Sirens wail from somewhere across town. Police. Fire. Ambulance. Three separate sounds, all easily distinguishable to a girl who personally knows most of the first responders in this town. My eyes dart around the room in search of escape, but when the dirty Fed tosses his lighter to a pool of liquid, the room bursts into light.
Flames race across the lines of gas and up onto the boxing ring. Others follow the rivers that lead straight toward me and Laine.
“Jess?!”
His voice.
Instantly, my eyes snap up and stop on Kane in a ski mask. Mask or not, I’d know him anywhere.
His eyes – there’s nothing like them anywhere else.
Angelo, one of myextrabrothers stops beside him, and though it feels like a lifetime of staring, the guys break in less than a second and split up.
Angelo sprints across the flickering room in a grease stained tank and heavy boots, and in his hands, he holds a gun just like Kane’s. I didn’t know he owned a gun. I didn’t know he knew how to use one. But he wears it the way Kane does; with steely determination and complete confidence in his skills.
He runs toward Laine, and before the man with gas can react, Angelo slams the gun against the side of his head and sends him sprawling. Stopping in front of my sister, he works on her ropes like a madman.
She fights the beam. She fights the ropes.
And every time she moves and tightens what he’s undone, she delays her freedom and mine.
I look back to the front door and catch sight of Kane sprinting through flames. Then half a second later, Alex and Oz skid to a stop.
Alex’s eyes pierce mine. Rage. Worry. Panic. He kicks off and runs across the room, and behind him, Oz takes off in the direction Kane went.
“No!” I scream. I have to compete against the roaring flames, Laine’s cries, Angelo’s swears, and the shouts of men at the top of the stairs. But still, I try to get Oz’s attention. “Don’t hurt Bishop! He’s one of us. Don’t hurt him!”
Unhearing, Oz disappears behind smoke and leaves me gasping for oxygen in a room quickly running out. The flames eat up everything they touch. The air. The walls. The beams and boxing ring.
Through the flames, Kane stops and meets my eyes. Despite the ski mask, I see the apology in his eyes when his gun comes up and points directly over my shoulder.
To Alex.
The thick ropey muscles in his forearm contract, and his finger squeezes the trigger. His arm doesn’t move a single fraction as the bullet explodes from the gun.
The bullet passes within inches of my face. My hair whips back and tears slide over my cheeks when I squeeze my eyes shut.
My ropes release, and when I spin, I come eye-to-eye with a surprised Alex and the Special Agent Fuckface dropping to the concrete floor with a bullet hole in the center of his forehead.
“Oh my God.” My chest collapses. My lungs won’t expand.
It’s exactly like in my dreams, but at the same time, it’s not.
In my dreams, it’s me with the bullet hole. It’s Alex with the bullet hole. It’s my family who lay in the fire with dead eyes.
I turn and face Kane. My brother’s savior.
Alex is here to apprehend him, and if roles were reversed, he wouldn’t do the same for Kane. He wouldn’t save him. He’d consider it a job well done.
My eyes remain trapped in Kane’s for eternity. He watches me. I watch him. Flames roar between us, and yet, I don’t move until Alex grabs my arm and drags me away from the failing beam. I fight his hold. Spinning away, I skid down beside the dead agent and snatch up his gun.
Angelo throws his arm over Laine’s shoulder and propels her across the room.
With all the gasoline, all the rubber in the boxing ring, the smoke turns pitch black and blinding, forcing a torrent of tears from my eyes. I bend lower as the cloud comes closer, and when I catch sight of Laine’s feet disappearing, then Angelo’s sprinting away, I breathe easier.
My sister’s safe.
Angelo’s safe.