Page 3 of Fuse

“How much did you give the guys today already?” she demands.

“Christ.”

“Fine. I’ll just go and ask Wade and Fersh myself.”

“Christ. Emma!” I grab one of her hands. “I promised them some time to work in peace.”

“You mean without you hovering, pacing, and hovering some more?”

A lower grumble. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“And what happens if they run a hundred more tests and they still come back negative or inconclusive?” Into the weight of my silence, she throws a harrowed huff. “What happens when you let them take more of your blood? Then more? And what happens when you’ve gotten out of bed in the middle of the night for the hundredth time to reread their reports, only to find nothing? And then the thousandth?”

I wrench from her. Then whip away to cover the five feet between Tyce’s marker and the next boulder over. The second monument is embedded with another steel plate, filled with words and numbers that are just as meaningless in representing the life and personality of Mitch Mora, who also died that disgusting night in Paris.

But unlike Tyce’s memorial, there’s no vault of ashes beneath this surface. After the mission became a nightmare and we retrieved Mitch’s body, Kane Alighieri swooped in and grabbed his husband with a bawl of such primal anguish, nobody dared to cross his claim on the fallen man. Right after, he disappeared from the Hotel Virage, the newest Richards Resort to be funded by the dirtiest money on earth, and we tracked him to the point when he left France for Tibet.

Since then, Kane’s turned himself into as much of a ghost as his husband—a truth that won’t change until he decides he’s ready to rejoin the living. None of us is stupid enough to waste a word of challenge on it.

Instead, I’m focusing where it makes the most sense—even if it means answering my fiancée in a surly growl. “If this takes a thousand tries, then that’s what we’ll do.” Inventors played with electricity for decades before Ben Franklin flew his kite. Tesla was labeled a lunatic for his crazy inventions before innovating electrical delivery. Edison’s teachers called him too stupid to live. Yeah, a guy accumulates weird trivia when he has lightning for blood—and a lot of midnight disappointment to slog through.

But I’m damn sure Emma isn’t thinking of Franklin, Tesla, or Edison right now. “A thousand—or two or three… You know I’ll support you in each and every one of them, okay? Just not all in the same day.” As she pushes out another frustrated sigh, more sunlight takes over the ridge. The turquoise sheen in her eyes turns intense. “Please, Reece.”

I grit my teeth again. If she’d keep the castigation to just those tiny tears, this whole moment would be different. But the hitch in her voice and the wobble of her chin create barbed wire twists in my gut. “I’m doing this for us, damn it.”

“There’s not going to be an us if you kill yourself doing this!”

“There’s also not going to be an us if the Consortium is allowed to exist!”

I let my drilling glare convey the rest of it—words I’m neither sane nor strong enough to elucidate right now. She already knows that. Since my declaration of Team Bolt’s war on those fuckers, they’ve gone even deeper underground but at the same time have taken public bites out of our collective backside. On three occasions, Foley’s motorcycle has been tampered with. Freakish accidents have plagued the Hotel Brocade, all due to electrical issues. But worst of all, four prominent public figures have disappeared as if they were sucked into cosmic holes. One leading investment specialist, one Irish soccer champion, and two chart-topping pop divas have vanished seemingly without explanation. Each time, the Scorpio cartel has shown up claiming a distant connection to someone on their management team or family circle.

Thinking of those four now, along with the nameless prisoners those bastards have likely snatched in the last four weeks, brings a new seethe to my lips and a fresh coil to my fists. “They’re going to get bolder and bolder,” I utter. “Which means—”

“That they’ll eventually mess up,” she cuts in. “That they’ll get cocky and careless. And when they do, we’ll be watching and waiting.”

“And then what?” I counter. “What are we ‘watching and waiting’ for? The chance to march in and storm their little shop of laboratory fun? And you really think they’re going to let their location just slip out? Who’s going to step forward from our team to torture the information out of them?” As I pace my way through the diatribe—the first time I’ve really voiced all of this out loud—I look up to see her gaze doesn’t once leave me. I’m just not sure if that’s a good or bad thing yet, so I simply keep going. “We’ve tried staying two steps ahead, Velvet, but they’ve already gained four.” I scuff to a stop, covering my feet in dust. “And that’s why we’re here right now…doing this.”

I’m seriously tempted to hurl in the bushes now, but she’s honored me with exposing her truth, and I owe her the same in return. She sees and accepts all of my conflict. I feel that even though I turn from her—and still when she steps over and presses her cheek against my back. I’m uncertain whether she’ll lift me or break me because of it, but pushing her away would be like thrusting my lungs out of my body.

“I know,” she murmurs into the taut muscles between my shoulder blades. “I know.” She slides her arms beneath mine and flattens her hands against my stomach. “I also know that you feel this is necessary. That tearing apart every electron in your blood is a key step for the cause—”

“For the cause?” I’m sure she hears every note of the low thunder pushing at the confines of my torso. “This isn’t for the cause, Emmalina. This is the cause.”

She keeps her arms around me while slowly pacing around until we’re again facing each other. She lifts her head high, her face imprinted with graceful strength and purposeful clarity. Those qualities were such huge parts of why I fell in love with her to begin with and why she can still peel my composure back by several meaningful layers. Just by standing here. Just by being her.

And why I’m not sure whether to damn her or adore her for it.

Especially when she frees her next words. The statement for which she’s obviously taken up this position.

“Okay, it’s the cause now.” She jogs up her chin by another fraction, making sure I see her unequivocal support. “Both Tyce and Mitch died for that cause. But at this rate, Mr. Richards, you’ll be soon joining them in martyrdom.”

Chapter Two

Emma

I’m right.

He knows it.