My Maddie (Hades Hangmen #8)(16)

“The flames… the flames burned too hot…” he murmured, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“Let us go to bed,” I suggested and waited for him to move. I would not leave him on this spot. Flame blinked up at me, and he was still the most beautiful man I had ever seen. It amazed me how he continued to steal my heart every single day. “You need sleep, baby. Let us sleep.” He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something else. But words failed him. Taking his hand, I guided him to his feet. Flame followed me into the bedroom. He lay down and I lay before him. I clasped his hand and brought it to my mouth. “I love you.”

Flame did not respond at first, and then he said, “You’re not allowed to die.” His eyes closed, his mouth parted in slumber, but his words replayed in my head like a twister. You’re not allowed to die…

I stayed absolutely still, holding his hand as his breathing evened out with sleep. I surveyed his body. My attention fixed itself on his arm, now spattered with freshly drawn blood. Releasing my hand from his, I silently moved from the bed and retrieved a washcloth. Careful not to wake him, I wiped the cloth along his arm, cleansing his blood and washing the evidence of his pain away. I cleaned his stomach and his thighs, and then I paused, just watching the peaceful sleep he was now in. My chest tightened. I ran my hand through his dark hair. “I need you with me,” I confessed to no one but myself. “I cannot do this without you, baby.”

I covered Flame with the comforter, then went into the living room and mopped up the mess that had been made mere moments before. As I was heading into the bedroom, the front door opened, and Asher stumbled through. I smelled the alcohol before he even came into the light. For the second time tonight, my heart cried for a Cade brother.

“Asher,” I said quietly as he moved to the kitchen.

His bloodshot eyes lifted and tried to focus on me. He smelled of tobacco too. “Madds,” he slurred and walked toward his room.

I wanted to talk to him. I wanted him to talk to me. I knew that in this inebriated state it was pointless. But the dark rings below his eyes, his messy black hair… Asher was the living embodiment of pain and grief. Where Flame did not show it in his expression, Asher told the story of his loss and guilt in his every feature. Asher and Flame may have been two very different people, but they both were consumed by their guilt and sins until it became the very essence of who they were.

Seeing Asher in this state, I could not leave him. Just as he reached the door to his room, I said, “Asher?”

His shoulders tensed under his leather jacket. He eventually turned to look at me. “What?” he snapped, fire and rebellion replacing the sorrow in his eyes. But the depth of pain on his face shredded my heart.

I walked up to him. Asher was a statue—as tall as Flame, and with the same dark eyes and hair. I imagined this to be exactly what Flame had looked like when he was the same age and the image pressed another bruise on my heart. I reached for his hand and gently squeezed his fingers. Asher’s lips tightened. I thought he would pull away, but, surprising me, he held on.

He held on so tightly.

“You are loved.” I wanted to heal him. I wanted to see again the boy who had never seen his best friend die while saving his life. The sweet boy who blushed when anyone talked to him, the boy with the smile that would win over even the most walled of hearts. I believed he was still in there somewhere, hidden under layers of pain. I believed that, one day, if we could peel back those layers, we would see him again. Inching closer, I placed my hand on his cheek. His breathing hitched at the contact. I was not sure if he knew it, but he leaned into my palm, seeking comfort. “You are loved. You are so very, very loved.”

Asher embraced my touch for several seconds, before he backed away, my hand dropping back to my side. The door closed, a barrier between us. He was lost to me once more. I did not move. I stayed, shifting my gaze between Asher’s room and that which held my husband. They were both broken. I loved them both. And, somehow, I would see them both healed.

Feeling a wave of tiredness, I made my way back to my bed. Flame was still sleeping, but his brow was strained. As I slipped into bed beside him and took his hand, his forehead lost its tension and he rolled toward me. The warmth that sprouted in my heart was that of hope. We would get through this. We would always wrestle our demons and win, no matter how hard the fight.

Lifting my nightgown, I laid his hand on my bare stomach, placing my hand on top. “We can do this,” I whispered and rested my head upon his broad chest. “We can be parents, and we can be happy. I know we can. We just have to believe it, Flame. We just have trust ourselves and believe…”





Chapter Three


Lil Ash



Darkness. That’s all my fucking life was. Fucking pitch black darkness. And an anger so strong that I shook with rage. Every time I closed my eyes I was back in that moment, when the cartel and the Klan had taken us prospects hostage. When they said they would let us go, unharmed… but instead the Diego pulled out his gun and aimed it at my head. As he lined the barrel up with my skull, I knew that was the end for me. I knew it was my time to go. It was fucking freaky. A sense of numbness washed over my body as I looked at my fellow Hangmen and found my brother. He was watching me, pacing, losing his shit at seeing me in Diego’s hold. I waited for death to come. But something knocked me to the ground from the side. I looked up just as Diego re-aimed the gun away from me. His gun’s chamber released a bullet—a bullet meant for me.