Page 48 of The Fire We Crave

I place my hand to my cheek. “Because you’re doing such a good job of it?” I glance over his shoulder to Taco. “I’m sorry you got caught up in whatever this mess is.”

Taco nods. “You come find me if it becomes too much of a mess for you.”

“I’ll tear your fucking hands off if you so much as look at her again,” Smoke says with a snarl. “She’s not coming to find you.”

“I’m not some tree you can pee on like a dog and call your own.” I turn to Atom. “His room?”

“Come on, brother, let’s get you to bed,” Atom says, sliding Smoke’s arm over his shoulder to prop him up.

“Watch his injury,” I say.

“Hey, Quinn. I’m sorry for that,” Butcher says.

“It’s okay.”

As I move to walk behind them, Ember hands me my wine. “You might need this. And we’re two doors down from Smoke. Knock if you need us.”

Atom does most of the heavy lifting to get Smoke onto his bed and stripped out of his boots and denim. I’m glad, because Smoke was less than helpful, lying there like a lump of coal.

“You need anything?” Atom asks finally. “You hit the ground pretty hard.”

As I rub a hand gently over my hip, I catch sight of my cheek in the mirror, where Butcher made contact.

“Maybe some ice and a cloth.”

“You got it. For what it’s worth, I’m fucking worried about him, Quinn. And for whatever reason, you seem to be his anchor right now. I don’t know what this is between the two of you,but…I’d sure appreciate it if you don’t leave him until he’s able to weather this storm on his own.”

14

SMOKE

The world is spinning whether I have my eyes open or not.

And I’m not sure all that barbecue I ate is going to stay down, because the urge to vomit is really fucking strong.

Especially with the pain of taking a blow to my injuries stabbing through me like a hot knife through…well, my skin.

But above it all, above the sweating skin and the pathetic shame that comes from fighting with a brother, is the scent of lemons.

The door opens, and I hear mumbled words of thanks before it closes again.

“Quinn,” I say, offering out my hand in no particular direction.

There’s the shuffle of footsteps, of something being put down somewhere, and then I feel it. The gentle warmth of slender fingers I know are strong from the way they knead all that dough.

They slip into mine, helping the world come back into focus a little. I close my fingers around hers, holding onto her while I take a deep breath.

“Keep letting everyone down,” I say, as tears sting the corner of my eyes.

Even that is pathetic. Crying, like any of this hurts me the way it hurt the rest of my team. They’re dead, while I’m here feeling sorry for myself. But that doesn’t seem to stop the trickle of tears escaping and sliding down my temple into my hairline.

Loud rock music thuds outside, a distant bass that matches my heartbeat.

“Ronan,” she says softly. The use of my real name catches me off guard. So does the tenderness. It does little to ease the sudden leakage from my eyes.

The bed dips as she sits down next to me, taking my hand to her lap and pressing against the soft cotton of her sundress. I hope her fall didn’t dirty it.

I open my eyes and see she’s holding an ice pack to her cheek. “Shit. Are you okay?”

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