Chapter Seven
Tank
I take a step closer, bridging the gap between us in a move that is almost confrontational, a challenge issued to the woman who holds a flare gun with a shaky aim at my chest. The tension between us is electric, crackling like a live wire. I push her with every inch as I move forward, testing her resolve, seeing how far she can be driven. Bianca has the weapon locked on me, fury burning in her eyes like a brand, hot and unyielding. But then I notice something shift in her expression, a flicker that softens the anger into something more familiar, more complex.
Not fear. Not panic.
It's a look that echoes back from my past, dredged up from memories of hardened soldiers who'd seen too much, too fast. It's the look of someone who's reached their breaking point; a person who's done with being cornered, trapped in a situation with no escape; it's the steely determination of someone who’s ready to take others down with them if it comes to that. Someone who’ll go down swinging, fighting tooth and nail the whole way. I feel her defiance like an icy wind, cutting through any assumptions I'd made.
Then I see it — a slight quivering in her finger, a tremor that is almost imperceptible but screams a warning.
My stomach drops, a leaden feeling that spills through my gut with awful clarity. Bianca isn't bluffing.
And damn it — I respect the hell out of that.
Before I can speak, she pulls the trigger.
I dive to the ground just as the flare sears past me, missing me by inches. Heat licks at my skin as I hit the dirt hard, rolling onto my side just in time to see the flare smash straight into my shed.
My shed.
My goddamn shed.
The one I built with my own two hands. The one I was going to lock Ricky in while I figured out what the hell to do with him. I barely have time to process before the flames erupt, bright and hungry, licking up the dry wood in a matter of seconds.
"Son of a bitch!" I roar, torn between disbelief and a grudging admiration as I scramble to my feet. The shed is already engulfed, a bright orange beacon visible for miles. The heat radiates in waves, and I can hear the wood crackling as it surrenders to the flames. The air fills with smoke and the acrid scent of burning chemicals from whatever the hell I had stored in there. Tools, gasoline for the generator, paint thinner — a goddamn treasure trove of accelerants.
I push up from the ground, breathing hard, eyes locked on the flames. My breaths come hard and uneven, heart pounding as I stare at the inferno blazing so intensely it casts the entire world in a flickering orange light. I can’t bring myself to look away, not just yet. There’s a moment of stillness where all I can do is try to catch up, try to make sense of what just happened. That shed was more than just wood and nails; it was my goddamn sanctuary, a piece of me standing out here in this wild world. I fucking loved that shed and all the fucking tools I kept inside it.
Then I turn — slow, deliberate, dumbfounded.
Bianca stays firm, every inch the warrior, the flare gun still clutched tight like she’s got no plans to back down. Her shoulders are squared, and the way she carries herself makes it clear she’s ready to take me on all over again. She meets my eyes with a defiant lift of her chin, daring me to challenge her, to go another round now that she’s fired the first shot.
“Did you just set my shed on fire?” I ask, struggling to keep my voice even, my words edged with a mix of shock and awe at her audacity.
“Yes, I did,” she fires back, her tone sharp and relentless. She cocks an eyebrow, meeting my surprise with an unflinching stare and adds, almost as an afterthought, “you deserved it.”
I drag a hand down my face, exhaling slowly. “You crazy little—”
“You deserved it, asshole!” she shouts.
I gesture wildly to the flames. “That’s a brand new goddamn shed! I worked fucking hard on it.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, smug as the cat that swallowed the canary, a small, satisfied smile playing at her lips. “I hope it wasn’t expensive.”
“I built it,” I growl.
“Well,” she says sweetly, “maybe next time, don’t kidnap people to store them in your little DIY murder shack.”
I can feel my nostrils flare, my temper flaring with them. She’s pushing me, testing my limits like nobody else would dare. Poking the bear, knowing exactly what she’s doing. And I should be furious. I should threaten all kinds of retaliation, should call her out for the destruction and chaos. But I’m also grinning, feeling the tug of something I can’t quite name—a strange admiration for how she refuses to back down, even with flames scorching the night.
And damned if I don’t know why the hell I’m turned on right now. I shake my head, half irritated, half admiring.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter, then reach into my pocket.
“Unbelievable? You better believe I’ll do this again if you don’t uncuff me.”
I bark out a laugh, then pull out the handcuff keys and unlock her wrist, watching as she rubs at the red marks, her eyes flicking up to mine with a mixture of curiosity and caution.
