Page 103 of Revenge & Ruin

The blast hits me from behind, knocking me to my knees on the smoldering grass, Rocco’s weight still heavy on my shoulder as I clutch him close, shielding him with my own body from the falling embers.

I kneel, bruised, half-burned, and gasping for breath. Rocco is still motionless, unconscious against my shoulder, but he’s here.

He’s out. We made it.

I indulge in a cough. Then another. A ball of charcoal-black saliva hits the ground, and I groan loudly as I rise. Every single muscle in my body protests and every stretch of my skin is agonizing, but I pull Rocco further and further to safety.

From the back of the brownstone, I can’t see the others through the flames. Though the house is crashing down now, the roof is caving in as support beams crumble to ash.

All I can do is stare as my lungs work to get oxygen back into my body.

This is how they died.

This is how my family died.

They wanted to kill my best friend like this, too. This wasn’t just personal. This was the devil's work.

And I saw her at the scene of the crime.

Rocco chooses that moment to make a very pathetic little sound. I’m next to him in an instant, wiping away the dirt from his face as I check again for a heartbeat.

“Come on, Rocco. Stay with me,” I growl at him.

I have two fingers against his neck, feeling for a pulse, but my own heartbeat is pounding so loudly in my ears that I can’t tell what’s his and what’s mine.

My hands are shaking, my whole body protesting, but there’s no time to wait, no room for hesitation. I tilt his head back, open his mouth, clear his airway as best I can, and press my ear to his lips.

Nothing.

No breath. No heartbeat.

“Damn it, Rocco,” I hiss, forcing myself to focus as I lace my fingers together and place them over his chest.

I push down, counting with each compression, trying to ignore the fire’s heat radiating against my back, the sweat and soot stinging my eyes. My hands press down hard. Eachmovement is desperate, willing his heart to start beating on its own.

“One…two…three…”

I keep going, each count grinding against my already raw throat, my fingers digging into his chest as I press down over and over.

My own breathing is ragged, my body straining with each movement, every ounce of my strength poured into forcing life back into him.

Finally, I pause and pinch his nose, leaning over to give him a breath. His chest rises with my oxygen, but it’s not enough.

He’s still motionless, his face pale and streaked with soot, his eyes devastatingly shut. He’s always looked so much younger when he’s asleep, butthisis too much. Too vulnerable, too helpless. It makes tears begin to prickle in my eyes.

“Come on, come on!” I shout at him, not caring how hoarse and ragged it comes out.

I give him another round of compressions, pushing down with everything I have, my body aching as I fight to keep going.

“Don’t you dare give up on me now. Not now. You bastard.”

Then.

Then.

Something happens.

On the third round of compressions, his body jerks beneath my hands.

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