Page 98 of Wild Fury (Fallen Royals 6)

Shame punches me harder than Liam ever could. It knocks the wind out of me.

I lead the way back into the gym. Once the door swings shut behind us, I catch Liam’s gaze.

“I’m sorry. I’ll…” I can’t tell him I’ll stop looking for her, because I won’t. But I can keep living. Keep moving forward. And keep my eyes wide open.

27

Lux

Eighteen months gone

My apartment is on fire.

And not a little kitchen fire, either. Flames lick the walls of my living room, blocking off my exit. I can’t believe it took this long for the smoke detectors to kick in—to wake me up. But they’re wailing now, screaming over my head, and I jolt into action.

I grab my backpack and slide my feet hastily into my boots, running in a crouch to the window. It jams for a heart-stopping second, then finally slides open.

Cool air rushes inside, but it also seems to suck out the smoke. I suddenly can’t breathe, choking for a moment before I force myself to move. I toss the bag out and follow it onto the fire escape. I climb the ladder down two stories, then kick loose the last ladder. It’s stuck, kept above the reach of people who might want to climb up from the alley, but gives with a squeal and descends.

The apartment windows I passed all showed empty rooms, free of smoke or fire, so I feel moderately better about hopping down. Already, sirens from firetrucks are getting louder. I check my bag quickly, one knee touching down to the concrete. The contents are just what I thought: laptop and the rolled charging cord, my phone—currently off and staying that way—and some printed photos in a manila folder. The essentials, I think. Anything else, I can buy.

I dig deeper and find my wallet at the very bottom, and relief crashes over me. Never mind that I’m probably going to lose everything else.

It was my apartment on fire. That much was clear. Not anyone else’s. It didn’t start on the first or second floor and climb upward.

I close my eyes and try to think how that could’ve happened. I got home late, almost midnight, and went straight to bed. No candles, no dinner. In fact, I hadn’t cooked on my stove in almost a week. An outlet could’ve short-circuited…

“Amy, thank god!” The girl who lives in the apartment across from me rushes into the alley, gripping my hands. “Your door was on fire. I thought—”

“I made it out.” I extract myself and swing my bag over my shoulder. “Is anyone else…?”

It’s a small apartment building. Six tenants, two on each floor. I wouldn’t say I’m close to anyone, but we look out for each other.

Case in point: I have no idea what the girl in 3B’s name is. I call her Three B in my head. Same with the rest of them. But you can get away with not knowing a lot if you can bluff.

“We’re all out front.” Three B steps away, clearly expecting me to follow her.

My stomach suddenly twists. The fire… someone could be trying to kill me. It wouldn’t be the first time. I’ve always been attracted to danger, but I’ve never been this close. The blood rushes in my ears, dimming the noises beyond my own thoughts.

“Wait,” I blurt out. “Can you do me a favor?”

She pauses and tilts her head.

“Can you… forget you saw me?”

“Amy, did you have anything to do with—”

The fake name. Everything about my new life is just the same: imaginary.

“No!” I take a deep breath. “No, no. I didn’t. I just can’t get wrapped up in…” Police stuff. Not for the reason she’ll think, but I’m counting on a miscommunication. On her assumption.

Understanding dawns over her, and it isn’t embarrassment that flushes my cheeks—it’s guilt. She probably thinks I’m hiding from someone. The law, maybe. The first night I met her, a year ago, I was covered in bruises and searching for a place to lay low.

A year ago, my protection flatlined. No more DeSantis help. That much was clear from my last communication with Jameson DeSantis. Wilder’s dad had taken it upon himself to update me: there was a suspect in custody for the murder of the man from Amelie’s engagement party, but his lawyer was stalling the trial. If it didn’t go through, or if he was found innocent, I could be in hiding forever.

Cops are fickle creatures. They get it wrong, they’ll come back and take a new crack at everyone. It doesn’t matter that the dead man wasn’t a DeSantis—some of the police force would use this as an excuse to put away the family, one member at a time.

The landlord doesn’t even have my real name on file, and yet…

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