Page 99 of Avery's Hero

Dashing up the steps, I grab the full size extinguisher by the door. I’m calling 911 as I fly down the steps lugging the giant canister.

Winded, I give the address and details. The operator wants to keep me on the line, but I shove my phone in my pocket. Using the extinguisher as a ram, I try to bust open the latch.

It takes four hits, me swinging the heavy canister with all my might. The lock caves, the wood splinters and the door edges open. Using my shoulder, I shove it open far enough that I can fit inside.

It’s stupid. I shouldn’t go in alone. Any firefighter knows this. But ask any firefighter to stand aside while a building burns and you’ll also find they probably can’t do it.

It’s dim inside the garage. Blinking, I try to coax my eyes to adjust. After a few seconds, I see some woodworking equipment along one side. On the other side is a tractor. Some crates are along the back wall. I wish I had a flashlight.

In the distance, wood creaks and pops as fire heats it. A red, flickering light is coming from a smaller room inside the garage on the far left corner.

Careful of my footing, I move farther into the space. “Kitty, kitty! Come out. We need to get you and your babies out of here.”

My sixth sense is telling me to get the hell out. I take another step forward. That’s when I see the cat and herkittens dart out of their hiding spot and make a beeline for the exit.

Relief floods my body. But I need to put the fire out.

I’m carefully moving toward the back room when a big shadow moves along the wall.

A dark laugh chills my blood. “I knew you’d come.”

When I turn, there’s a guy by the entrance. I want to scream, but I can’t. Smoke hits my lungs when I inhale sharply. Coughing racks my chest.

But inside, I’m turned to stone by the horror in front of me.

I don’t know what’s more terrifying. The pure hate on his face, or the gas can in his hand.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

I’ve pounded my legs to oblivion. Have no idea how far I’ve gone. I could run for days. It feels so fucking good. The fresh air. The clouds sliding by overhead. The palms swaying along the sidewalk. The cars rolling by with music drifting out.

No fences. No guards. No gangs. Nothing but freedom.

Tears of gratitude sting at my throat as I round the corner toward the apartment. You never know how good life is until you lose it. The simple shit. Like soft sheets. The soap you prefer. The feel of a cold beer sliding down yourthroat.

Avery took care of everything. She made a welcoming home for me.

I shouldn’t be so hard on her. She’s been through the fucking ringer too. All I’ve ever wanted for her was happiness. That’s all that ever mattered. Our father was shitty to her from the very first memories I have. My mission in life was to make sure she had what she needed and wanted.

I just can’t believe now that’s life with Brock Mitchell. Of all the fucking men in the world.

He and I never clicked. Of course, I didn’t click with anyone in the fire academy. But he was always in my face. Neck in neck in every fucking competition, on every test. Calling my shit out. Like he was some drill sergeant. I had enough bullshit in my life without him making it harder.

Shaking my head, I slow to a walk, letting my legs cool down over the last quarter mile.

That’s when I see a runner coming toward me from the opposite end of the road. He’s big. His gait is long. He looks too fucking familiar.

Shit.Not Brock.

I don’t know if I’m ready to deal with him yet. It’s not even eight o’clock in the morning.

As I get closer, the truth is undeniable. Brock Mitchell in the flesh.

If I’m right, we’ll meet head on in front of the building he owns. The building where I have a bed, a comfortable fucking bed, if I’m man enough to accept it.

His pace slows too when he sees me. His face is hard. I wonder if he’s as unhappy to see me as I am him.

Somewhere in the distance, sirens wail. Brock’s head whips to the side, toward his building, and I watch as his mouth opens in a roar.

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