Cole.
God. Cole.
Was he caught in the blast?
Is he outside?
Is he hurt?
Are my brothers alive?
I can’t breathe—I’m not sure if it’s the smoke or the panic clawing at my throat. The ceiling above us cracks. A molten line of fire races across it like a serpent, hissing, dropping sparks onto the carpet that flare instantly into embers.
The room is turning into a furnace.
‘Looks like showtime,’ Jack hums, strolling back to the window to watch the fire engines slowing, the crowd gathering, the black smoke blooming up into the night sky.
I pull against the cable ties with everything I have. They dig deeper. My skin breaks. Warm blood slides down my wrist.
I don’t care.
I need out.
I need to save my daughter.
Frantically, I scan the smoke filled room. Willing Killian to put an end to this horror.
Suddenly, the office door shatters. Glass sprays everywhere as flames dance up the corridor. The heat slams against me like a wall.
I’m going to die here.
My little girl is going to die here.
And then—a silhouette barrels through the flames, coughing, staggering, armed.
A gunshot cracks through the inferno.
The sound rings sharp and final.
Jack’s head snaps forward. His body drops like a puppet with its strings cut, collapsing onto the scorched carpet at my feet.
I blink through the smoke.
But it’s not Killian standing in the doorway wielding a weapon. It’s Cole, chest heaving, face streaked with soot, eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing left in the world.
‘Sweetheart,’ he rasps, already crossing the smoke saturated room, ‘I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Let’s get the fuck out of here.’ Cole slices through the cable ties with a knife. My arms fall forward, limp and shaking. He catches my wrists gently, as if he’s afraid I’ll shatter.
‘Can you stand?’ His voice is hoarse, strained. Smoke-stained.
‘I–I don’t know.’ My legs tremble violently. My lungs claw for air.
A beam somewhere in the corridor collapses with a crack that vibrates through the floor.
Cole doesn’t hesitate. His arms sweep under my knees and around my back in one seamless movement, lifting me against his chest as if I’m weightless. I bury my face in his shoulder instinctively, breathing him in—smoke, sweat, and a hint of that faint crisp scent that’s just… him.
‘Cole—Tate. Nico. Felstead—’ Panic spikes through me. ‘We have to find them!’
‘Nico and Felstead are outside,’ he mutters, voice tight. ‘I’ll find Tate. But I’m getting you and the baby out first.’
