Page 116 of Firefly
Seven fucking days. That’s how long it takes for me to start losing my mind again. Firefly never misses race night. Not anymore. Not after the weekend we spent wrapped around each other making promises we probably had no business making. But tonight? Nothing. No bike roaring into the lot. No teasing grin beneath her helmet. No tiny blonde menace wrapped in my hoodie pretending she doesn’t own my entire damn soul.
Just silence. And I hate silence where she is concerned, because that usually means somebody took her from me—again.
I lean against my bike outside the warehouse staring at my unanswered texts while irritation twists beneath my skin. I went to the spot and waited. I fucking waited for two hours for her. Then I got a call that it was race night. I show up here and still. She’s nowhere to be found.
Me:
Where are you?
Me:
Race starts in twenty.
Me:
Firefly, answer me.
Nothing. Not even read.
Ryker strolls past me holding a beer and immediately notices my expression. “You look homicidal.”
“She’s not answering.”
“Maybe she’s busy.”
“She’s never too busy for me.” That comes out way more possessive than intended, making him grin.
“Toxic.”
“Helpful,” I say, finally pulling up the tracker on my phone. Yeah, I tracked her bike. Sue me. Like I’m supposed to let my Firefly just roam around unsupervised? Absolutely the fuck not.
The little blinking dot shows up exactly where I expected. The warehouse.
“She left the bike,” I spit, and Ryker snorts.
“Brother, you need therapy.”
“I need a tracker inside her body,” I say, and that earns a full bark of laughter.
“Jesus Christ,” he says, but anxiety still crawls beneath my skin.Something feels off.Wrong. And after prison, after losing her once already, I’ve learned to trust that feeling. So while everyone else heads inside, I start digging.
Twenty minutes later, I find the answer. Brimstone Country Club Gala. Of fucking course.
Rich people pretending they don’t fund half the crime in this city while sipping champagne worth more than my rent. And Ophelia’s father is one of the honored guests tonight. Perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect.
I should leave it alone. I know that. Showing up there is reckless. Stupid. Dangerous. But the thought of Brayden having access to her tonight while I get ignored like some dirty little secret?Nah. Fuck that.
So, an hour later, I’m walking into the most expensive building in Brimstone wearing all black and enough attitude to get escorted out immediately. Crystal chandeliers glow overhead while violin music drifts softly through the ballroom. Women glitter in designer gowns while men shake hands over dirty money and fake smiles.
And right in the middle of it all… There she is—my Firefly. My breath catches instantly. Jesus Christ.
She stands near the balcony in a dark emerald gown that hugs every curve of her body like sin itself. Blonde curls spill down her bare shoulders while diamonds sparkle against her throat. Beautiful. Too beautiful for this place. Too beautiful for anyone else to look at. Her eyes finally lift, and the second she sees me… panic flashes across her face. Not because she doesn’t want me here. Because she does and that’s the problem. She wants me too much.
She immediately slips away from Brayden and rushes toward me before anyone notices.
“What are you doing here?” she hisses quietly, grabbing my arm.
“I texted you.”
