Page 3 of Little Did You Know

My phone started vibrating across the counter, and I expected it to be Olivia's flight info, but instead, Brittany's name appeared on the screen along with a picture I'd saved to her info. She'd texted me the extremely revealing photo one night when I'd been out of town and missed our weekly fling. She was lying on a bed completely naked except for a pair of purple six-inch fuck me heels and a seductive smile.

She'd wanted to make sure I didn't forget about her, and at the time, it was hot, but now it looked the same as every other girl's pic on my phone.

I dismissed Brittany's message with a swipe, but Emmett's words echoed in my head: "Take care of my sister." The same sister who'd once looked at me like I hung the moon—before I learned to disappoint everyone who cared about me.

Chapter Two

Ablaring siren sliced through my sleep, piercing my dreams and dragging me into consciousness, its howl drilling into my skull before my mind could process what it meant.

My back lifted off the bed as the smell of smoke filled my lungs.

Fire.

My hand fumbled for the bedside lamp as I sucked in a breath.

The smoke detector's wail bounced off the wall as my fingers found the light switch.

Click.

Nothing.

There was no power.

Jumping out of bed, I bolted to the window. I was on the second floor, but I was pretty sure the jump wouldn't kill me.

My fingers slipped and fumbled on the window latch, my heart hammering so hard I could feel it in my teeth. Each failed attempt to open the window sent my pulse higher, until my hands shook so badly, I could barely grip the frame. The smoke pressed closer, turning each shallow gasp into a battle for air.

My breath caught as I stared at my bedroom door, the wood warping and crackling in the heat. Sweat trickled down my neck as I tried to guess what horrors waited on the other side.

Orange light flickered beneath the door frame, casting dancing shadows across my walls. The stench of burning plastic stung my nostrils. Thick gray tendrils curled through every crack, filling my lungs with each shallow breath. The smoke alarm's shrill warning had fallen silent. The wallpaper beside the door began to bubble and peel. Even from three feet away, the heat pressed against my face like an open oven.

I had no idea if Emmett, my older brother, was in the house or still out for the night. Most nights, he didn't come home, so it wouldn't be unusual for him to be gone for the night, but it didn't matter. If I couldn't get myself out, I couldn't help him. I had to hope he had escaped and was calling for help.

I stumbled back to the window, fingers clawing at the frame as I pulled with what strength I had left but it was no use. It was stuck.

"There has to be something I can break it with," I muttered, squinting through the darkness for anything solid enough to shatter glass. But the smoke had turned the room into a black void.

My lungs screamed for clean air, each inhale like swallowing sand. The room began to tilt and sway, dark spots blooming at the edges of my vision like spilled ink. My knees buckled, sending me crashing to the floor where I'd desperately hoped to find cleaner air. But even here, the same thick smoke burned my lungs and coated my tongue with ash. As the ceiling above me blurred and darkened, my limbs becoming too heavy to move, the door burst open with a bang that I felt more than heard through my fading consciousness.

A deep, hoarse voice yelled my name; "Olivia."

"Here," I coughed, trying to get up, but my body wouldn't respond to what my brain told it to do.

Warm arms wrapped around me, jerking me off the floor; I threw my arms around his neck. He pulled me tight against him protectively, and I buried my face in his chest to protect it from the heat beyond the door. In a rush, he carried me out.

"Emmett," I muttered, most of it muffled by his chest.

"Emmett's fine; he's not home," he said as we exited the house. It was Anthony. Anthony had worked as a driver for my parents before they died and stayed with Emmett and me after. He mostly chauffeured me around, but I considered him a friend, part of the family.

I expected him to set me down once we were safely outside the house, but he didn't stop until we were standing at the driver side of his white Cadillac Escalade.

"Anthony, I'm fine." The words came automatically, though my lungs still burned with each breath. "I don't need the hospit?—"

"The airport." Anthony's hand found the small of my back, the familiar gesture made foreign by its urgency. His fingers trembled against my spine.

The orange glow of the fire painted strange shadows across his face, highlighting deep lines I'd never noticed before.

"Airport?" The word tasted wrong. "But the flight isn't until?—"

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