Page 28 of Wrath
Not there.
Fucking not there!
She ran to her family, covering her mouth with her hand. “Where’s Alek?”
Roksana turned to her, tears in her eyes. “He didn’t hear the alarm! He’s in there. God, Misha. He’s going to die, isn’t he?” She flew into Misha’s arms and sobbed.
Wyatt touched her shoulder. His eyes were hard as stone as he mouthed something… something like,ask her where Alek was seen last.
“Roka.” Misha pulled her sister away. “Where was Alek when you last saw him?”
“Um. I don’t know. I think the kitchen,” she sobbed. “He’d just arrived from school. Usually he dumps his bag in the office, then starts on the evening prep. God, I hope he’s hauled up in the cool room or something. Please God.”
Wyatt’s looming presence was next to her one minute, then gone—moving—a dark shadow swallowed by the burning building.
Wyatt!
But maybe he was okay. He was different, Misha knew that. He wasn’t normal. The things he could do with his strength. He wouldn’t go in there without knowing he’d be safe, would he?
Bright blue and red flashing lights bounced off the black billowing smoke, and sirens cut short, truncating ominously. The Fire Brigade had arrived. Within seconds, they disembarked and firemen spilled out of the truck. One came over.
“You need to get back, ma’am. Sir. Please—” he ushered them toward the rest of the watching crowd.
“My brother’s in there!” Roksana cried.
“Someone is in there?” the fireman replied.
“Yes, but Wyatt’s gone back in to get him.”
“Two people?” The fireman shouted at a few of his crew, barked orders, and that was all Misha had time to see before they were all forced back.
An explosion burst the front windows of the restaurant, shattering glass into the lot with a ground shakingboom.
Roksana screamed. They all ducked and covered their heads as flying pieces of debris and glass soared over head.
When she thought it was safe, Misha turned to the restaurant and caught the silhouette of a figure climbing out of the window. She held her breath. Could it be?
It was!
Covered in a tablecloth and slung over Wyatt’s shoulder, Alek’s gangly teenager body dangled in his clutches. She almost couldn’t look, but had to see Wyatt’s eyes. He returned her gaze with devastation.
No.
No, no, no.
Misha burst into tears.
Please don’t let him be dead. Not her dear, sweet Alek.
Firemen surrounded Wyatt as he placed Alek gently on the asphalt. Her brother was covered in soot, possibly burned—how badly, she couldn’t tell. Along with the rest of her family, Misha broke free from the crowd and raced to him.
“Alek,” she shouted, even though he couldn’t hear her.
“Ma’am, you need to step back. Make room for the paramedics.” A fireman’s big hands blocked her. Over his shoulder Misha could see the paramedics unpacking their kits from the ambulance while the firemen battled the blaze. It was Wyatt who calmly and swiftly took control of the situation.
He checked Alek’s vitals. He must have sensed something, something good, because he sat back and his shoulders relaxed. He turned, scanning for Misha. When their eyes clashed, he gave a curt nod.
He’s okay.
