Oh yes, I’m fast at work for Pyro’s story, UP IN FLAMES. I am so excited about this story, deeper, darker, and what a love story. Not an easy one (which are my favorite!) but so epic. Let met tell you, broken people are the most delicious to play with and I’m having so much fun with Pyro and his lady, Angel.
Want a taste? I know you do!
What the hell? Pyro pried one eye open, fighting against the bone-deep lethargy stealing his body’s ability to react to his will and dragged himself upright from the bed. Something had banged his front door. No one fucking messed with him. His neighbors knew to leave him alone and he gave precious few people his address, so who the fuck was banging on his front door? Shaking off the cobwebs in his brain, he reached under his pillow and pulled his gun. Someone wanna play? All right, we’ll play. He went to the front door and waited, listening. His ears pricked at a whimper and he scowled in confusion. A female whimper. Leave her be. Not your problem. Females in this place were always getting beat up or some shit because they didn’t have the good sense to leave the fuckers that were using their women as punching bags.
He startled. She knew his name. Whoever was on the other side knew him. Well, shit. Grimacing, he tucked his gun in his waistband and cautiously opened the door, only to have a woman fall back on his toes. Long, blond hair, plastered to her skull from the rain, gave little clue as to who she was, nor did he immediately recognize her otherwise. He stuck his head out through the doorway, looking for anyone who might have left her there and saw that cowardly fuck, Ratchet suddenly stop and stare, plainly caught between wanting the woman and keeping his face the way it was.
He glanced down at the unconscious woman and then looked back at Ratchet, waiting for the man to make his move. Finally, Ratchet backed down with a shrug and a glower. “Fuck it,” he muttered and then headed back down the stairwell with a decided limp.
Well, now what? He stared down at the woman with an annoyed scowl. He couldn’t leave her in the doorway that was for sure. Sighing, he dragged the woman into his apartment and shut the door. He nudged her with his foot, irritated by the mystery and the inconvenience of the situation. It wasn’t everyday that people came calling — and with good reason. He wasn’t exactly the neighborly type. “Hey,” he said, nudging her harder when she didn’t respond. “Hey, girl. Who the fuck are you and how do you know my name? Are you one of Ratchet’s girls?”
A moan escaped her blueish, parched lips and her eyes opened, revealing green eyes that immediately stirred a memory that he wanted to forget. He stared harder at the sodden woman at his feet, crouching to get a better look. He pushed the wet hair from her face none too gently and couldn’t believe who he was staring at. She looked different from the last time he’d seen her — a lot different — but then she’d been a chubby teen the last time he’d seen her. “Angel?” he tested, not sure he was right but hoping he was dead wrong. “Angel, is that you?”
“Pyro…please help me,” she whispered, tears leaking from her eyes as she shook. “Water…I need water.”
The hoarse croak of her voice horrified him. Had she been beaten? Why was she out in his shitty, dangerous-as-fuck neighborhood alone? Well, don’t just leave her on the floor, you fucking idiot. Get her to the couch at least. He gathered Angel in his arms, alarmed at how thin she was, and laid her gently on the ratty couch. “Did someone do this to you? What happened?” he asked, going to find something for her to drink. He opened the fridge and swore. A few beers and a moldy box of left-over Chinese stared back at him. Fuck. Well, it wasn’t as if he were prepared to entertain human beings. Or hell, anything that lived and breathed. He filled a cup with tap water that looked grey in the glass and even though he wasn’t sure anyone should drink that shit, at least it was wet. He brought it to Angel with a muttered apology. “Sorry, this ain’t the best but I wasn’t planning on company, you know?” He held it to her lips and she drank a little before sputtering, waving it away, to puke what little she’d had in her gut. He jumped out of the way before it splashed on his feet but he couldn’t believe this was happening. “What the hell happened to you, Angel?” he asked under his breath as he went to grab a towel to mop up the mess. But when he returned, she was passed out cold. Hell, she looked fucking dead. So much so that he felt the need to check for a pulse. When he found the softly bumping heartbeat beneath his fingertips, he sighed with short-lived relief. Great, she was alive…but what the hell was he supposed to do with her?
he sighed with short-lived relief. Great, she was alive…but what the hell was he supposed to do with her?