in his arms | BOOK II

prologue

♠️

blaze

THE FRONT DOOR slammed open, nearly hitting Blaze in the face from how fast it hit the wall, and swings back into place. He looked around the living room with a gun in his hand, inspecting the mess—everything was shattered and destroyed. It looked as if a pack of rabid animals came through, shredding and breaking anything in their path.

Blaze tried to calm his breathing but his heart still pounded erratically in his throat as he took in the disaster that was once considered his home. The medical team was called, they were heading to him right now.

No one had to die today.

"ARCHER!" He called out, running from the front foyer to the dining room to the kitchen until he began to even look behind the curtains in hopes that he was hiding. "Fuck, Archer! Where are you!?"

When there was no response, it began to feel like the breath was being stolen from Blaze's lungs. He didn't stop searching even when he thought he would collapse. He refused to stop searching for Archer. Not when there was a chance he was there and in desperate need of help.

He clenched his hands to stop them from trembling at the mere thought that he may find his best friend, alone, cold, dead.

The thought was shaken out of his mind before he can think any harder about it.

"You're not fucking dead," Blaze muttered.

He reached the living room to find it as empty as every other room. He slammed his fist against the wall with a frustrated grunt. "Archer! Fuck..."

Blaze's feet slowed until he came to a complete stop. He buried his hands in his hair when silence was the only answer to his calls, just like every time before.

This is all my fault, his mind repeated.

Five words. All it took was five simple words for Blaze's world to fall apart.

He did this. For all Blaze knew, Ellie and Dimitri could be in a whole other state all while he was still ten steps behind their kidnappers' plans.

If Blaze never went to that damn meeting in Los Angeles, or if he at least thought to bring Ellie and Dimitri with him, then the house would have never been ransacked and his best friend would have never been beaten to a pulp—his family would have never been taken from him. If he actually thought of what could have happened while he was gone instead of stupidly leaving the state, everyone would still be home by the time he got back from his trip.

That isn't what happened. The mere reminder of it causes fury to bubble inside of him, threatening to explode.

His hope has already worn out by the time he peeked over the sofa.

His heart dropped.

There, covered in blood and bruises and sweat, was Archer.

Blaze could tell that Archer had several broken bones from a single glance. His body looked twisted in ways the human body shouldn't be twisted and Blaze couldn't tell how much of the damage was done by the men and how much was his body simply resting from its beating. Beside him is a man Blaze has never met with blood pooling around his head. His face is pale and his lips are blue.