Tightening her grip on the edge of the window so she didn’t topple down, she swung her attention to the door. Flames licked beneath the wood and black smoke billowed into the room. A low shriek got stuck at the back of her throat.
She scrambled closer to the window. The chain pulled on her chafed wrist. “Help!” she screamed.
A wall of fire scorched a hypnotizing path across the floor toward her. Heat spread up her back, making sweat roll down her neck and forehead. She coughed as the suffocating smoke filled her mouth and burned her eyes.
Panic battled away the heat, replacing it with its frigid breath.
Emmy was upstairs.
“Roarke!” The hysterical cry scratched her throat.
The heat moved closer. Any second and the fire would be on her skin. The ceiling would soon be eaten away by the angry inferno.
Please, God. Please . . .
She and Emmy were going to burn alive. Left and forgotten. Her arms ached to hold her daughter. Even if fate wouldn’t allow either of them to live, at least they could part from this world together. At least she could comfort Emmy. Shield her in some way ...
She couldn’t take it. A scream, guttural and maternal, belted out of her. Her fingernails dug into the window ledge. Deep coughs racked her shoulders. Her throat and lungs burned with the charred taste of ash.
Bang!
Something blew past her face. More cool air rushed in, pushing away some of the smoke. The screen. It was gone. She gasped and wobbled on top of the radiator. A rough hand clutched her shoulder, anchoring her in place.
The sharp clap of metal popping made her jump, and then she was free. Hands gripped her armpits and hauled her through the window.
She coughed and sputtered and blinked, struggling to see who had pulled her from the basement—to confirm what her heart already knew.
Roarke lifted her against his chest, one arm beneath her legs and the other around her back as he ran from the house.
No! Emmy!
She didn’t know if she’d screamed the terror-soaked words aloud or only inside her head. Kicking and flailing, she reached for the torched house beyond Roarke’s shoulder.
“No!” The scream ripped from the base of her soul.
Roarke moved close to the trees, then dumped her into another man’s arms. Rain soaked her clothes and hair. Roarke gripped her face firmly, his nose an inch from hers. “Stay here. I’ll find her.”
Before she could say anything, he was gone.
“Let me go!” She pushed at the bulky, hard body holding her, not caring which of the guys Roarke had passed her off to.
She couldn’t—wouldn’t—stay here while Emmy was possibly stuck inside. Panic gave her legs new energy as she kicked. The man grunted and nearly dropped her. He caught her an inch before her face hit the ground, then righted her on her feet effortlessly.
Viper’s large palms cupped her shoulders, making her face him and holding her in place as if she were a child having a tantrum. “Listen to me,” he demanded. The sound of his deep, rocky voice made her stop squirming.
Hot tears streaked her cheeks, and she slapped them away. “Emmy’s still inside.”
“We don’t know that.” His even, patient tone infuriated her even more.
“I need to see for myself.”
“That ain’t gonna do nothin’ for you, doll. If she’s safe and you run into a burning house?—”
“Roarke is!” she screeched.
“He’s trained. Let us do our job, all right? He’ll be back.”
Laine’s lips trembled. Part of her wanted to run, to punch Viper, to do anything but stand here. Fighting him would be useless. He’d win without breaking a sweat. “I need to find her,” she croaked.
