, now soured by shame.
He remembered the way she'd whispered, "I'm not like her."
And how he'd ruined it—dragging Talia's name into the dark.
Now Kennedy wouldn't even look at him.
Nobody would.
