by Amity Cross
“I…” I frowned and took off the mask. “I was painting and smelled smoke… When I turned around, the kitchen was on fire. I tried to get out, but there was an explosion. Oh, Macy, it went up so fast…” I buried my face in my hands, trembling. Tears were burning the back of my throat, and I was suddenly exhausted.
“Shh,” Macy crooned, wrapping her arms around me.
“I was trapped. I couldn’t… I was going to die, but then a man appeared and dragged me out.”
“A firefighter?”
“No,” I replied, an image of the mystery man appearing in my mind’s eye. “Just a random guy. He…”
“Miss Winslow?” A nurse was standing at the foot of the bed. “You asked about the gentleman who assisted you at the scene?”
“Did you find him?” I asked, straightening up. “Is he here?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but you were the only person brought in from the fire. No one else has asked about you.”
My heart sank like a ton of bricks, and I smiled weakly. “Oh, okay. Thanks anyway.”
“Maybe he wants to remain anonymous,” Macy offered as the nurse left us in peace.
“Maybe.”
“Are you feeling okay? Do you want to go home?” She fussed with my blankets. “I can ask if you like.”
Trying to hide my disappointment over the no-show of my mysterious stranger, I shrugged. “I guess. I really need a shower.”
“Good. I’ll be right back.” Macy flashed a smile and slipped through the curtain, a woman on a mission.
Left alone again, I worried the hem of the blanket. The way the fire had engulfed the shop had terrified me, and I knew I would dream of it when I finally fell asleep, but I couldn’t get the image of the man scooping me up out of my mind. It was like his ghost had clawed its way into my soul and lodged itself there.
He’d saved me and just walked away.
Just like that.
Scuffed boots. Chestnut eyes. Smoke and flame. The man smiled, his lips curving. My heart leapt, and I wrapped my arms around his neck.
“I’ve got you.”
Waking with a start, I clutched the sheets and blinked the sleep away from my eyes. Sunlight streamed in through the cracks between the curtains, casting long lines over the polished floorboards in my bedroom.
Moaning, I forced my fingers through my unruly hair and fell back onto the pillow. Great, I’d almost died in a horrible fire, and now I was having sex dreams about a stranger. A hot, mysterious stranger who’d saved my life.
Why did he just walk away like that? Why did he save me then disappear? There was shy, and then there was shy. It wasn’t like this was the latest superhero movie where the guy had some secret past he was trying to avenge with his flame retardant superpowers. Right?
Thinking about the firefighter who’d helped me at the scene, an idea began to take shape. Maybe he knew who my mysterious stranger was. Maybe he’d given the firefighter a name.
Rolling out of bed, I dragged myself into the shower and scrubbed my night of fitful sleep from my body. Then I dressed and grabbed my bag and keys from the hook on the back of my bedroom door.
Macy had left for work hours ago, leaving me to wallow in bed all morning, but now I was glad for the alone time. She would call me crazy for trying to track down my rescuer hours after having a near-death experience. She was adamant I shouldn’t worry about it and had convinced herself he wanted to remain anonymous. But that was Macy. Confrontation was not her middle name.
Outside, the sun was shining, and birds were singing, tweeting and screeching like lunatics, none the wiser of the inferno that had trapped me the night before.
I rode the tram to the fire station.
It was quiet when I approached, the roller doors were open, and a truck was parked inside. There were some empty spots, so I assumed everyone had gone out to another emergency. Moving closer, I could see the feet of someone working on the other side of the truck. Before I lost my nerve, I rounded the end of the massive beast and spotted a firefighter checking the equipment at the side of the vehicle. He was wearing a tight navy T-shirt and slacks, his feet shoved into a pair of black boots. He held a clipboard, his pen scratching across the paper.
“Excuse me,” I said, my voice coming out sounding like the squeak of a frightened mouse. “Hello?”
The man turned from his work, and when he saw me, a smile spread across his face. Like a cliché, he was extremely handsome. The clean-cut variety with his clean shave, styled hair, and wafts of cologne.
“Miss,” he began, his head tilting to the side. He seemed to recognize me, but I wasn’t sure. “You’re the woman from the shop fire last night? On Brunswick Street?”
I nodded. “The one and the same.”
He turned to face me fully, his smile widening into a grin. “I was the guy who gave you oxygen.”
“You were?” I perked up, wondering if he’d seen my mystery rescuer or had caught his name.
“Justin,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Oh, I…” I took his proffered hand and shook. “Callie.”
“It’s good to see you up and about.” His gaze raked over me, his smile never fading. “Was it your shop?”
“Yeah, it was. I was, uh…doing the painting myself to save some money, and I didn’t realize the fire…” I trailed off, feeling like a total moron.
“It happens,” Justin said kindly, setting his clipboard down. “Fire is a tricky beast. It gets into all kinds of places unseen. You would be surprised. Do you know the official cause yet?”
“No. I’m going to meet someone from my insurance company in a little bit. I guess they’ve been there looking.”
“Well, in my experience, it looked like an electrical fault. It’s really common. They’ll probably send one of ours down with your insurance guy to check it out if they haven’t already.”
I was dreading dealing with the insurance company, not to mention the police—who’d rocked up last night and taken a statement while Macy had been trying to shoo them away and get me home. Money had already been tight, and if I had to pay out anything, I would sink like a rock into bankruptcy. Everything I had went into that little store, not just my heart and soul but my entire life savings. And here I was looking for a man who might not even want to be found.
Still, I couldn’t let it go, so I asked the question I’d so determinedly wanted to ask.
“The man who pulled me out of there,” I began, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Did he… Did he give you a name?”
He frowned and scuffed his toe against the wheel of the truck. “I’m sorry, but he didn’t.”
“He didn’t say anything?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. Just told me you’d inhaled a lot of smoke. When I looked around, he was gone.”
“Oh…” I glanced away, my heart sinking. “I just wanted to thank him, is all. I suppose he doesn’t need it…” I laughed nervously. “But thank you, to you and the other guys, too.” Lame.
“All in a day’s work.” He flashed a dashing smile and threw in a wink for good measure.
“So they say.”
“Are you going down to your shop now?” he asked, changing the subject. “I can give you a ride. It’s no trouble.”
“No. It’s okay. It’s not far…” I trailed off, disappointment still flaring. Maybe my mysterious stranger really did want to remain anonymous. What an anticlimax.
Justin shrugged and picked up his clipboard. “Well, okay. If you ever need anything, we’re always happy to help.”
I backed away, trying to keep a good-humored smile on my face. “Thanks,” I said, offering him a little wave. “For everything.”
I could feel his gaze locked on me as I walked away—I mean, his flirting hadn’t escaped unnoticed—but all I could think about were chestnut-colored eyes.
“The official cause is faulty wiring.”
I glanced at the representative from the insurance company—a middle-aged balding man in a suit
, whose name I’d already forgotten—and heaved a sigh of relief. “So I’m covered?”
The stench of smoke was lingering, and when the wind flared up, it filled my nostrils making me want to puke. Turning, I stared at the charcoaled remains of my shop. All that money and time wasted. I would have to start all over again.
In the cold, hard light of day, seeing the remains of my dream blackened, smashed to pieces, and wrapped in bright yellow caution tape was upsetting. I wanted nothing more than to fall to the ground and cry, but I stood in silence, waiting for the verdict from my insurance company. Bankruptcy or billionaire? Well, maybe not the second option, but compensation would be nice since the premiums were a mint and a half.
“Totally,” he replied, putting my bank account at ease.
“So what now?” I brushed a rogue strand of hair behind my ear.
“We’ll have to wait for the official report to be filed with the fire department and the police. Then we need to liaise with the building owner for repairs to the electrical. When that comes through, and we can certify the work with our contractors, we can begin the rebuilding process.”
I groaned. “How long is that going to take?”
“It’s surprisingly quick in these kinds of cases. We can’t leave a building in this kind of condition.”
“Do I have to do anything?”
“No. We’ll take care of it all. Have you given your statement to the police?”
“Yes.” What a joyous occasion that had been.
“I would strongly suggest you seek legal representation,” the representative went on. “The police will be in touch, but there are signs of misconduct.”
“Misconduct?” I glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. Great, another problem to add to the pile.
“The back door was painted shut…”
“But I hadn’t started painting that room yet,” I argued. “That’s what I was going to do last night. I didn’t even get to finish the first coat before the kitchen exploded.”
“I’ve noted it in my report,” he assured me. “And the wiring was patched pretty bad. Looks like a DIY job. In my professional opinion, you have grounds to sue, Miss Winslow.”
Sighing, I turned back to the burned-out shell of The Fitzroy Cake Company and scowled. Grounds to sue? I just wanted to bake cakes and create some joy with my tasty creations.
Thinking about the mystery man, my shoulders sank.
“So I just go home?” I asked, wrapping my fingers around the strap of my bag.
“There’s nothing you need to do right now but wait,” he replied. “Everything’s in motion, Miss Winslow. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” He held out his hand. “I’ll be in touch.”
Smiling weakly, I shook his hand.
Once he was gone, I threw a glance back at the burned-out shell of my hopes and dreams. At least they were going to be repaired, right? The Fitzroy Cake Company would still open, just a little later than I’d expected.
There was a silver lining on the cloud that had dumped its guts on me last night, but there was something else still hovering up there. Something I couldn’t shake. Something that haunted me every time I closed my eyes.
Chestnut eyes and scruffy boots.
4
Storm
I was a point of silence in the chaos of The Underground. I was the eye of the motherfucking storm.
Sitting at the bar, I downed the last of my beer and slammed the empty bottle down with a thud. Behind me, people were shouting and laughing, music was blaring, the bookies to my left were running full tilt taking bets for the night, and a fight had just wrapped up in the cage. It was business as usual, but I didn’t hear any of it.
All I could see were green eyes and flame. Whoever the woman from last night was, I couldn’t shake her image. Maybe it was just the life or death situation that had lodged her in my brain. A moment of high intensity had forged an obsession with a mystery. Fuck, that was some deep shit right there.
“Storm,” a female bartender said. “For a fighter with a name like that, you sure blow in on the quiet side.”
Glancing up, I saw it was Faye. The blonde haired, blue-eyed stunner that every man would kill to fuck. Every man but me, that was.
She swiped up my empty Corona bottle and dumped it into the bin. It crashed against the pile of glass within, and I thought about getting another. I wasn’t fighting tonight, and I could afford the extra calories…as long as the alcohol gave me a buzz.
“You’re always lurking,” Faye said, leaning on the bar. My gaze fell to her breasts, which she was pushing in my direction. “You never talk, and you never mingle. You just fight.”
Since my disastrous return to The Underground over a year ago, I’d made it my mission to keep clear of drama and entanglements…even friendships had been on the back burner. I didn’t talk, I didn’t confide, and I definitely didn’t let go of my heart.
“So?”
“So what happened? You used to be different.”
“None of your business.”
“No girl?” she asked, ignoring me.
“Nope.” My thoughts settled on the woman from the fire. Ash-blonde hair. It was like some kind of fucked-up metaphor.
“Then what are you doing later?” Faye fluttered her eyelashes and pouted her lips. “Need some cheering up?”
I stared at her, not surprised at her blatant demand for sex. She was the kind of woman who reveled in her sexuality and didn’t mind flaunting it, but it didn’t mean she was easy. She was the one who did the choosing, not the other way around, and it looked like she wanted to take me out for a ride.
I rolled my eyes. “I know you like trawling for dick, Faye, but everyone knows you’ve got an arrangement with Blade.”
She raised an eyebrow. “So?”
“Corona,” I said, glaring at her.
Pouting, she straightened up and flicked her hair behind her shoulder. “Coming right up.”
Running my fingers along the edges of the mat on top of the bar, I stared at the television mounted on the wall opposite. Usually, it played a variety of pay TV sports, like live football, UFC bouts, rugby, or car racing, but tonight, someone had left it on the news. I watched absently, my gaze flicking over the closed captions.
I was really beginning to question the point of everything. Life, love, wealth, meaning, giving a fuck. Diving headfirst into that fire had shifted something inside of me, and the life I’d withdrawn into wasn’t serving its purpose anymore. That much was clear. I was fucking miserable.
The blaze erupted in the Brunswick Street store at around ten p.m. last night. Flames engulfed the fledgling business in minutes.
I straightened up, staring at the screen as Faye returned with my beer. Thumping it down on top of the bar, she peered at me.
“What’s up your ass?” she asked, glaring at me.
Not giving a stuff about her bruised ego, I said, “Shut the fuck up. I’m watching that.”
She glanced at the television, then back to me, but I didn’t pay any attention. I was too busy waiting for a glimpse of the mystery woman with ashes in her hair. Not to mention waiting for the part referencing the Good Samaritan who risked his life.
The case of the blaze was determined to be a fault with the electrical wiring. The matter is now under police investigation.
Police investigation? I frowned.
The story ended, and another began. There had been no mention of the woman or me. It was probably a good thing considering my need for obscurity, but I couldn’t help the pang of disappointment at not seeing her again. I was seriously whacked.
“A shop fire?” Faye looked me over. “Know something about that?”
“No,” I snapped, pushing to my feet. Slapping a ten-dollar bill onto the bar, I grabbed my beer and walked away.
Pushing through the crowd, I took a sip of alcohol and tried to think of something other than my stupidly heroic actions. Last night seemed a long time ago already. No one had died—otherwise, t
hey would’ve said in the report—but police action?
It may have been my past interactions with con artists posing as beautiful women, but my first thought was an insurance scam. I would like to give people the benefit of the doubt considering I didn’t know the woman from shit, but I’d been burned in the most complete and horrific way. Even if she was legit, it was better this way.
A shoulder smashed into me, and I lost my grip on my bottle of beer. It fell to the concrete, smashing into a million pieces. Alcohol splashed over my jeans and boots, and I allowed the surge of anger I’d been holding onto to burst forth.
“Hey!” I shouted, turning to give the asshole a piece of my mind.
“Watch where you’re walkin’, Storm.”
Great, just my fucking luck. Staring directly into the angry face of Hamish ‘Goblin’ McBride, Irish asshole of the century, I sneered.
The guy hated my guts, and I hated his, but at least it was for a legitimate reason and had nothing to do with the length of our dicks. He was with Lori now. Lori being the woman I cheated on back when I was a steaming pile of shit. Lori, the woman I could’ve found eternal happiness with but had been too arrogant to slow the fuck down and appreciate what I had.
Now she’d found all that and more with Hamish. She might’ve forgiven me to some extent—after finally agreeing to hear my side of the story—but Goblin never would. I was enemy number one in his eyes and always would be.
“Watch where you leave your fat ass, ginger,” I retorted.
“Still a complete dick, I see,” was his reply. “Still fallin’ victim to con artists, limp dick?”
I took a step closer. “Shut your fucking mouth.”
“I would shut yours, but you’re too coward to face me in the cage. You would forfeit the moment your name was drawn with mine.” He narrowed his eyes in warning. “You’re not worth riskin’ the Championship to fight now. I wouldn’t even give you five cents for the chance to knock your head off, let alone risk losin’ a cool million.”
“It’s all about money to you, isn’t it?”
