16. Bond

Chapter 16

Bond

T he ability to create fire was the cornerstone of mankind.

Warmth on the coldest of nights. Food that didn't kill you. Light when the sun fell asleep.

Fire meant survival.

And survival has always been the ultimate goal.

I need to find my fire. I need to make a decision soon. Time is running out. There are only ten days left until Alba leaves and the fate of The Angels is decided.

Survival is at stake.

We either become the fire.

Or get burned in its wake.

I stare at the jasmine-scented candle on my desk, its fitful orange flames flickering in my irises. Zoey said candles are soothing. She said it would help me relax. Concentrate. Focus.

She lied.

I hover my hand over the candle, the heat mild against my palm. It's not enough. I lower it an inch, my skin burning as I get closer to the outer blue flame.

How much can I take? How much pain can the human body handle?

I close my eyes, remembering Hayden's reading from a few days ago.

You are not drowning in pain, no, you are burning in it.

I wince as I lower my hand even closer to the candle. Pain makes us stronger. Like a blade forged by fire. How strong am I? My hand spasms as I will myself to fight the flame, fight the pain, become the pain, bond with it, become one. I can do it. I can be strong. I can?—

"Cami!" Zoey calls out, entering my office. Her pupils widen as I slowly remove my hand and lick my fingertips. "Oh my God, what were you doing?"

"Nothing," I say, pitching the flame. It sizzles and dies. I lean back in my chair. "Just playing with fire."

"You're going to hurt yourself," Zoey notes, approaching the desk. "Don't do that."

I roll my eyes. "What do you want, Zoe? I'm busy."

She glances down at the stack of documents on my desk, her gaze landing on my pros and cons list for Alba's offer. I cringe internally. My family's legacy is on the line, and I'm making a damn chart. Fuck’s sake.

"Which side's winning?" she asks.

"Neither." I grab the paper from my desk and bunch it up before tossing it in the trash. "Both options are fucked."

"Okay, well..." Zoey hums, twisting her lips nervously. "There are a few people here you might want to go check on."

I glare at the door. "Who?"

"I think…" She pauses, fiddling with her iPad. "I think they're with The Dragons."

"What?" I blink as she rotates the screen, showing me a street capture of a slim, fierce-faced Asian woman smoking outside a known Dragon’s hangout.

"I'm still building my database, but this image popped up when I ran the faces at table five," Zoey explains. I frown. Database? She sighs, apparently mad. "It's the new program I told you about, remember?" I stay silent, and she huffs. "Anyway, when they walked in I saw a dragon tattoo on her neck and figured better safe than sorry."

"They're here?" I grab the iPad from her hand and zoom into the image. "At my club?"

Zoey nods, biting her lip. "Yeah."

"The Dragons are either idiots or have a death wish," I say, memorizing the woman's face. "They know not to cross the border." I tap the screen, anxiety bubbling in my throat. "This isn't good, Zoe. This is blatant disrespect." I look at her. "They want a war."

"Maybe," Zoey whispers. "Or maybe they just want to talk? After all, they're on our turf now. They know they're outnumbered."

"Talk about what?" I ask, flicking my nails. "The last time The Dragons and The Angels had a parley was fifteen years ago, and seventeen people died. Doesn't seem like talking is either of our strong suits."

"Only one way to find out," Zoey says with a cheeky smile, pointing to the door. "Go and introduce yourself. "

"I don't need an introduction," I scoff, heading toward the door. I clench my fist, my skin still burning from the flame. "They know who I am."

"Do you want me to come?" Zoey asks, following me out of the office and into the roaring club. She smiles at Frankie who's posted outside my door. His alerted eyes widen as his body tenses, but I hold up my hand, standing him down. "Well?"

"No," I say, scanning the three women sitting at table five. They've all got drinks in their hands. Seemingly harmless based on their careless laughing. Too soon to tell. I spot Leo near the bar and call him over. It's like he lives here these days. "Watch her."

Leo perks up a brow, following my hardened gaze. "Who are they?"

"We'll find out," I say. Before I can take a step, Leo grabs my arm, concern plastered over his darkened features. "Let go of me."

"Who are they?" Leo asks in a stern tone. "Should I be concerned?"

"If you don't let go on my arm," I say through my teeth, "I will get Frankie to twist your balls so fucking hard, they'll snap like a fucking pinata."

"Okay, then. I hear you loud and clear." Leo blinks, slowly releasing me from his grip. He glances at a passive Frankie. "You'd really do that to me, Franks?"

Frankie shrugs, giving a concealed grin. "Whatever she says."

I smirk at Leo. "Stay with Zoey, understood?"

"Whatever you say," Leo jeers, scowling as he looks down at Zoey. "She should start paying me to babysit you."

"Fuck you," Zoey huffs, storming back into my office. Leo groans, chasing after his sister.

"Fucking children," I mutter to myself as I make my way up the stairs to the balcony level of the club. My presence is greeted by nods of respect from familiar faces of allies and patrons. Even the newbies tip their metaphorical hats. I relax my clenched fist as I approach table five. "Ladies."

The conversation between the three women stops immediately and the girl from the photo whips her head toward me, a reserved but friendly smile on her face.

"Camilla Bianco," she says, standing up and holding out her hand. Her two friends follow suit. "It's nice to finally meet you in person."

I study her gestures warily. Odd. And odd is never good. I tilt my head. "And you are?"

"Hazel Qian," she says, still holding her hand in the air between our hesitant bodies. "I'm Wei Zhao's fiancée." She holds up her left hand, wiggling her fingers. The giant rock glistens under the lights. "He wanted to talk about Alba's proposition."

"Oh," I hum, fighting against my body to maintain a neutral expression. Alba told The Dragons about the offer? Fucking hell. "I see."

"Please—" Hazel sits down, sliding down the booth to make room for me, "—take a seat." She mumbles something to her friends in Mandarin, and they quickly get up and leave. "Please sit."

I remain standing .

"If he wanted to talk," I say, crossing my arms, "then where is he?" I look around. "Taking a shit?"

Hazel blinks. "No, he thought it would be better if we talked." She pauses, giving me a fake ass smile. "Woman to woman."

Typical.

I snort. "You are a nobody, Hazel. I don't speak to nobodies."

"I am his fiancée," she scoffs, combative. "Not a nobody."

"If The Dragons have something they'd like to discuss with me, I expect a formal sit down with the boss," I say, cocking my head. "I don't talk business with pawns."

Hazel's jaw tightens. "I heard you were a real bitch."

"Baby girl..." I chuckle, running a hand through my hair as I peer down at her. "That was me being kind." I lean closer to her and cup her chin in my hand.

She gasps. "What are you doing?"

"You seem new to this life, Hazel, so I'm going to give you some sage advice, okay?" She swallows, nodding. I stroke her soft cheek. She can't be older than twenty. They keep getting younger. "The diamond on your hand isn't worth more than your future. Get out while you still can." She frowns. "Trust me, baby, in a few years when you start to smell your soul rot, no amount of jewels are going to bring you back to life." I let go of her face, patting her cheek. "Tell Wei to call me if he wants to talk, got it?" Hazel doesn't say a word as she stares up at me. " Got it? "

"Mhmm," she hums. "Got it. "

"Good," I say with a smile, pointing to the menu. "Try the apple martini. It's delish." Turning on my heel, I calmly walk back to my office, a storm brewing in my gut.

Malik-fucking-Alba! I reach for my phone that's in the back pocket of my jeans and type out a text message. It's late. I doubt he'll answer.

Camilla

You went to Wei Zhao without consulting me first? I still have ten days to decide. Call when you get your head out of whatever bitch’s ass!

"Everything good, princess?" Frankie asks as I march past him.

"Fucking fantastic," I say, frustration oozing from my pores as I walk into my office. Leo glowers at me, holding the crumbled pros and cons list in his hand as Zoey attempts to yank it from his hands. "Give me a fucking break!"

"When were you going to tell me about this, Camilla?" he barks, stalking toward me. "What is this all about?"

"Mind your own fucking business, Leo!" I snatch the paper from his hands and rip it in half. "I'm handling it!"

"Handling it?" he scoffs. "You're making a fucking pros and cons list! For what?" He points at the shredded paper on the floor. "Marriage or Dragons? Seriously, Camilla? What is going on?" He takes a steadying breath and lowers his voice. "Let me help you. "

"I don't need your fucking help!" I shout, shoving him out of my way as my phone rings. Oh, maybe Alba decided to take a breather for a change. I answer the call in a huff. "You fucking little shit!"

"Uh oh," a voice slurs on the other side. I freeze. It's not Alba. "It seems as though someone is a little—" a hiccup, "—angry."

"Hold on," I say, covering the microphone as I glare at Leo. "Get out now!" I look at Zoey. "You too."

"Who is that?" Zoey whispers suspiciously as Leo storms out of my office. I don't reply. "Hayden?" I shoo her away, not explaining myself and locking the door behind her.

"Hello?" I say into the receiver. "Hayden?"

"Mmm," he hums. "Say it again."

"What?" I ask, frowning.

"Nothing," he whispers. "Were you aware that beer is believed, at least in Western societies, to have been invented by a woman?" He lets out a low, defeated chuckle. "And Plato thought it was a wise man. He was an idiot, don't you think? Complete moron."

"Are you drunk?" I ask, sitting on the edge of my desk. A mixture of concern and entertainment flutters in my heart. "Hayden?"

"It's all a bunch of bullshit," he mumbles. "Plato, Socrates, all of them just spout this idealistic nonsense about moral character and justice and beauty, but it's subjective. It's all just fucking theories." He pauses, and I can hear glasses clinking. "It doesn't work like that in real life, you know. It's more...complicated than right and wrong. Good or bad." He chuckles again. "Perception and reality, it's interesting, no?"

"What—" I shake my head, confused as I check the time. It's past three a.m. "What are you even talking about?"

"So why were you so angry when you answered the phone, huh?" he asks, ignoring my question. I hear glass shattering through the phone. "Oh, shit... Fuck."

A faint, gruff voice is audible in the background. "Go home, man. You're done!”

“One more, come on!” Hayden groans. “One more."

Shuffling and grunts fill my ear until a voice says, "Whoever you are, come and get your fucking friend before he gets thrown into the tank. He's at Phil's Pub." And the line goes dead.

I stare at my phone screen. What the fuck was that? I grab my car keys off my desk and rush out the door, punching Phil's Pub into my GPS. Okay, it's not that far.

"Cami!" Zoey calls out, Frankie on her tail. "What's wrong? Where are you going?"

"For a drive," I say, waving Frankie away. "You should go home, it's late. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Drive carefully," she says, pursing her lips. "I'm tracking you!"

"Stalker!" I roll my eyes as I head out the back exit toward my car. I unlock the SUV and hop inside, starting the engine. Gripping the steering wheel, I take a deep breath. "What the fuck is happening right now?"

My mind races with unanswered questions about Hayden and The Dragons and fucking Alba as I drive to Phil's. Thankfully the roads are quite empty this late at night. Seeing as how I don't remember the ten minutes it takes to drive to this dive bar on the edge of the city, I should feel lucky I'm alive.

I pull up to the side of the pub and get out of my car, frowning at the rundown establishment. What is Hayden doing in a place like this? Another question to add to the never-ending list. I pull the rickety door open, surprised to find the place is packed. Wincing from the foul odor of sweat and booze, I scan the pub, looking for Hayden. Hunched over the bar, chin resting on his palm, I find my wasted doctor.

"Let's go," I say, tugging on his arm. His elbow slips, and his head slams against the counter. I cover my mouth, laughing. "Sorry."

"Jesus Christ," he groans, rubbing his face. When he finally looks up, his eyes spring open. "Camilla?"

"At least there's no brain damage," I say, holding out my hand. "I'm taking you home."

He smirks. "It's against the law to take advantage of those under the influence, Miss Bianco."

I scowl at him. "Trust me, you'd want to be sober to be with me." I loop my arm around his torso and try to lift him. "God, you're heavy. Fuck’s sake."

"I'm fine," he says, stumbling as he stands up on his own. He looks down at me. "Are you really here?"

"Why are you here?" I ask, looking around. "This doesn't seem like your usual spot."

"I needed to—" he shrugs and swallows, "—be somewhere else for a while." He motions around. "This place seemed perfect." He sighs, his eyes fluttering as he looks at me again and adds softly, "It was unexpectedly perfect."

"Your version of perfection is a bit different than mine."

"I've recently learned that—" he sighs, his conflicted gaze flickering around my confused face, "—appearances can be deceiving, Miss Bianco."

"Recently?" I ask, letting out a cynical laugh. "I learned that years ago."

"Right," he hums, swaying. "Lucky you."

"There's no luck, remember?" I tease, grabbing hold of his arm as I lead him to the front door. "Only destiny."

He snorts. "Also bullshi—" He freezes when a mumbling, bearded bowling ball of man struts up to us and slaps my ass. Before I have time to swing my fist, Hayden pushes me to the side and leaps forward, clocking the greasy biker in the face. The man staggers backward before bulldozing toward Hayden with contempt burning in his irises. "You don't want to do that," Hayden says in a gritty, threatening tone. "Trust me."

"Fuck you!" the biker growls, charging at the doc. Hayden blocks the biker's punch, palming it in his hand. He grabs the bowling ball man’s forearm and twists it, knocking the man to his knees.

"Apologize," Hayden grunts, keeping the man in a lock. He glances at me quickly. "Now."

"S-Sorry," the biker grumbles, wincing from the pain. Hayden tightens his grip. "Fuck! I'm sorry, okay? Sorry!"

"Better," Hayden says, taking two unsteady steps backward. He looks around the bar, flapping his arms. " Goodnight everyone." He doesn't look at me as he swings the front door open and asks, "Are you okay?"

I blink, following after him. "I'm fine." We stop in the middle of the gravel driveway, and he pulls out a pack of cigarettes. "Did you just try and fight a biker?"

Hayden lights a smoke, taking a drag. "Wasn't much of a fight, was it?"

I blink up at him. "And you're smoking?" I tilt my head. "Who are you?"

Hayden scoffs, closing his eyes. "Could ask you the same question, Camilla. Who are you ?"

"You know who I am," I say, shivering as a gust of wind nips at my skin.

"Cold?" Hayden looks at me, scanning my face. He pops the smoke in his mouth and slips off his jacket. "Here." He takes a few steps toward me, draping it over my shoulders, his fingers grazing my skin for a millisecond. "Keep it."

"Thanks," I breathe out, watching him pace around. I've never seen him like this. It's unnerving. Unknown. I don't like mysteries, especially if I don't have clues to solve them. "Are you okay? Why were you drinking tonight?" I pause, hesitating before walking toward him. I place my hand on his arm and ask in a whisper, "Why did you call me?"

"Because…" he sighs, shaking his head as he looks up at the sky. "Maybe I wanted to talk to you." He takes a deep breath and slowly looks down at me, placing his hand over the tips of my fingers as our eyes connect. My breath hitches. "Or maybe—" he swallows, jaw clenching, "— I'm just drunk."

"Did something happen?" I ask in a low murmur.

He gives me a faint smile as he pulls away. "You're stealing my lines," he says, reaching for his cell phone. "I'm the therapist here."

"What are you doing?" I ask, watching him type on his phone.

"Calling an Uber."

"I can drive you," I reply, disappointed.

"It wouldn't be appropriate," he says. "It wouldn't be?—"

"Moral?" I offer, perking a brow. "Well, neither is drunk calling your patient, Doc."

"Mmm," Hayden hums, rubbing his chin in frustration. "I know." His phone pings. "Two minutes away." He looks at me, expression softening as I tighten his jacket around my body. "Why did you come here, Camilla?"

"Because you called me," I reply honestly.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, fingers tense and rigid. "You didn't have to come just because I called."

"I wanted to..." I trail off, my heartbeat quickening. "I was...worried."

"Yeah," he whispers. "I get worried too..."

"About me?" I ask, tempted to take a step closer to him.

He smiles at me, letting out a labored breath. "Go home, Camilla. You don't need to worry about me anymore tonight. I'm fine."

"I can wait with you," I say, not wanting to leave.

"No need," he says, nodding at my car. "It's late. Go get some sleep." I don't move. "Go home, Miss Bianco. Please."

"Fine," I say. "Get home safe, okay?"

"I will," he says. "I will."

I drive to my condo in a tired state, Hayden's scent filling the space in my car.

I leave his jacket on as I crawl into bed.

It smells safe.

At least tonight.