Page 11 of Fuse

“Why?” When Angie answers with nothing but a tighter scowl, I repeat it from tight teeth. “Why?”

She answers my seethe by shuffling her balance and rolling her eyes. The woman looks as insouciant as an exotic house cat again—which pricks at every nerve ending in my body, and not in the great do-that-to-me-again-baby way. “Mon dieu,” she huffs, waving a hand as if brandishing a handkerchief. “Votre femme est correcte. Tu es un bœuf têtu.”

“Yep. A stubborn fucking ox,” I snarl. “And for the record, I proudly own every damn syllable.”

I relish the few seconds in which she fumbles for an adequate reply. If the woman thinks a spitting throwdown is going to make me back off, she really has forgotten how stubborn I can be.

“Fine,” she finally concedes, getting in another eye roll. “The apartment in Paris was burned down last night.”

Emma’s gasp beats even my gritted profanity. She paces over, her attention locked on Angie. “Dear God. That beautiful place…” She stops to frantically chew her lower lip. “The entire building?”

“No.” Angie’s shoulders rise as she pulls in a hard breath. “But enough that the intent was clear. It was not an accident.”

The wind, with ideal timing, beats through our four-way silence. Hell; through the nine-way silence. Even Wade, Fershan, Joany, Lydia, and Mom realize this isn’t just another of Angelique’s progress reports from behind the Consortium lines. All of this information is game-changing—and not in favor of the right team, goddamnit.

“So they’ve probably learned about your relationship with Tyce too,” I finally grate.

She stares back up the hill, at my brother’s grave marker. Her eyes go dark as midnight forests. “Oui.”

“And they went fire fetish on the apartment, just to make sure you were filled in on the scoop,” Foley adds.

“Oui.”

“Which means they probably know you were the one who tried to free Kane,” Emma utters.

“Oui.” This time, she only whispers it.

“So you really are blown.” I hate how it loads more tension onto Angie’s shoulders, despite how my intuition has been pounding with the conclusion since the woman appeared in the flesh fifteen minutes ago, following the eerie lapse in her updates.

“Désolée.” Her whisper is barely audible.

“Why?” I damn near growl in return. “At least you got out alive, Angie—and we at least know that Kane’s alive too.” I insist on tucking her close, resting my chin atop her head as I grate, “Nothing sucks worse than being in that place and assuming nobody even knows you’re there.” I mean it from the fucking follicles of my toe hairs.

“That’s exactly right.” Emma curls against my other side, though there’s tangible tension in her form even as I stretch a hand down to her waist and tug in, keeping her close. She relaxes only when Wade and Fersh amble over and yank Angie away into short but meaningful hugs.

“We’re glad as hell you made it out too,” Wade confesses.

“Bet your bottom cellar!” Fershan beams a blinding smile.

“You mean bottom dollar?” Wade jerks up a brow.

“Sure. If she needs one.”

Wade shakes his head, clearly mulling over whether Fersh’s gaffe is worth a full explanation, before Angelique gives him a hand by changing the subject—so to speak. They’re both consumed by smitten silence from the second she mushes red-lipped kisses on both their cheeks.

“You truly believe that, oui?” she rasps. As they nod again, she bursts with a teary gasp. “Merci, mon amis. Merci, merci, du fond de mon cœur.” Then a long rip of a sniff. “I did try, so hard…when I finally realized that Alpha Three-Twenty-Three was actually our Kane…”

She trails off, with actual sobs taking over her memories now.

Though I sure as fuck don’t blame her.

Now that her sadness overlays my shock.

My shock, which doubles upon itself.

Then quadruples.

From the ultra-firestorm her confession has swept over the landscape of my psyche and flattened every section of my soul.