Page 89 of From Asher, With Love

“Asher!” Charleigh yells beside me. I snap my head to the left. She’s using the collar of my shirt to cover her mouth.

I blink and quickly glance back down the hallway, the blood draining down to my feet. My mother is gone. I swallow my nerves, hoping the fire isn’t out of control. I swing my attention back toCharleigh.

“What do we do?” she asks, panicked.

I cover my mouth with my arm, ignoring the scars on my bicep from the last fire I survived.

“We need to see if we can get out the front door,” I tell her.

Smoke slithers down the hallway, clouding my view of Charleigh even though she’s standing in front of me.

“If not, there’s a fire escape outside the living room window!” Charleigh yells back, coughing after every other word.

“Okay, come on.” I squeeze her hand. The smoke stings my eyes, and I try to blink it away.

Charleigh follows my lead as I turn the corner, the living room coming into view. Flames cover the sofa situated in front of the window, blocking the fire escape. Every piece of furniture is engulfed in fire, even the plants Charleigh has placed in nearly every corner of the apartment. Angry red and orange flames threaten to catch onto the curtains lining the front windows. Shards of glass stick out from one of the panes of the wide-open window. The blazing flames rage, building faster than my mind has a chance to catch up to what’s happening.

I yell over my shoulder. “The fire escape is blocked by the fire!” Dialing 911, I raise my phone to my ear.

“911, what is your emergency?” The man on the other end asks.

I open my mouth to answer but stop when an eerie feeling washes over me.

“Cyrus.” I feel Charleigh stiffen as her hand grips onto mine, her nails digging into my skin.

I look at her eyes before turning back around, following her what has her attention.

When I turn around, I find Cyrus standing by the front door. With narrowed eyes peeking through his swollen, roundface, he glares at Charleigh and me with an expression full of hatred and darkness.

The glint of the silver lighter in his hand flashes in the bright glow of the fire. He flicks the lighter with his fingers, constantly popping the top up, the metal clinking over the sound of the fire. A cloud of smoke shields him from complete view, but his expression is unmistakable.

“Hello?” The man on the phone says. “This is 911. What is your emergency?”

“I think you’ll find it in your best interest to hang up right now,” Cyrus bellows, lifting his chin.

I tighten my grip, fear settling into my bones. “Hello?” the man repeats in my ear.

Cyrus’s jaw tightens, and his brow furrows.

Swallowing thickly, I lower my phone with a shaky hand. It slips from my fingers and falls to the floor beside my feet.

“Good boy.” Cyrus sneers.

Goddamn motherfucker.

I curl my fingers into a fist at my sides.

My heart thumps in my chest, raging against my ribs, and my mind dances, figuring out how I’m going to get us out of here safely.

I swing my attention to the flames now crawling up Charleigh’s green, velvet curtains.

“There’s no one to pull you out of the fire this time,” Cyrus yells over the flames.

My stomach flips.

The room is quickly filling with smoke, and Charleigh hasn’t stopped coughing since we stepped out into the hallway.

I squeeze her hand and talk to her over my shoulder. “Keep your shirt sleeve over your mouth.”

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