The Moth and the Flame

by Reid, B. B.

  Copyright © 2019 B.B. Reid

  The Moth and the Flame by B.B. Reid

  All rights reserved.

  Chief Editor: Rogena Mitchell-Jones of RMJ Manuscript Service

  LLC Co-editor: Colleen Snibson of Colleen Snibson Editing

  Both of Two Red Pens Editing www.tworedpens.com

  Cover Design by Amanda Simpson of Pixel Mischief Design

  Interior Design/Formatting by Champagne Book Design

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author or publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use the material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, are coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Also By B.B. Reid

  Note

  Part One

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Part Two

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Coming May 27th-31st!

  Character Interview

  Acknowledgments

  Contact the Author

  Also By B.B. Reid

  About B.B. Reid

  For little brothers who adore their big sisters and for sisters who never take it for granted.

  Broken Love Series

  Fear Me

  Fear You

  Fear Us

  Breaking Love

  Fearless

  Stolen Duet

  The Bandit

  The Knight

  When Rivals Play Series

  The Peer and the Puppet

  The Moth and the Flame

  The Moth and the Flame is a continuation of the events that occurred in the previous novel. It is strongly advised that you read The Peer and the Puppet prior to reading this book. Content suitable for ages 18+.

  A STORM RIPPED THROUGH THE city that night.

  The rain and hail sent dwellers scurrying for heat and shelter, and the ones who didn’t have a home—like me—were left defenseless against the elements. I remember the wind and snow that followed most vividly, and it wasn’t because of its harsh swiftness or icy chill.

  It was because the wintry tempest had blown an even more unforgiving storm right into my path.

  “It’s colder than a witch’s tits,” Leo grumbled. He was a foster care runaway like me and a year younger at fourteen. In just a couple of years, he’d be beating girls off with a stick. His thick, blond hair, striking green eyes, and bubble gum pink lips made him an instant dream boy. It didn’t help that he was kind, intelligent, and shy. I rarely opened doors around him, and he’d even absurdly offered me his jacket, willing to brace the biting cold in just his sweatshirt.

  “Nah,” Miles argued with a violent shiver. He was another runaway, and at sixteen, he was older than Leo and me. Where Leo was light, sweet, and easy, Miles was dark, broody, and complicated. Leo asked permission while Miles demanded. “It’s colder than a pile of penguin shit.”

  “You’re both wrong.” I clutched my thin jacket and ignored the ache in my bones. The only thing useful about it right now was the pockets, and being a pickpocket, I never used them. Instead, I entrusted everything I cared about to the camel-colored rucksack my mom wore when she used to hike and backpack across Europe. Other than the Polaroid camera my parents gifted me the Christmas before they took off, it was the only thing I never left behind whenever I took off, too. “It’s colder than the hair on a polar bear’s ass.”

  We huddled around the fire we had fought to make inside a trash can with only the fire escape hanging over a barbershop as our awning. We didn’t have long before a cruiser ran us off, but I tamped down my rising dread for the hellish night I had ahead of me.

  Both of their lips turned upward, and I knew they would have been laughing if it didn’t require more energy than we had.

  My stomach chose that moment to growl—a reminder of the other reason I had trouble keeping my strength up—and it was loud enough to be heard over the howling wind.

  “Jesus, when was the last time you ate?” Miles grilled.

  “I’m on a diet.”

  Miles ignored my sarcasm and pulled a shaking hand from his jacket pocket, revealing a half-eaten McChicken.

  “So that’s where you were earlier,” I mused while ignoring his offering. “Begging for change.” I turned my nose up, and his lips flattened into a line.

  “It’s better than risking my freedom picking pockets.”

  I met his dark gaze and almost laughed at the frustrated gleam. “We were never free, Miles.”

  “Take the sandwich, Louchana.”

  “No, thanks. I’m saving my appetite for steak and lobster. Those Wall Street jerk-offs really love to flash their cash around.”

  “Look around you, Lou! The entire city will be snowed in by morning. There will be no one to rob.”

  When he tried to force the sandwich into my hand, I snarled and said, “I’m not eating the fucking sandwich, so you can stop pretending you don’t need it more than I do.”

  We both knew his run was almost up. He ran home as often as he ran away from it. Miles had type one diabetes and was on his last injection. Without insulin…

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “You’ll be as dead as a doorknob.”

  I didn’t miss the guilty look he exchanged with Leo or the way their bodies slowly straightened from their hunched positions.

  “Please eat the sandwich,” Miles urged, changing tactics.

  I was immediately on edge. My gaze narrowed. “You’re going back, aren’t you?” At his reluctant tight-lipped nod, my attention swung to Leo. “You too?”

  Leo weakly shrugged and shuffled his feet in the thin layer of snow that blew into the barbershop walkway. Leo was in the system like me, but Miles had a home that he shared with parents who didn’t just decide one day that they didn’t want to be parents anymore. And he didn’t fucking appreciate it. Almost every other month, Miles ran away from home to show his parents he wasn’t some fragile thing that needed to be coddled and protected. Leo, while possessing many virtues, didn’t excel at thinking on his own, so whenever Miles called it quits and ran back home to mommy and daddy,
he’d suddenly have this great epiphany that foster care wasn’t so bad after all. The truth was he’d never survive on the streets without Miles’s grit and temper, and Leo knew it.

  “Why bother sticking around?”

  “We were hoping to convince you to go back to the Hendersons,” Leo meekly stuttered.

  A second later, a harsh gust of wind slammed into me, and my body locked up tight in a feeble attempt to ward off the chill. At that moment, I considered the warm safety of my foster home before discarding the thought. It had been a week since I pretended to leave for school and never came back. By now, they would have reported me missing and asked my social worker to find me another placement. No, the Hendersons were no longer an option.

  “I’m fine here, boys. Run along.” I flicked frozen fingers toward the snow-dusted street.

  Instead of looking relieved, Miles’s scowl only deepened. “Come on, Lou. Don’t be stupid.”

  “Don’t call me Lou. Only my friends get to call me Lou.”

  “According to you, you don’t have any friends and never will.”

  “Precisely.”

  Miles shook his head with a scowl while Leo whistled and said, “You’re a cold piece of work, Louchana Valentine.”

  “Much better,” I praised with my eyes firmly fixed on the dying fire. It was no match for the cold, wet wind.

  They didn’t stick around much longer after that although Miles took his time walking away. I made sure to keep my expression blank as I watched him glance over his shoulder before rounding the corner.

  The breath I’d been holding shuddered out of me in relief and clouded the air. And even though I was alone in the middle of a storm, I was grateful. I knew Miles wanted more from me than friendship or someone to watch his back on the streets. I even suspected that the times he ran away from home weren’t always because of his parents. Every single time, he sought me out, and it wasn’t because he couldn’t take care of himself.

  The wind howled.

  My body shook violently.

  And then that howl began to sound strangely like a roar.

  I didn’t have the faintest clue why my heart skipped a beat, and my breath drew short as my stomach tightened. The part of my brain responsible for rational thinking told me it must have been a car approaching and not some monster searching for its next meal, but when a black muscle car with gleaming chrome jerked to a stop across from the barbershop, I was suddenly less sure.

  There wasn’t much that shocked or scared me anymore, but the figure that emerged unhurriedly, unlike his driving, did both without doing anything at all. Then again, I was so mesmerized by what my eyes were unveiling that perhaps my mind had chosen to record the moment in slow motion. I only wished I dared to capture it with my camera because one day, in the not-so-distant future, I’d call on this memory. I hoped for the sake of lonely, future me lying in the dark with her hand in her panties and a pleasured sigh on her lips that the picture my mind painted would be in vivid detail.

  Because his fierce scowl did nothing to shroud his beauty.

  And like the danger radiating from him, it was unbridled.

  He was cloaked in a distressed brown leather jacket, matching worn gloves, and brown boots. The wind ruffled his dark brown hair as he carefully took in his surroundings, and I was glad he’d chosen not to wear a hat because hair that shiny, thick, and perfect was meant to be admired no matter the weather.

  It wasn’t so bizarre that I was attracted to someone who looked this damn appetizing, but I did find the voice in my head wondering if he were here for me and the answering clench of my gut unsettling. I could swear I heard the chime of a clock striking a new hour, telling me it was time. Or maybe it was more like the clang of a bell beckoning me. My feet even took a couple of steps toward him before I caught myself. It didn’t help, though, because I felt my entire being reaching out for him. It was a magnetic feeling that only grew stronger as he slammed his car door shut and crossed the street with a purpose.

  His eyes found mine, and I could have sworn his step faltered. Maybe he was just surprised to find someone else crazy enough to brave the storm. It took me a while to realize I hadn’t moved, either. I was completely frozen. Not even a shiver shook my body despite the steadily falling temperature. Perhaps I believed remaining perfectly still would keep him from spotting me, but like a true predator, he had already locked onto his prey. His gaze never strayed as he stepped onto the sidewalk and his booted feet drew him closer.

  “You got business here?” he said once he stood in front of me. His gray, maybe blue—I couldn’t decide—gaze was colder than the wind and snow blowing around us as he passively assessed me.

  “What’s it to you?” Despite my instant infatuation, I couldn’t keep my true colors from showing even if I tried.

  He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “If it isn’t worth your life, I suggest you disappear, kid.”

  “Kid?” I yelped as he moved around me. “Well, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black. I can still see your mom’s nipple print on your upper lip!” I was thankful his back was to me so he couldn’t see me wince. I didn’t mean to be so crude or even angry, but I had the feeling that as of two minutes ago, I no longer had control of my emotions. I felt connected to him on a level I could never hope to reach and, therefore sever, and I didn’t like it one fucking bit.

  The hand reaching for the barbershop door fell by his side and balled into a fist. If it didn’t already feel like the North Pole, the icy chill radiating from him certainly would’ve done the job. I knew I’d said something terribly wrong before he even spoke.

  “Let me revise,” he said in a deeper, deadlier tone. “If you want this wasted existence of yours to continue beyond the next three seconds, leave. Now.”

  He didn’t wait to see if I obeyed. Ripping open the door, he stomped inside and let the door reading Bear Cuts slam behind him.

  I frowned at the realization that I could have stowed away inside all of this time. The lights were out, so I assumed, like everyone else, that the owner had gone home before it became too dangerous.

  My stomach churned as I left my dying fire behind, but it wasn’t for the loss of its meager warmth. I couldn’t stop replaying the encounter or the words wasted existence in my mind. Never mind that he’d threatened me.

  Apparently, I mused as my lip curled, I cared more about what he thinks of me.

  Curiosity to know more about him kept me from going far. Across the street, in fact, where I huddled under a street lamp. Ten minutes later, when the chill in my bones became too painful to ignore, the door opened, and he emerged with something bright orange clutched in his fist.

  And when he stepped off the sidewalk and headed straight for me, I was suddenly cold for a different reason entirely.

  It was too late to run. He’d already seen me and could probably catch me even if I did, so I stood rooted to the spot under the dim yellow glow of the lamp like a red flag for a raging bull.

  The only things that kept me from screaming were the stoic expression he wore and the fact that no one would hear me and probably wouldn’t intervene even if they did. Besides, I wasn’t a damn damsel, and if he forced me to try to kick his ass, then so be it.

  What happened next I couldn’t explain, but it would haunt my dreams for a long, long time. He stood in front of me, closer than he’d been before, and I took the time to study the odd hue of his eyes. It shouldn’t have fascinated me so much.

  The arm carrying what I realized was a coat—a super fugly one—extended, but before he could utter a word, my attention was stolen by a silver Acura rounding the corner on two wheels—snow and ice be damned. The passenger window rolled down, and a gloved hand pointed a semi-automatic with perfect aim.

  I didn’t stop to consider the fact that he’d threatened my own life before saving his. I screamed, “Watch out!” before dragging him behind a green Expedition sitting on oversized tires as bullets rained down on the spot he’d just been stand
ing. I landed on top of him, still clutching his leather jacket for dear life. Our eyes connected the moment the shooting stopped. Rage began to effervesce, drowning the initial shock and turning the irises surrounding his pupils a startling blue. I was distantly aware of tires squealing and a roaring engine, but I couldn’t be sure. I was only mindful of how close our bodies were and the hungry hum begging me to get closer. I got my wish seconds later when he grabbed me and rolled us underneath the SUV just as bullets sprayed the car, setting off the alarm and ripping a scream from my throat. With my eyes shut tightly and my face buried in his chest, I gripped his jacket as if my life depended on it. Evidently, it did.

  I could hear the shooters’ tires squealing as they raced away. I didn’t dare exhale until long after the sound of the racing engine faded. My breaths came fast and hard, matching in tempo with the heavy rise and fall of the dude’s chest.

  For a while, the only other sound was the car alarm blaring above us, but once I caught my breath, I couldn’t keep silent.

  “That was—”

  “God fucking dammit!” he roared.

  “Not what I was going to say.”

  He gave me a withering look before swiftly rolling from beneath the SUV and out onto the street. I was less eager to depart. What if they came back to finish the job?

  “Come out,” he ordered a little impatiently. “They’re not coming back, and we need to leave.”

  “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

  I heard him sigh before he dropped to the ground and peered under the car at me. “And when the cops come?”

  Well, fuck. That got me moving.

  Despite almost dying, I didn’t care to be hauled back to my foster home or worse…a group home. And I sure as shit wasn’t eager to be questioned by the cops. I’d rather have a rectal exam.

  I inched toward him, and surprisingly, he held out his hand to assist me. When I was on my feet, I avoided his gaze and studied the car that now looked like molded Swiss cheese.

  “That could have been you.”

  “And you,” he pointed out.

  I breathed in the cold night air, which then shuddered out of me when I realized he was right. I doubt they cared if I was a casualty of whatever vendetta brought them here.