Page 149 of The Fire We Make

He started the engine then pulled off into the night in search of his rose.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Ace didn’t knock when he got to Joy’s brownstone, unsure of what would greet him when he arrived.

Instead, he went around to the back door. He pulled his gun from where it was tucked in the back of his pants and shot the lock, the force making the door swing open on its hinges.

He entered the apartment, gun at his side but finger on the trigger as he maneuvered blindly through the dark and eerily quiet house. The old floor boards creaked under the weight of his heavy booted steps

Ace had never been inside Joy’s place. She’d always let him in just enough, but still kept him at arm’s length, preferring to come into his world but always keeping him just out of reach of hers.

Now, he understood why.

The faint sound of crackling from a distant part of the apartment drew him further and the soft glow of orange light beckoned to him.

He followed the light through the kitchen and down a short hall before being deposited at the entrance of the living room.

The fireplace was going, the flames dancing wildly but Ace’s attention was drawn to the figure in front of it.

Big hair. Curvy figure folded up with knees to chest.

One side of her was illuminated by the harsh warm light of the fireplace and the other side was cast in a soft, cool glow from the moon shining through the window.

Just like the night they met, Joy was completely still as she stared into the fire, her energy somber. She wore only a black slip, the crimson fabric of the dress she’d been wearing hours before lying folded at her feet.

Ace took a few tentative steps forward. His shoes announced his presence against the hardwood floors but she didn’t stir, seemingly in a trance.

It wasn't until he was right up on her did he see the blank expression in her gaze as the fire reflected off of her eyes, and tear streaked face.

“Joy,” Ace said softly.

Startled, Joy snapped out of her somber stupor and in one motion, pulled her desert eagle from the holster on her thigh, the safety coming off with a click as she aimed at him.

Ace already had his out and trained on her as well. He almost chuckled. He was sure the scene they made was comical. Just that morning, they’d woken up wrapped up in each other and now, they fixed each other with distrusting stares and the barrels of their guns.

He smirked. “That’s what we doing, Rose? We pulling guns on each other now?” he asked.

“We breaking into each other's houses now?” she retorted.

Ace chuckled darkly. “You injured three of my men.”

Joy stared back at him, her expression blank, her gun never wavering. “Those were yours?” she asked. “They need more training.” She said the taunt with a smirk.

Ace shook his head. His brain was on high alert, blaring that she was a threat. His body — and the organ in his chest he thought had long ago turned to ice — wasn’t repelled or concerned by the wicked smirk playing on her lips but was instead drawn closer.

“I’ll let HR know,” he leaned closer. “You and I need to talk.”

“About?”

Ace chuckled, his eyes catching on a stray speck of blood on her collarbone.

“Stop playing with me. We can have a civilized conversation, or I can forget about giving you the benefit of the doubt, and drag you out of here.”

Joy’s eyes narrowed. “I’d like to see you attempt that, seeing as though there’s a gun in your face.”

He kneeled on his haunches, leaning close until the barrel of her gun was pressed firmly into his chest.

“You would shoot me, Rose?” he asked. No fear passed through his heart or eyes.