Firestorm: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by Ellie Masters

  “Felix fucked Erin at Cage’s welcome home party.” Neither of them have mentioned one word about Erin, but they must be curious.

  “No shit,” Grady says. “Is that why she’s no longer around?”

  “To say there’s bad blood between us is an understatement.”

  “So, where’s that bastard been hiding the past eight years?” Grady shifts to stand beside me.

  “He cleaned himself up.” Grayson bolsters my other side as Felix locks eyes with me.

  My shoulders bunch and my fingers curl. I’m ready for a fight, but his oily gaze slides to the side and he takes a table as far from us as possible.

  “Guess he’s not interested in a reunion.” My words are clipped. It’s hard not to launch myself at the man who tried to destroy everything my family built. Now that he’s back in town, I’ll be watching my back.

  At least I’ll have the Malone’s watching it with me, as well as Brody and Cage.

  12

  Evelyn

  It takes me longer than normal in the women’s restroom, but that’s because my mind won’t stop. Overanalyzing, overthinking, I’m pretty much overwhelmed.

  There was a time when I was the belle of the ball, society’s up and coming socialite, primed to lead the next generation of New York’s social elite.

  I played the game. Looked the part. Fulfilled the role I was born to lead.

  I did it seamlessly, effortlessly, at least on the outside.

  Inside?

  It was exhausting and draining and suffocating and I don’t miss it.

  Not one bit.

  The constant pressure to be perfect, polite, and gracious wore me down, but I excel at imperfect perfection. I’m good with people.

  This bar crowd?

  I should be able to work them without a thought. Instead, they drain my energy and leave me a buzzing jangle of nerves.

  All the smiling and pretending I’m having a good time? I don’t know why I thought going to a bar was a good idea.

  I officially suck at life right now and I’d give anything to return to the solitude of my mountain trails where I don’t have to pretend or put on a show that everything is fine.

  The bar is hopping, full of locals who stare at me, the newcomer, like I don’t belong, which I don’t, but I don’t understand the dirty looks. What happened to small-town-friendly?

  My imagination is hard at work it seems. Nobody here knows me and they have no reason to dislike me, but a palpable hostility vibrates in the air.

  I’m certifiably crazy because my mind is making up stupid shit.

  In my defense, it’s been months since I’ve been around this many people. My solitary wilderness existence evidently has had some profound effect on me. Quiet is soul-soothing. Raucous bars are not. People who stare make me wary.

  My hackles raise.

  I’m in defensive mode.

  This terrible unease manifests with an itch between my shoulder blades, one of those you can’t quite reach. It feels as if nobody wants me around. Maybe, it’s all in my head?

  I’m a stranger in a strange town, out of my element and it shows. I used to be so good at this social shit. This was my zone, a socialite flitting about a crowd, working it to my advantage. All those social skills are stunted now, leaving me to hide out in the bathroom and overthink.

  My comfort zone is out in the wilderness, hiking the trails, camping under the stars, and letting the world continue on without me.

  People never used to make me nervous.

  I sprinkle water on my makeup-less face and ignore how tired I look in the mirror. While I’d love to disappear, Asher is waiting on me. I can only hide in the bathroom for so long before it become too obvious. With a sigh, I force my feet to move.

  Time to face the masses.

  I toss my paper towel in the trash bin, and a crumpled newspaper catches my eye. It’s the Daily Gazette. The headline screams: ‘Arsonist Implicated in Local Fires.’ My picture is plastered all over the front page, and it’s not pretty. Who the hell took that, and when?

  Maybe I didn’t imagine all that hostility and anger. If my face is on the front page, everyone out there knows who I am. Which means I’m not some forgettable nobody. I’m front-fucking page news. My hand flies to cover my belly, where a troupe of butterflies takes flight. I feel like I’m going to be sick.

  Fucking shit.

  This isn’t good.

  I’m ready to find a rock and hide under it until this all blows over.

  But will it?

  There’s the matter of proving my innocence, but how?

  I suck in a breath and brace myself to face the people in the bar. It’s pretty clear those scowls and pinched expressions aren’t the result of an overly active imagination.

  Shit!

  What about Asher? If he associates with me, he’s going to take the brunt of that fury, which means I need to place as much distance between us as possible. My stomach twists at the thought of leaving him.

  But what else can I do?

  My head is down as I turn the corner to head back to the bar.

  I run right into a man.

  “Whoa there. You okay?” He grips my arms to steady me. His voice sounds familiar, but one glance at his face and I know I’ve never met him before. He’s clean-shaven with a rugged jawline. Tall with a stocky build. Sandy blond hair, cropped military short, his warm copper-colored eyes peer deep into mine. He’s handsome, in the-guy-next-door kind of way, but nothing compared to Asher.

  It feels as if he’s looking for something out of me, a reaction, but I’m too out of sorts for idle chit-chat.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.” I dip my head and mumble, hoping that’s sufficient enough to end this engagement.

  “Ah, it was my fault but, darling, you can run into me any day.” His voice is warm and sociable, looking to draw me into conversation. I glance up, ready to make my excuses and get the hell out of here.

  The way he looks at me, eyes boring, pupils dilating, makes me uncomfortable. His expression is expectant, searching, but I’m not sure what he’s hoping for. I’m not interested in getting picked up.

  I’m with Asher.

  The man’s hands remain on my arms. Isn’t there a rule about how long casual contact should last? If so, we’re far beyond that.

  After seeing that headline, I’m skittish and afraid to lift my face to the room. I’m not sure if him holding me is the gesture of a kind individual, a horny looking-for-a-good-time kind of guy, or what comes right before a lynching.

  Everyone’s eyes are on me.

  I’m ready to leave. Flee is more like it.

  “You’re not from around here, are you?” He continues to try to pull me into a conversation.

  “No. Just passing through.”

  His sharp gaze never leaves me. He’s easy on the eye and I bet the man is a ladykiller, but I’m not interested.

  He’s still holding my arms. His fingers wrap around my elbows and he doesn’t let go when I give a little tug. Instead, he pulls me closer.

  “You look familiar. Are you sure we haven’t met?”

  “I don’t think so.” I’d remember a man as handsome as him. He smells nice, almost too good. His cologne floods my senses with woodsy warmth and cinnamon spice, but I find it a little off-putting rather than sexy.

  “Let me buy you a drink.” The man is persistent, I give him a gold star for effort.

  “Thank you, but—”

  “She’s with me, Felix.” Asher’s tone brooks no nonsense. He’s staking his claim, and that claim happens to be me. Felix releases me as if bitten by a snake.

  “You sure about that?” he snaps at Asher, full of male bravado, the kind when men mark their turf. I sense true hostility between the two men; a simmering hatred.

  “Pretty damn sure.” The way Asher speaks implies a whole lot of something. I’m not sure if the growl in his voice is because Felix had his hands on me or if there’s something else between these men
. One thing is certain. Asher staked his claim.

  I’m his.

  It’s enough to make me sway on my feet. I’m used to men desiring me, but I’ve never been in a situation where they fought over me. As exciting as it sounds, in practice it’s terrifying. I’m afraid they’ll come to blows. This whole situation needs to be diffused.

  But all I can think about is how much I enjoy Asher’s hands on me. I sink into the comfort of his touch. He makes me feel not only safe, but protected.

  Which is dangerous all on its own.

  Whenever he’s near, I want things I shouldn’t.

  Felix stands a little straighter, puffs his chest out, and breaches Asher’s personal space. They’re seconds from going toe-to-toe with each other. Fists curl. Muscles bunch.

  I’m caught in the middle.

  “Asher…” I press my hand against the flex of his bicep. “I’m thirsty.”

  Lame. I know, but it’s all I can think of to distract the two men from initiating an all-out war.

  I hold my breath, but Asher wraps his hand around my waist and spins me around.

  “Yeah, let’s get you a drink.”

  I need something much stronger than a drink.

  Felix stands down, but his angry glare is hot on my back the whole way back to the bar. His intensity unnerves me, and he doesn’t like the way Asher took me away from him.

  Grady and Grayson sit right where I left them, perched on barstools, fresh beers in hand. Their camaraderie is difficult to watch, because I miss that easy banter with my brother.

  Grady jumps off his stool. “And she’s back!”

  I lift on tiptoe and whisper into Asher’s ear. “I want to go.”

  “Go?” His brows draw together.

  “Yeah, it’s too much.”

  Asher doesn’t hesitate. He’s comfortable here, surrounded by friends, and I can tell he’s eager to hang out, but he doesn’t try to convince me to stay.

  “Sorry guys, we’re taking off.”

  “Taking off?” Grady places a hand to his chest, like he’s wounded. “But we’ve barely begun. Come on, stay. The night is young, the beer is flowing, and the chicks…” He stops mid-sentence and gives me a wink. “Well, you know.”

  All I can think of is whoever finally lands one of the Malone brothers is going to have her hands full. They’re incorrigible, hot as sin, and evidently practiced at playing the field, but as attractive as they are, I’m happy with Asher by my side.

  His hand hasn’t left the small of my back and he leans down so that he doesn’t have to yell over the crowd. “You sure you want to go?”

  My nod is forceful.

  “The lady has spoken. I’ll catch you guys later.” He steers me out of the bar and onto the quiet of the street.

  13

  Evelyn

  Dusk fell hours ago and a smattering of stars dust the sky. A light breeze blows my hair against my cheek and I tuck the loose strands behind my ear enjoying the quiet. It’s beautiful and I can’t help but breathe it all in. How long has it been since I’ve been outside? It feels like forever. I miss my tent, my campfire, and the solitude of an empty trail.

  My stomach gives a little rumble and Asher’s soft laugh pulls me up short.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask.

  “I should have taken you to dinner instead of a bar. You must be ravenous.”

  “I am.” I missed lunch in my eagerness to get out of the hospital and, with the arrest, found myself cooling my heels in a holding cell. “What’s good around here?”

  “You like greasy diner food?”

  “The greasier the better.” There’s nothing better than a greasy burger to take all my worries away. I’ve been living on trail food for months. “A burger sounds perfect.”

  “Ah, my kind of girl. Come on. I know just the place.”

  He takes me to a small diner and we snuggle into a corner booth. It’s quaint and empty. We’re the only customers, just what I need. Our waitress fills our drinks, takes in an eyeful of Asher, and pretty much ignores me. Good thing I told Asher what I wanted. He orders for us and the starry-eyed waitress finally leaves.

  “Sorry.” He bites his lower lip.

  “Does that happen to you a lot? Women falling over themselves when you’re around?”

  “Is there a safe answer to that question?”

  “It’s not a trick question. You can be honest.” It’s not like we’re dating. All we’ve done is kiss, and there’s the whole me grabbing his dick thing.

  “Well, yeah. I’m sure you get it too. You’re a fucking knockout. I bet men trip all over themselves trying to get to you.”

  “Me?”

  “You don’t see it, do you?”

  I’m aware of my looks. My parents blessed me with their genetics. My looks let me get away with things I shouldn’t, but I never flaunt them, and men don’t trip over themselves trying to get to me. I’ve been taken nearly my entire life and only ever had eyes for one man.

  Justin and I grew up together. We were pals in grade school. Best friends in those early, awkward tween years, and dated all through high school. We were never apart and shared all our firsts. High school sweethearts, we graduated and attended the same university. After getting my father’s blessing, Justin proposed. Our union was inevitable.

  He went to work for his father, while I planned our wedding with my mother and future mother-in-law, Gracie. I thought of nothing but the family Justin and I would raise, the grandkids my parents, and his, would enjoy and spoil. I was living my happily-ever-after. Other men were never on my radar.

  Then life happened.

  “How well do you know our waitress?” I need to change the conversation. Not to mention our waitress seems overly familiar with Asher. That doesn’t sit well with me.

  “I grew up in this town, so I pretty much know everyone.”

  “Meaning you’ve played the field?” Why does that pop out of my mouth? I sound like a jealous bitch. I have no claim on this man.

  “In a small town, it’s hard not to kind of get around.”

  “So, you’re a self-proclaimed man-whore?”

  “I wouldn’t call it that, but I’ve dated my fair share of eligible bachelorettes.” He rubs at the back of his neck, a gesture I’m beginning to associate with him being uneasy.

  He says bachelorettes like he’s looking for a wife.

  Not girls.

  Not women.

  Not chicks-I-like-to-bang.

  Bachelorettes.

  His word choice does not go unnoticed.

  “I bet every eligible bachelorette has fallen for you and they’re probably plotting to figure out how to land a catch like you.”

  “I wouldn’t say every bachelorette.” He gives a devilish, satisfied grin and puffs out his chest like a preening bird.

  It shouldn’t be sexy, but damn he’s broad shouldered and that poor shirt of his struggles to contain the bulk of his muscles. Subconsciously, I rub at my chin because I swear I’m drooling.

  “You think I’m a catch.” His smirk says everything. I just gave him all the ammunition he needs to use against me.

  “I didn’t say that. You’re putting words in my mouth.”

  “I’d rather put something else in that pretty little mouth.” Heat fills his gaze.

  The air between us goes from a banked simmer to a full-on inferno in zero-seconds flat. And damn if his hooded gaze doesn’t work magic on me.

  I’m hot and bothered and resist the urge to fan myself in front of him. Instead, I place my hands between my thighs and squeeze against the unbearable ache. The corner of his mouth tics up when I squirm in my seat.

  Yeah, he knows exactly what kind of effect he has on me.

  “You have nothing to worry about.” He announces it as a fact.

  “Is that so?”

  “Were you not there during that kiss? Fuck, Ev-e-lyn, that was nuclear explosive hot. You felt what you do to me, or did you forget where you had your hand?”
/>   I glance around the diner, worried we can be overheard.

  He gives a soft laugh and puts his hand over mine.

  “You jump like a scared little mouse.”

  “Maybe this isn’t the best place to be talking about where my hand may, or may not, have been.”

  “Your hand most definitely was on my dick, my hard, rigid cock.” His voice drops to a lower register and there’s a throaty growl to it which melts my insides.

  I turn into a liquid puddle, a needy mess who wants everything he promises.

  “My lips were on your mouth, and all I could think about was how my dick would feel with your lips wrapped around it. Or better yet, what you’ll taste like when I finally get to bury my face between your legs.”

  “Asher!”

  “What?” It’s his turn to look around. “There’s nobody in here besides us. Tell me you aren’t wondering the same thing?”

  “What about the waitress?”

  “I don’t want her mouth on my dick.”

  “I meant that she can hear us.”

  “Oh, Katy might be watching us, but she can’t hear what we’re saying. She’s trying to figure out who you are, and is probably plotting your murder.”

  “My murder?”

  “I’m kidding. She’s probably just hoping you’re a one and done kind of fling so she can get back in line. Unfortunately, that’s not happening.”

  What part wasn’t happening? The one and done bit or her getting back in line?

  Katy? I don’t remember seeing a name tag, which reminds me how small this town must be for him to know her name.

  “Have you lived anywhere but here?”

  “We moved here when I was eight,” he says.

  “What brought you here?”

  “The La Rouge Vineyards passed to my father. He came to take over the family business when his uncle grew sick.”

  “Really? How long have the vineyards been in your family?”

  “My great-grandfather established the vineyards.”

  “That’s cool. And when your father passes? Does it go to you?”

  “It did.” He uses the past tense.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”