Page 62 of The Enforcer

I keep dragging, even when I think I won’t make it, even when I think I won’t be able to get us both out. When I realize I’m not making progress fast enough and Shane will be more hurt than he already is, I stand hunched over, a cloud of smoke encircling me. Holding my breath, I grab Shane under his arms and heave him up so I can comfortably and quickly drag him out of here. With a mighty roar, I trot backwards as fast as I can to where I think the door is. Shane’s weight barely registers as I fight to get us outside to fresh air.

Thankfully, I burst through the door, almost falling over when I push it open with all the force I can muster. Sirens break across the night air, promising help and safety. I draw in a long, relieved breath—though it makes me cough hard and my eyes water.

Shane starts to cough as well and I blow out a shaky breath, feeling like shit that I got him hurt. Had I told him to stay at home, he would be fine.

I check him over, seeing his shirt is sticking to him in some places. When I pull on the fabric, trying to remove it—hacking up a lung as I do—Shane howls, voice giving out as he yells and coughs. I stop trying, not wanting to hurt him more.

Stumbling over to the door, I shut it so none of the smoke billows out. The sirens grow louder and I pull Shane onto my lap. In a voice hoarse from all the smoke I inhaled, I say, “They’re coming, baby. They’ll be here soon. Hold on for me, yeah? Hold on.”

My chest hurts with every breath and my head swims like I’m going to pass out, but I shake that shit off. I will keep my head until someone comes to work on Shane. I can be strong for him. I can.

With shaky hands, I pull out my phone, shooting a text to Prez. After the text is sent, I fumble the device, almost dropping it into a puddle before I can slide it back into my pocket.

Movement at the corner of my eye catches my attention. My head whips around as someone steps from around the corner. They take two steps in my direction before he stops, a gas can in one hand and a glass bottle in the other.

It’s fucking Kirk.

“Didn’t think you’d see me again, huh, motherfucker?” he shouts, dropping the can by his feet as he fumbles around in his pocket. I move Shane from my lap, laying him on the concrete as gently as I can while I keep an eye on Kirk. “I’m going to fucking burn you alive! I’m going to fucking destroy you, you piece of shit!” He shakes the bottle in his hand at me, and the cloth hanging from the tip gets my attention. A fucking Molotov cocktail.

“Come here and do it, then, bitch!” I taunt, though my voice comes out in a rasp. I take a few steps away from Shane so in case Kirk is stupid enough to throw the bottle, he won’t be in harm’s way.

I’m rushing at him as far as my fucked up lungs and swimming head can take me when he lights the cloth hanging from the top, cocks his arm back and launches it my direction. The bottle almost floats, tip over tip, the flame at the end looking dangerous and deadly. Luckily for me, Kirk throws like a bitch and the Molotov cocktail is off by a mile, hitting the wall of the building about ten feet to my left before it gets anywhere near Shane and me. I drop to my knee, covering my face from the heat of the flames and the broken pieces of glass.

After I’m sure I’m not hit by anything more than a few shards of glass, I turn back to Kirk. If he’s heading my way, I want to have enough energy to beat his fucking ass, making sure he’s knocked out before I give in to the darkness trying to engulf me.

He takes a step in our direction but when he hears how close the sirens are, he thinks better of it. “This isn’t over, motherfucker. My friends will get your ass!”

“Not before mine get you,” I mutter, but my voice doesn’t carry. It’s raw from the smoke and flames and from the small bit of exertion from trying to get to Kirk.

Turning in the opposite direction, Kirk runs away from the cops that would arrest him for this shit, gas can in tow. But I don’t want him arrested. Kirk is mine.

Fire trucks stop in front of the alley seconds later, police officers and paramedics hot on their heels. Firefighters hop off their trucks, some heading to the club entrance, some working to put out the flames from the failed cocktail.

Pulling in a deep breath, ignoring my need to cough, I shout, “Over here! We’re down here!”

A few people shout, then the sound of pounding boots greet me, music to my ears. A firefighter has to forcefully keep me away from Shane as paramedics drop to their knees to put an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. A strong hand grips my shoulder as a mask is pulled over my head.

When I’m sure they’re loading Shane onto a gurney, once I see that he’s safe and will be taken care of, my knees give out and everything goes black.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Zeke

I wake up as I’m being loaded onto the back of an ambulance. I fight against the paramedic’s hold, trying to get them off me so I can get to Shane.

“Sir! Please stop fighting! Don’t?—”

“Get the fuck off me!” I roar, trying to push everyone away so I can climb off the back of the ambulance to be with Shane. I need to see him and make sure he’s okay.

“Dios mio. Fucking chill, Ezekiel,” Prez’s voice cuts through the din of my thoughts. I search him out, seeing him climb into the back with me, dressed in slacks and a dress shirt when it’s well after midnight. Paramedics try to get him to leave, but he stares them down until they back away, going back to work on whatever they were doing before I tried to kick their asses.

The sight of Prez not being in more comfortable clothes—like fucking pajamas—when I told him the club was on fire makes me laugh harder than it should and I stop trying to push myself off the gurney.

My stomach hurts as I bend to laugh, then I start hacking and coughing. My vision fuzzes as I cough and the mask is placed back over my nose and mouth. Grabbing onto it for dear life, I take greedy pulls of oxygen. It takes a while to get myself under control and by the time I do, the ambulance is moving and we’re on our way to the hospital.

Prez moves a paramedic out of his way, putting his face in my line of sight. “You’re okay. Shane is being worked on in the other bus.”

Pulling my mask off, I rasp, “Shane … okay?”

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