Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 106065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
No, not even at all. I sniffled and tried to stop shaking.
“I’m ready,” I lied. “I’ll take a big breath now.”
“Good.”
Pressing my face to the fabric over his neck, I screwed my eyes shut and held my breath, and I hated it. My throat tickled. I wanted to cough right away as he took the first steps down the stairs. Thirty seconds, he’d said. Could I make it? Under normal circumstances, sure, but this wasn’t normal! We were heading straight for the fire!
Greer ran fast, and I clung to him for all I was worth, my arms slipping a little because we were soaked.
A whimper threatened to break free when I heard the fire. I heard the flames. And the temperature was rising so fast. We were on the second floor, and he turned, right about to take the last flight of stairs, and I held on as tightly as I could. I had to breathe, it was too hot, and the rushing roar of the nearby flames terrified me. One quick breath—I had to—oh fuck. I coughed. Too hot, too strong, too sharp. A million razors slid down my throat, and I choked.
I made the mistake of tilting my face away from the wet fabric, and I opened my eyes. They burned, and yet I couldn’t look away. Through a teary-eyed squint, I stared into the fire coming from the club area.
So close.
I fell into a fit of choking coughs, and the last thing I saw was the flames licking the walls, licking the beginning of the staircase, licking the ceiling of the lobby. Then we were out. A gust of cold air hit my skin, and Greer jogged down the porch steps with someone else next to us. One of the Tenley twins.
I couldn’t stop coughing.
I could barely believe what was happening.
I couldn’t breathe.
House Mclean was burning.
Windows shattered.
Embers flurried in the darkness.
CHAPTER THREE
Some forty or fifty feet away from the inferno, Greer and I collapsed on the lawn, and neither of us could see an end to the coughing.
The temperature drop made me shudder violently, and everything I touched was uncomfortable. From the cold grass and colder air to the soot and grime covering my body. The memory of the fiery heat was too fresh, and I was still sweating.
One big fire engine had pulled up with its flashing sirens, and I noticed a smaller one on the other side of it.
“Greer!” someone shouted.
I coughed over and over, tears running freely. I gagged too, and I was ready to sell my soul for a bottle of water.
“It hurts,” I croaked.
“Did you hold your breath all the way down?” Greer rasped.
I nodded and wiped at my face. “Just the last bit—I couldn’t.”
Catching movement in the corner of my eye, I turned my head as two men hurried over, clearly aiming for Greer. Archie and Sloan, I assumed. More importantly, they had water and some other stuff with them.
“Oh, Greer.” The one with dark hair was shorter and immediately went into fussing mode in front of Greer, his worry clear as day. “We have first aid and water and blankets. Did you get burned? Did you inhale smoke? There’s an ambulance on the way too.”
“Water, please,” Greer coughed. “Are you all right?”
I tuned them out the second I had a bottle of water in my hand, and then I was chugging in between coughing and gagging. God—the day had to be over. I wanted to crawl out of my own skin and run far, far away.
The water helped, thankfully. My throat wasn’t itchy or on fire anymore, and I didn’t think I’d inhaled too much smoke.
The other man, significantly taller—just a couple inches shorter than Greer—squatted down next to me and draped a blanket around my shoulders, and I braced myself for it to feel too scratchy, but it didn’t. It was soft, like T-shirt material, almost.
“I was hoping to meet you under better circumstances,” he said quietly, rubbing my back as I coughed. Or, Christ, for all I knew, he was yelling, but I couldn’t hear much over the ringing fire alarm and the roaring flames that pushed through the windows of the kitchen.
Well, I heard firefighters too. They were shouting orders and running straight into the burning house, or some of them were, while others were positioned on the lawn to fight the fire from outside.
Members around us were huddled in small groups, and they looked about as shocked as I felt.
I had to look away. Too loud, too many impressions, too much static.
I whimpered and shook my head, in disbelief and ready to cry my eyes out—as if I hadn’t already started. I’d been fucking sobbing since I got here.
I poured the last of the water on my face, wanting to get rid of the grime, and the man—Sloan, I was guessing—grabbed the corner of my blanket and gently dabbed it on my cheeks and forehead.