Stixx
Nobody is gonna believe the woman of my dreams happened to walk into my job and I accidentally kidnapped her. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. I almost crash my Road King into Lucy’s rear bumper. The motorcycle roars as I follow her, drowning out the music playing through my Bluetooth helmet but not my thoughts.
This is exactly my shit luck.
Not that I got a choice.
Author's Note:
You're reading an excerpt from my dark romance Arsonist's Lullaby.
Arsonist's Lullaby reached 28 ebook and signed paperback pre-orders, which means you unlocked Chapter 3! Thank you so much!!
Chapter 3 continues below.
🖤
Catch Up
I slow behind her at a light. She waves in the rearview mirror. Nobody’s pulling over a very pregnant white woman with a new travel system in her back seat, not in this town. Cops’ll probably offer to install it for her.
Beer Can was supposed to ask one of the dancers or hangarounds, anyone knocked up and harmless looking. Lucy is anything but harmless.
She’s my undoing.
I lift my feet from the road and ease forward when Lucy does, merging onto Route 8. Traffic flies by doing at least eighty, and she keeps up in what’s supposed to be the passing lane. Townie pigs won’t pull her over, but they’ll definitely take me, and I can’t afford it. Not when I don’t have a license or citizenship.
I stay several cars behind her. We’re going to the same place, anyway. When she takes the Huntingdon Avenue exit, though, I frown. “Where are you going?” I murmur and follow.
She flies down the hill, making the left just before losing the green arrow, leaving me stuck at a light that takes forever even when I’m not tailing Cliff’s cousin and a box full of explosives. I consider blowing it, but the oncoming cars turning right make me think twice.
Motor vehicles kill bikers.
I’ve lost her, though. By the time the light cycles through another red and I get an arrow again, she’s nowhere in sight. I grip the handlebars. If she was trying to lose me, she did a damn good job of it. The only problem is, the Fishers are no doubt on her, and if they think she’s running…
I need to get to her.
My burner pings with a text, and I use the next light to read it.
<< Lucy: Pulled off. >>
She drops me a pin.
It’s right nearby. Interesting. I turn into a parking lot sledgehammered with potholes and glide into a spot in front of a smoke shop. Her car’s here, but she’s not in it.
I spot the van the Fishers are in. Even through the tinted windows, I feel them watching, the hairs on my arms and nape of my neck standing straight. Pulling up Lucy’s number, I lean against the ledge of a tattoo shop window and light a cig. She doesn’t pick up.
I call again, and again. I’m blowing up her phone, and I don’t give a fuck. Not with Dante, Nico, and Ugo watching. She seemed to take me seriously, but she doesn’t know these guys like I do. She’s got two more seconds, and then I’m storming into every shop until I find her.
Before the thought fully forms, Lucy strolls out of a restaurant a couple doors down, a takeout bag hanging from her arm.
“What’s that?” I nod at it.
“I really had to pee,” she says, lifting a container from the bag and popping it open. Balancing it in one hand, she forks out a heap of yellow rice and takes it into her mouth with a moan. “The Brazilian restaurant always lets me use their bathroom,” she explains, “and their barbecue is really good.” She licks a well-timed dribble of sauce from her lower lip.
I cock an eyebrow at her. “We stopped so you could get barbecue?”
“Pay attention. Baby. Bladder.” She points to her bump with the fork, then dips back in for another bite. Instead of putting it in her mouth, she holds it out to me.
I glance at the van. It’s closer.
“Don’t be shy. We’re gonna die together,” she says with a wink.
“We will if you keep messing around,” I grumble, but I slurp the steak, rice, and chayote into my mouth, the heat searing my tongue, pain immediately flooded by smoky, salty meat. I moan in appreciation, my mouth watering for more before I’ve even chewed and swallowed. “All right, I get it. We gotta get going, though.”
It’s her turn to give me an eyebrow. She leans against the hood of her car in dismissal, all her attention on the food.
“Lucy,” I say. “Seriously.” The van idles close enough that I make out the shadows of the men sitting inside.
She slides another bite past her lips, and I chuckle. Can’t help it, even if we are gonna die. She’s that cute. She passes another plastic fork to me.
Over my shoulder, I check the van.
“Don’t worry about them,” she says. “Eat the Brazilian barbecue. Then we’ll die happy when the hitmen blow our brains out.”
I snort. Might as well join her. It is good, the kind of food I’d go out of my way for. “Guess I can’t blame you for grabbing a last meal to go.”
“There’s a method to my madness. So why don’t Cliff and Olivia know about this?” she asks, nodding at the van. She holds the container to her mouth and scrapes the rest of the rice and squash straight in.
“You’re feral,” I tease, and she gives me a look. “As you were.”
She places the empty container on the hood with a sigh.
“All gone,” I say with a shake of my head.
“I got another.” She holds up the takeout bag, and I laugh.
“Ready?” I offer my hand. She looks from my palm to me, and to my surprise, she takes it. Her touch short circuits my nervous system, my whole body humming. Then her fingers slip from mine. Moment’s over.
“Why are we going to the fulfillment center?” she presses.
“You’re not supposed to ask questions,” I tell her.
She gives me a sharper version of the look I’ve seen her give Cliff and Olivia.
The van really is drawing closer, the driver’s side window rolling down.
Dante leans out. “Let’s fucking go. Now!”
She pauses, halfway into her car. “I’m sorry,” she says, looking around. “Who the fuck are you talking to?”
Dante’s smirk is cruel, his whole face twisting around it. “Ugo’s got a way of handling pregnant women who don’t do what they’re told, don’t you, Ugi?”
I clench my jaw. I’ve heard the rumors about what Ugo did. I only work with these men because of what we do together.
“Come on, Lucy,” I say quietly.
She waves me off, and we hit the road again.
When she pulls into the fulfillment center campus, the Fishers continue to the back, where they’ll get out any girls and women being held there while Lucy delivers the package. Vans and trucks stream in and out of the place, a facility that technically isn’t open yet. And never will be.
“You’re gonna carry that in,” I instruct, the rumble of traffic keeping our conversation discreet. “Ask for a return.”
She rests her wrists on the steering wheel. “Do they take returns? Are they even open?”
The fulfillment center’s been a hot debate since before they broke ground. Brass City businesses don’t want the extra congestion in an already busy interchange.
The residents want their one-hour, same-day deliveries of cheap shit. Most people have no idea that the place isn’t really an international shipping hub. It’s a front, one the don wants shut down immediately. He couldn’t stop it through city channels, so he called us.
I lower my sunglasses. “They don’t, and they’re not, but you’re a white woman—a pregnant white woman. Just turn on some tears or something.”
“And remind me, what’s in the box?” she tries.
“That’s Brad Pitt’s line.”
She tilts her head.
“Come on, don’t tell me you’ve never seen Seven.”
“Pregnancy brain strikes again.” The pink creeping across her cheeks and the tip of her nose highlights her freckles. She doesn’t look away, and it makes me like her even more. “You’re gonna make me keep asking, huh?” She shakes her head at me.
“Gotta stay on script.” I wink. “You’re safe, you have my word.”
“I’m safe from corporate, but what about our entourage? What are they even doing here?”
I want to tell her everything, what we’re doing, how important it is. That even though the Fishers are some crazy motherfuckers, they’re the only ones crazy enough to rescue people being sex trafficked. Well, them and our club.
My phone pings, reminding me there’s no time. Not right now, anyway.
I take her shoulders and point her toward the entrance. “Focus. Ask for returns.”
She walks in, oblivious to my eyes on her ass, and I give myself the same advice: “Focus.”
That’s when I realize the package is still in her back seat.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is a bad idea, bringing her in. If Beer Can was more tech savvy, if Lucy hadn’t shown up, if I could’ve got her out of the shop sooner—a million things went wrong to put her in this position. Nothing I can do about it now except play it through, hope that the Fishers don’t kill her, and Cliff doesn’t kill me.
Fuck my cover. I’m going in after her.
The doors slide open and she comes back out pushing a hand truck.
My cock twitches. I already had it bad for her. Now I’m rock hard and possibly in love. Lucy gets shit done.
I’m feverish, what with the things I wanna do to her running through my head. I set the box onto the hand truck and avoid her eyes.
“This isn’t gonna, like, blow up if I hit a bump or anything, right?” she asks.
If I tell her it will blow up, just not yet, she won’t deliver it.
“You’re safe with me,” I reassure her.
“Okay,” she concedes and pushes the hand truck inside.
I smoke a cigarette while I wait. Vaughn texts for an update, but I don’t answer. Don’t want to jinx it. We’ve done a few runs, but nothing this big, nowhere this prominent. Cars, but only after staging a crash and making it look like a gas leak. Houses, but only the ones old enough to blame faulty wiring. When Olivia needed an emergency cover, I already knew how to make Greg’s death look like a drunken cigarette accident. Probably not what the nuns at school meant by practice makes perfect, but I’m proud of my craft.
Still, I’m nervous. This time, Lucy’s been in there too long. There’s always the chance they say no, or they open the box. Then what? She gets detained? To hell with it. I’m going in.
The doors open and she comes out, an odd expression on her face. Without a word, she slides into her car. She turns it on and rolls down the window, but stares through the windshield.
No one followed her. I lean in the driver’s side. “They take it?”
She pulls a shaking hand out of the pocket of her cardigan, clutching a wad of bills. “They gave me cash.” She turns to me. “They didn’t even ask for a receipt. They barely looked at me. They… There wasn’t any merchandise. I thought they were empty shelves at first, or maybe lockable bays, but they were cages. Human-sized cages.” She thrusts the money at me.
“Nah, that’s yours, darling. And plenty more coming.” I straighten, heart rate slowing only by a fraction. I won’t relax until Lucy’s far from here and the Fishers. At least it’s over. “You good to drive home?”
“Cages,” she repeats, arching an eyebrow at me.
I nod. “That’s why we’re here. The mayor couldn’t do anything about it officially, so the don called Ravage. We gotta go, though. Now.”
She studies me. “The van was to get people out?” she asks, and I nod. Her pupils dilate, and her chest rises with fast breaths. “One more question,” she says.
“I’ll answer all your questions once we’re out of here,” I promise.
She pins me with luminous green. An alluring shade flecked with blue and orange, a lucky color. Her eyes are liquid and cinder gilded with lust. “I was going to ask you to follow me.” She licks her lips.
Fuck, I want her. I can’t go home with her, though. I should say bye. What comes out is, “Let me make a quick call.”
I step away a few paces and press the burner to my ear. The approaching autumn does little to cool the day. My throat is dry when Vaughn picks up. “Package is delivered,” I report. “What’s the status on our Fishers?”
“They extracted five. Two women, three children. Good work,” he says. “You out of there?”
“Give us ten,” I confirm.
“Us?” he echoes. “She’s still there?”
“We’re leaving now.” Hanging up, I nod to Lucy. “Let’s rock.”
I tail her, keeping distance between us. The road rumbles under the bike, and I nearly lose my balance. Lucy taps her brakes, and in my mirrors I see a second sun light up the sky. I hear it over the roar of the motorcycle, and I know she heard it, too, just like I know she sees the plume of orange and smoke. A moment later, fire engines, ambulances, and police cars both marked and unmarked fly toward the distribution center. I’m a little bummed I can’t see my work. It would’ve been too risky to hang around, though.
Lucy swings off the next exit, and I follow, heart in my throat. She’s pissed. I can tell by the way she takes turns, no signal. If she’s actually trying to lose me, I’m fucked. I’ve seen her work. She pulls into a church parking lot, and I go in after her. She climbs out of her car, hands on her hips, and I take off my gloves.
“You’re not gonna save me, love, so save whatever sermon you’re winding up—”
Her fist flies at me. I nearly trip over my own bike to dodge it.
“I asked you if this could get me sent to prison, and you lied to my face!” she shouts, scaring a murder of crows from trees lining the lot.
“I didn’t lie. The sirens aren’t chasing us,” I point out, holding up my hands.
“You didn’t tell me we were blowing up people’s livelihood!” she continues.
“The only merch they’re shipping are women and children.”
She swallows, and I watch her throat move, mesmerized by the pulse beating under her skin. “Did we kill any of them?” she whispers.
“No,” I promise. “We had intel that the mark was in the warehouse with some other shareholders. The only product they had in there was toilet paper and shit like that, to make it look legit.”
“You should’ve told me what we were doing,” she says with a sigh.
“I’m sorry. Next time I’ll take you to the planning meeting.”
“Really?”
“No.”
“We’ll circle back.” She heads toward the church, then glances back at me over her shoulder, accidental renaissance with her bump silhouetted by sky thick with smoke. “You coming?”
I’m still trying to catch up. “Gotta pee again? I don’t think I can help you with that.”
She rolls her eyes. “I do have to pee,” she admits, wetting her lips. “I also thought you could help me with something else.”
Barely breathing, I wait.
“These fucking hormones,” she mutters, pushing bangs out of her face. “I thought maybe … we had like a … Never mind.”
I’m pretty sure I know what she’s getting at, but she’s cute when she’s flustered. It’s not a look I ever see on her. I like that I have that effect on her. “You thought maybe … what?”
I don’t remember closing the space between us. But here I am, and here she is, each ragged breath she takes drawing her closer. Her chest brushes mine, and my blood rockets to the head that doesn’t do the right kind of thinking. So I gotta hear her say it. I gotta know that I’m not burning here alone.
She gestures to the parking lot, just her car and my bike, and lifts a shoulder. “Thought maybe you’d take me inside this empty church and fuck me.”
Her bomb hits me and I freeze, almost unable to believe what I’m hearing. She wants me.
Maybe luck’s on my side, after all.
When I don’t say anything, she laughs, another ha, this one awkward yet even more endearing. “I am so sorry! Ignore me and my hormones.”
Recovering, I smile, pull open the heavy wooden door, and motion for her to go in. “I was gonna say, after you.”
Giving me a devilish look that incinerates any shred of willpower I had, Lucy curtsies as she slips past me, then I follow her into the church.
The above excerpt has been lightly edited and revised, and may not reflect the final published product.
Copyright 2026.
These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic or mechanical—without permission in writing from the author.
Arsonist’s Lullaby
Available October 25th
She’s burnt out. I’ll burn the world down to give her spark back.
When we reach 50 pre-orders, I’ll stream a live reading!
Discover more from Elizabeth Barone
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.