Embers [Lashton]

Chapter 1

*Ashton's POV*

"Straighten up, kid. You got invited to the boss man's house," the man scolds, hands gripping the steering wheel as he follows a black Escalade through the rich, suburban kingdom. I scoff, before diverting my attention back at the line of fancy homes.

"Don't do that, you're lucky you even got invited. Hemmings must think you have a lot of potential."

I shrug, dismissing the compliment before I cross my tattoo covered biceps.

The driver speaks again, "You're 22 and you've only been in the business a few months. I'm impressed, kid."

Kid. I frown again and roll my eyes. I was born for this job. Battling rival drug lords and pissed off customers, delivering drugs, running from the cops. That shit was my passion, my area of expertise.

I smirk, thinking back to how I got this job. Practically a cakewalk. The driver takes notice and scolds me again. I ignore him and stare back out the window. A column of smoke catches my eye, towering up from a distant mansion on a hill.

"What's that?" I ask, pressing my nose to the cool glass.

"Oh, fuck," the driver says and slams his foot down on the accelerator. The car in front of us does the same and we zoom towards the smoke.

"What? What is it?" I ask.

"That's his house."

Wait, Hemmings? The boss's house? "Woah, shit, someone targeted his home?"

"Sure you want in this business, kid?"

My stomach soars into my throat but I gulp it back down. What am I getting into? We pull up to the house and everyone leaps out. Orange flames engulf the entire castle. Who can afford this shit? "Thank god he wasn't home," I mumble under my breath. The heat of the fire flushes my cheeks and I take a few steps back.

"Oh my god, oh my god," I hear the distinctive, gruff voice of Andrew Hemmings, the drug lord/mastermind himself, as he stares at his home in shock. I'd never seen the boss before but he is nothing like I expected. He's well dressed in a button up and black dress pants. His blond, slightly grey hair slicks to the side. I expected ripped sleeves or piercings or some shit like that. I mean, even I look more threatening than this guy. He just looks like your typical, rich businessman. The driver of my vehicle goes over and puts a hand on his shoulder.

"We'll figure out who did this, I promise. You have cameras everywhere."

A moment of silence passes as the crackling of wood hits our ears. Parts of the home are breaking and falling off like crumbs.

"Luke." The name sends a bolt of lightening down my back. Andrew screams, "Where the fuck is my son?"

Everyone takes off towards the home, curse words flying between the desperate cries of that name. Luke. I didn't even know Hemmings had a son.

Shrugging off that thought, I rush towards the burning house. The heat flares in my face but I dash around the side of the home, searching for any life in the charred cemetery. The thousands, maybe even millions, of dollars spent on this house turn to kindling as the angry flames soar higher. They tear through the beams and furniture, dissolving and destroying with every passing moment.

My heart races as I do. I trail the edge before I see it. Him.

"Luke?" I ask, approaching the dainty figure with extreme caution. His eyes are shut and wrist is crumpled at an odd angle. Bright red burns sear into the side of his leg. Blood pours through blond hair and down his forehead. Smoke covers his delicate features in a grey mask.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I mutter and rush to the side of the boy. He doesn't respond to my calls. A loud crash disrupts my thoughts. The roof seems to be caving. I have to get out of there. And fast. I scoop up the boy into my arms and sprint back towards the street.

"I have him!" my voice carries over the chaos, "I found Luke. Someone call an ambulance!"

The boy, Luke, is light in my arms and I pray he isn't dead. Please, don't let him die. Please don't let him die. Not on my first day meeting the boss.

Everyone's attention diverts to the broken boy in my grip and they gasp. I run far from the house as whirls of heat slam into my back. Sweat clings to my shirt and curly hair. Ignoring the collapsing home, I sit on the curb. Luke is still limp in my arms, but I don't dare release my tight grip. Andrew Hemmings rushes forward and cups his son's face.

"Oh my god. Lucas. Luke, wake up. Wake up!"

He doesn't.

"Has anyone called 911?"

"I'm on the phone right now," a voice adds.

I peer down at Luke, blood streaming through charcoaled soot on his cheeks. The driver from before kneels down beside us.

"Where was he?"

"W-what?" my voice is foreign and shaky when it slips out. I clear my throat and take my voice down a few octaves. I need to be tough.

"Where did you find him?"

"West side of the house," I manage to say.

"Those fuckers attacked him in his room?" Andrew spits, hand running through his son's hair. It's clumped with blood and I cringe at the soothing gesture.

"We don't know if that's what happened," the driver attempts to calm the tension, "We don't know anything yet."

"I want them dead."

"We don't know who they are."

Sirens blare and mix with the explosions of the home behind us. Every blast of heat has me shielding Luke. An ambulance cuts off our conversation as four uniformed workers hop out. Paramedics rush over and try and take the boy from my arms.

"No, get the fuck away," I snap, eyebrows furrowing as they rip Luke from my grasp.

Andrew Hemmings leaps to his feet. "That's my son. Someone tried to kill my son."

My arms feel empty without Luke in them. I clench my fists until they turn white.

"You're welcome to come in the ambulance," a paramedic tells Hemmings as fire fighters rush toward the collapsed mansion. I move to interject, but the driver pulls me back.

"We'll follow in our car."

I don't even realize I'm shaking until we get to the car. Driver man has to open the car door for me.

"No one has ever gone after Luke before. Maybe this time they weren't either. Maybe some one just wanted to make a point," he says, shattering the silence.

"I don't give a shit. Who tries to burn a child alive?"

Why do I even care so much? I've seen worse, haven't I?

"He's 16, for starters. And two, you're in a nasty business. You realize that, right? You signed up for this job. We see death every day, so get used to it."

Get used to it. I shake my head and close my eyes. Images of the body, lifeless in my arms flash through and I exhale. What did I get myself into?