Page 83 of Stay in Your Lane!

“Where’s the nearest fire extinguisher?” I demanded.

“In the kitchen,” she replied grimly. “We ain’t gonna be able to get to it now.”

The cats were meowing, the kids were starting to whimper… We had to get out of here, fast, but if we tried to walk out right now there was a decent probability that we’d be shot.

What did you do, when your choices were either death by immolation or by gunfire?

CHAPTER 24

KYLE

I’d have been a hell of a lot less scared if I’d been facing down this situation alone. Still scared out of my mind, absolutely, but maybe not quite so fucking paralyzed with bone-deep terror.

Because I wasn’t in this alone. My boyfriend was here. My brother was outside in handcuffs because of me. My damncatswere here, being valiantly protected by a group of teenagers who weren’t nearly as tough as their black makeup and fuck-everything attitude tried to convey.

And that was to say nothing of all the complete strangers who’d looked up from their pies and coffee and mac and cheese bites to discover that Waffles? was on fire, bullets were flying, and the cops were outside.

We had, at best, minutes to figure out a solution before everyone in this building was dead. No pressure or anything.

“We need to get out,” I announced to Everett and anyone else within earshot. To the Goth kids, I said, “Take the cats and go out that way.” I pointed toward the greenEXITsign by the restrooms.

They started to creep out from under the table, but one paused. “Why can’t we just go out the window?” He gestured atthe gaping hole where the glass had been a moment ago. “It’s wide open and?—”

“And it was made that way by bullets,” I snapped, and again pointed toward the back. “Keep your heads down, and get the hell out that way. If anyone—including the cops—stop you, just do what you’re told. Got it?”

Whatever anarchy, nihilism, and general defiance fueled these kids must have abandoned them, because they obeyed without a peep of resistance. Two very carefully shielded my cats’ carriers with their bodies, and I had a couple of seconds to feel horribly guilty for dragging them—the catsandthe kids—into this situation.

Only a couple of seconds, though, because while the kids and cats were on their way to safety, all hell was busy breaking loose in here. Cops were shouting in through broken windows. Chet was screaming something at Carol. Everett was directing the handful of other patrons in the same direction I’d sent the Goth kids.

Apparently Waffles?wasin compliance with state laws, because while Carol thought there was only one fire extinguisher in the kitchen, someone found another one. A young waitress—one who was probably a minor and shouldn’t legally have been working here at this hour on a school night—fumbled with the small extinguisher and managed to discharge it at the flames. Carol took it from her and got in closer, shouting at the waitress to help Chet and get out while she herded the flames back a little bit.

It wouldn’t be enough—not for a spreading fire in a kitchen that no doubt had grease in every nook and cranny—but it helped.

If nothing else, it bought us a little time to strategize.

I grabbed Everett and pulled him down so we were out of the cops’ sight. “Got any ideas?”

He shook his head, looking around with wide eyes. “No. But if she can hold off the fire enough for one of us to get the other extinguisher…”

I glanced over. The fire was still raging in the kitchen, and that small bottle wasn’t going to last long enough to put it out completely. But maybe he was right.

“Okay.” I squeezed his arm. “I’ll go in there and?—”

“The fuck you will,” he snapped. “You’re still hurt.” He used my shoulder to lever himself to his feet. “I’ll get it.”

He didn’t wait for an argument, and he ran in a slow crouch behind the counter. He and Carol shouted at each other, and I swore under my breath; I really didn’t like the idea of him running into a partially engulfed kitchen in search of a fire extinguisher, but we didn’t have a lot of options.

Though—did I hear sirens outside?

Not cop sirens. A fire truck.

Oh, thank fuck…

“Everett!” I called out. “The fire department is on its?—”

“Got it!” came a shout from within the kitchen. “Let me—shit, that’s hot!”

Panic shot through me. Without a second thought, I hurried toward the kitchen. “Everett? You okay?”

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