Page 61 of The Oath We Take

“Why you waking me?” he grunts.

“Whiskey Fever is on fire. I’m trying to get to Ember. I called 911 already. Call Butcher.”

“Fuck. I’m awake. Be careful.”

I hang up, tuck my phone in the rear pocket of my jeans, then reach for the key Ember told me to take earlier from my cut. At the base of the exterior stairs lie Haynes and Charmer, both with bullet wounds to their heads, slumped next to cans that I assume contained accelerant.

Shit, Haynes has a young kid.

I’ve got no idea how long they’ve been dead or how long the place has been on fire for, but the kitchen window is blown out and putrid black smoke charrs the walls.

The stairs rattle as I run up them two at a time. My legs burn and sweat trickles down my brow. The smoke must have fucked the back of my throat because it’s hard to swallow, but I don’t let the struggle for breath stop me.

I have one thought and one thought alone.

Get to Ember.

I hammer on the glass door to try to rouse her from sleep, even as I use the key to let myself in, but it’s then I notice the smoke. It’s hovering by the ceiling, dropping lower every moment. There must be some ventilation path through the central heat and air ducts or something.

Or maybe the fire is in the fucking walls.

I don’t know the physics of backdrafts beyond knowing the introduction of a large source of oxygen to a readily burning fire that’s hot and depleted of oxygen causes the fire to explode.

My eyes water once I’m finally inside. The smoke chokes me as I pull my bandana off my head and turn it into a mask. I don’t care if it kills me.

I don’t have any choice but to get to her. If I don’t, she’s dead. And for a moment, I feel a minute fraction of the agony Wraith must have been living with since he came home and found his first wife and their daughter dead.

Because I just got Ember back. To lose her again now, like this, would be the cruelest of fates.

An unexpected gasp escapes as bone-deep terror fills me.

There is no working the problem. No staying calm to make a good decision.

There’s just instinct, and fear, and a desperate need for her survival above my own.

I put my hands out ahead of me, guiding my way along the wall until I reach her room and find her door closed. An immense sense of relief washes over me when I open it and realize it’s not as smokey as the rest of the apartment.

But I still need to get her out of here because I have no idea if she’s asleep or unconscious.

“Em,” I shout, trying to rouse her. But she doesn’t wake. Her skin is warm, I see her chest move.

She’s still alive. And it’s up to me to keep it that way.

I’ve got no time to be a gentleman. Instead, I manage to shift her until I can hoist her into a fireman’s lift over my shoulder. Her workout bag is next to the bed, open and empty except for a pair of sneakers, so I throw anything I see on the way out that might be useful without breaking my stride, like a hoodie and shorts that were on a chair, into it. Her laptop, car keys, and purse are all stacked up on the side table in the entryway, and they get swept in too.

It’s a mess. I might drop everything. Something crashes to the floor, a vase I catch with the edge of the sports bag.

Maybe I wrecked the laptop. But I have no time to stop and think.

Ember needs clean air.

Once back down the stairs and a safe distance away from the rear of the building, I lower Ember onto the concrete. I place my hand beneath the back of her head, so she doesn’t land dangerously on the hard surface.

“Come on, Em, sweetheart,” I say, checking her pulse. “You got to wake up, baby.”

I brush the hair off her face and place a finger beneath her nose to check she’s still breathing.

Thankfully, she is and finally starts to rouse.

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