“The flames!” Frankie’s shriek tears through the basement. She coughs, pointing to the wall across the room. “They’re coming closer!”
Flames eat up the left side of the room, inching toward us, and smoke clouds the air. I move forward when a low choking sound snaps my attention to Murphy. His head is still slumped forward, his eyes closed, but his brows are puckered and broken moans escape as he slowly comes to.
Well, shit.
“Hurry, get Emmy,” Frankie cries. “Please, hurry.”
Emmy. My head pounds as sweat drips down my hairline. I flick my gaze across the room, searching for something to open the crates. After a second, I bolt toward the exit and enter Room Two, where my table is. Yanking out the bottom compartment, I shove the drill aside and grab two nut wrenches, then race back into Room Three.
“Get me the fuck out of here, asshole! Stupid damn—” A coughing fit takes over Griff’s snarl, and I don’t bother to look at him as I pace straight to Emmy.
Thank fuck the giant flames by the wall haven’t yet reached the low ones circling the crates. My shirt clings to my damp shoulders and back, and my lungs burn with each inhale. I try to focus on the tool in my grip instead of the blurred images of the past bleeding into my mind. Stepping over the orange blaze, I place both wrenches on either side of the padlock’s ring and shove them in opposite directions. The lock snaps open, and I pull Emmy into my arms.
I hold her close, feeling her melt against me, and carefully peel the tape from her mouth. It comes off easier than it should from the sweat dampening her skin.Shit.My pulse skips a beat as I breathe her in. Every bone in my body throbs, and I know it’s not just from exhaustion.
My forehead touches hers.
Griff’s coughs jerk my head up, and my own lungs start to close as the smoke becomes almost unbearable. With my gaze fixed on Emmy curled in my grip, I stand and move toward the exit.
I’m getting you out this time. I’m fucking getting you out.
“Wait! Don’t leave me!” Frankie is staring at me, her cheeks red and wet, her eyes round.
I growl, everything inside me burning to get Emmy the hell out of here before it’s too late. Risking it once was enough. I start to leave again because I’m not in the business of saving goddamn lives when Emmy’s moan makes me stop. Her hair covers her face, her limbs weak, and fuck, she’ll never forgive me if I leave her sister.
Stalking toward the exit, I lower her against the hallway wall, my hold on her lingering longer than it should. I lean forward, brushing the hair out of her face and cupping her cheek. Sweat and tears wet my palm.
I press my lips to her ear. “I’ll come back for you.”
Her eyes remain closed, and she doesn’t respond. Swiping my thumb across her jaw, I tear myself away, my pulse hammering as I dart back into the room. I bust Frankie’s crate open and pull her out, then lift her over the flames and release her.
“Fuck you, Lucas Costas!” Griff’s choked bellow pierces my ears, and my spine stiffens. “I’ll fucking kill you and your little whore!”
My shoulders constrict. “Frankie, stay with Emmy.” She nods and rushes toward her sister.
When I turn around, it’s not for Griff. The asshole paved his own path. Instead, I lift my shirt collar high enough to cover my nose, partially blocking the smoke from hitting my lungs, and pace toward the coward sagging against the column. The lucky shit passed out again. Fumes and flames lick at my skin and seep past my nostrils, the blistering heat pure ecstasy as I imagine what it will do to Murphy.
He isn’t going to miss his own show.
I strike him across the cheek, then grab him by his shirt and shove his spine against the pillar. Finally, he groans and his eyes slowly open. He squints, then immediately joins Griff’s coughing fit. When his brows shoot to the ceiling and the panic takes over, I step back. “Welcome to hell, motherfucker.”
After pulling my knife from the wall, I exit the room without looking back and shut the door just as muffled cries of pain spill through the cracks. Frankie sobs harder, but she’s wrapped her arms around Emmy and managed to lift her sister off the ground. She takes a step forward, toward the exit, and yeah, no fucking chance.
I pry Emmy’s body out of Frankie’s grip and haul her into my arms. I try not to think as I lead them around the corner and toward the garage exit. When gunshots ring from upstairs, I tense. Fucked up or not, I just lost one brother. And the bumps racing down my arms at the shots fired make me wonder if I’ve lost a second.
And Murphy. It still wasn’t the death he deserved. My muscles are close to crippled with the anger that seeps into my veins at that. For the second time, a leader of Misha got off too fucking easy.
Kicking the back door open, we enter the underground garage. One, two, three cars are already pulling out, blondes behind each wheel and filling the back seats. My adrenaline kicks up as I watch them go and realize I don’t have my keys since I never leave the damn house.
A black Mercedes comes to a screeching halt in front of us. The driver’s window rolls down, and Aubrey jerks her head toward the vehicle. “Get in.”
Felix grins from the passenger seat. “Yeah, man. Right about now would be great.”
Frankie is already opening the door and sliding across the seat to the other side. Ice cold air from the A/C blasts on my damp skin when I slip in after her, hugging Emmy to my chest and closing the door. My back sticks to the leather as the wheels tear against the pavement, and I use my knife to free Emmy’s hands from the rope.
I’m still on edge, every part of my body on high alert. My arms are stiff around Emmy, and I look down. Her eyes are closed, her long lashes casting a shadow above her cheekbones. Her breathing is even and peaceful, no sign of the shit she barely escaped from. With a tightness in my throat I’m fucking sure I’ve never felt, I sweep the loose strands of hair from her face.
My pulse slows as I watch her. The pace of my breathing falling into sync with hers.
I press her into me and dip my head, letting my lips graze her forehead. Letting her scent, her softness, her breaths fill me. She’s delicate in my grip, so much like the mouse she tries to portray.
But she’s never been a mouse. Maybe she was never a lion either.
With the number of times she’s been burned and risen from the ashes, I’m starting to think she’s an entity all on its own. I’m a mere mortal next to her. And fuck if I’m not her willing prey.
