Page 27 of No Take Backs

I step forward before Ryder or Cap can, and I lift her into my arms like she weighs nothing. In that moment, she could have weighed three hundred pounds, and it wouldn’t have mattered. Then, like I’ve done it a million times before, I carry her over the rubble and out of the house into the sunlight. A gurney catches my eye, and I lay her down as gently as I can, willing her to breathe with every fiber of my being.

Tearing the mask from my face, I hang my head for a second while I wait for any sign that she is going to be okay.

"Get some oxygen on her," Cap barks at the second EMT that arrived on scene at some point. "She's unconscious and not breathing. Was under the collapse."

I watch Gem load Gino into the ambulance and my heart lurches. He isn't moving, either. The doors slam, and then the ambulance is roaring to life with sirens blaring.

My attention shifts when Nia is hooked up to the EKG from the waiting ambulance, and the EMT at her side starts compressions while his partner connects leads to her chest. There isn't a heartbeat.

"Load her," the EMT orders.

"Fire's out," Chief Hayes announces loudly.

My eyes aren't on him. They are on Nia's unmoving body. Her body heaves with every press of the EMT's hands on her chest. I don't need to hear it to know that she is going to have some cracked ribs, if not worse. I watch them load her into the ambulance, still not breathing, and when the sirens chirp to life, it snaps me out of the haze I didn't know I'd been in while I watched them work on her.

Our team, with grim faces and hurried movements, do what we have to. The pumps shut off one by one, and the hoses are rolled back up to be put on the trucks. When I hear the eerie silence after everything is done, drowned out by the sound of sirens in the distance, I turn to survey the damage. The house is a total loss, and I can see the collapsed roof from where I stand.

“Let’s load up.” Cap's voice echoes through the mic on my chest. “We’re heading to the hospital.”

In the truck, no one speaks. No one so much as breathes too loudly. Instead, we pray.

Reaching into my shirt, I clutch the medallion my mother gave me the day I graduated from the fire academy at eighteen years old, and I beg Saint Florian for Gino’s life and that of the woman we tried to save. But most of my thoughts are reserved for Nia.

Two minutes and three seconds later, the rig screeches to a halt in the emergency lanes of the hospital, and we pour out. Cap moves the rig to the side, clearing the way in case the lane is needed, but I don’t wait.

Instead, I march through the sliding glass doors and to the desk.

“One of our brothers and a paramedic were brought here, with two victims from the fire.” My question goes unasked.

“All four were brought in. If you’ll have a seat, as soon as I know anything about your people, I’ll let you know.”

Cap steps up next to me, taking control of the situation. “You’ll get me an update. Now.” He snarls when the nurse doesn’t move quickly enough for him. “There are two of my people in there. Take us to the internal waiting area. We’re not staying here.”

He leads the way, pulling his phone from his pocket as he goes.

“Well?”

The nurse moves into action, and thirty seconds later we are at the end of another hall, watching as a doctor speaks quietly with Cap.

They both have grim expressions on their faces. But my eyes go past them and land on a crying Gem.

Gem practically sprints in my direction when she sees me standing there with Ryder at my side and the rest of my brothers at my back.

“I don’t know what she was thinking,” she gasps out, breathless from either the run or crying. “That little boy said his sister was in there with his mom, and she just ran in.”

“I’m gonna beat her ass,” Ryder growls. “And then I’m gonna call her brothers and sister and let them do it all over again.”

“Get in line,” I whisper darkly. “But first, let’s make sure she’s going to live.”

11

NIA

“Stupid, stupid girl,” my mother mutters under her breath, her voice a low, relentless drone that cuts through the fog of my consciousness. “If you’d just gone into medical school like your father and I wanted, you wouldn’t have tried to kill yourself today.” The words are harsh, laced with disappointment and fear, and they strike me like a physical blow.

I can feel her hands on me, poking and prodding, checking for injuries as if she’s still in the ER and I’m just another patient. But I’m not just another patient. I’m her daughter, and I know that deep down, beneath the stern exterior, she’s terrified.

I have to be in hell. There is no other reason for my mother to be muttering as quietly as she is, poking and prodding my body when all I want to do is sleep.

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