The estate still smoldered, the acrid scent of smoke and scorched steel hanging heavy in the morning air. Bella stood at the apex of the chaos, surveying the aftermath, but her mind wasn't on the battle it was on them.
Crystal moved beside her, silent and lethal, like a predator coiled for attack. His eyes, dark and molten, never left hers. Every glance was a challenge, a claim, a promise. He reached out, brushing a soot-streaked strand of hair from her face, lingering longer than necessary.
"You shouldn't make me want you like this," he growled, voice low, rough with need and warning.
Bella tilted her chin, meeting his gaze without flinching. "I'm not here for permission," she said, letting her lips curve in a small, wicked smile. "I'm here to take what I want and right now, I want the fire."
He chuckled, sharp and dark, stepping closer until their breaths mingled. "The fire," he repeated, almost to himself. "It's dangerous. And you?"
"I am danger," she whispered, leaning just enough into him that their bodies almost touched. The tension between them thrummed like an electric current, a dark, intimate storm.
Christian approached from the north, steady and commanding, like a hawk descending on prey. His eyes were storm-dark, intense, and when they landed on Bella, the world narrowed to the space between them. His hand brushed the small of her back, grounding her while sending shivers of heat through her body.
"You're impossible," he murmured, tone low, half warning, half confession. "One wrong move, and I—"
"—I survive," she finished for him, cutting the words off with a sharp, knowing grin. "And you'll follow."
The three of them stood in a precarious triangle, the battlefield at their feet and desire coiling like smoke between them. Crystal's hand hovered near hers, possessive, protective, while Christian's held her steady, unyielding, commanding. Both fires pulled at her, both claimed her attention but she didn't yield. Not yet.
Gunfire erupted from the western flank. Bella reacted instinctively, vaulting onto an overturned car, rifle raised, scanning for threats. Crystal mirrored her, moving with fluid, lethal grace, while Christian provided cover, cutting down targets with precise, controlled shots.
In the chaos, her hands brushed Crystal's once more, fingers tangling for a heartbeat, and her back pressed to Christian's as he steadied her. The proximity was unbearable and intoxicating, the pull of both men undeniable.
"You're reckless," Christian said, voice low, dangerous, brushing the line between anger and desire.
"I don't wait for anyone," Bella shot back, spinning to fire at a mercenary who lunged from behind a barricade. Every movement was calculated, fierce, lethal and magnetic.
Crystal growled low, frustrated, possessive. "Stay with me," he muttered, almost to himself, his eyes locking with hers.
Bella's lips curved into a feral, confident smile. "I'm always with the fire," she said, firing again, then spinning toward Christian. "But I decide where it burns."
Christian's hand lingered against her back, and for a split second, the battlefield faded. She felt the weight of his heat, the promise in his storm-dark eyes. "You will destroy us both," he whispered, and Bella felt it like a caress, dangerous and undeniable.
Anthony's laugh floated up from the shadows of his cell, amused and approving. "Beautiful chaos," he said softly. "All of you. And her. She's no one's prize. She makes the rules."
Bella's chest rose and fell, exhilarated, alive in a way the fire and bullets could never match. The war outside was ferocious but the war inside, the tension between desire, loyalty, and power, was far more intoxicating.
Crystal stepped closer, fingers brushing her waist, voice dark and low. "You're mine," he growled.
Christian's hand tightened slightly on her back, pressing her toward him. "No," he said, voice rough, husky, almost vulnerable. "You're ours. But I'll fight for you every second."
Bella's gaze flicked between them, wild and untamed, and she smiled, sharp and wicked. She didn't have to choose not yet. She owned the fire, the chaos, the battlefield, and the hearts of the men who flanked her.
"Then fight," she whispered, letting her words wrap around them like smoke and steel. "Fight for me. But know this I don't break. I don't bend. And I decide who survives my storm."
Both men stiffened, the intensity between them coiling tighter, the unspoken tension unbearable and exquisite. And Bella, standing amidst the smoking ruin, knew with perfect clarity: she had become the storm, and the storm desired none but herself.
Because for Bella, the war, the danger, and the fire were inseparable—and she intended to master every part of it.