Page 121 of The Devils They Are

"Bexley!" I say sharply, yanking her wrist. "Emergency exit."

Slowly, she raises her other hand, pointing a finger toward the fire that's now completely engulfed the main doors. "We're looking at it."

"What?" The yelp that sounds from my mouth would leave me embarrassed on any other given day. "There has to be another exit! It's literally part of any good fire plan."

My tone seems to temporarily snap Spencer out of her panic. "Well, I don't know what to tell you," she barks at me. "There isn't another door!"

"Okay, okay," I mutter to myself, closing my eyes for a second as I try to ignore the rising heat and smoke that's quickly filling the room. Punching a few keys on my cell, I crash it into my ear, cursing until I hear the voice pick up on the other end. "Rylan! The fucking building is on fire. We're trapped inside the auditorium."

His voice pauses for a moment, before he lets out a string of curses as well. "Fuck. We're nearly there. Tai, call for help. Hunter, where's Bexley?"

"Here with me," I answer, realizing that I'm crushing her wrist in my grip. She doesn't seem fazed though, eyes scanning the room for a contingency plan. When she stops, narrowing her eyes on something, I spin around to follow her line of vision.

The door to the prop room is wide open. Anger rips through me as realization dawns that I was correct—it was a trap. Whoever is here led us to this room, deliberately locking us in.

And wants to burn us alive.

"Call me when you get here!" I yell before hanging up the cell before he can respond and shoving it into my pocket.

Spencer suddenly breaks our contact, flying across the stage. She disappears out of sight for a moment, reemerging out of an exit onto the floor. My eyes widen as she darts toward the flames, my body springing into action as I take a shortcut, jumping off the stage to chase after the insane woman running toward fire.

She runs over to a boarded-up window, hands clawing at the wood as she tries to pry it off. As thick smoke starts to surround her, hiding her from sight, I sprint forward, eyes watering and stinging. I follow the sound of violent coughing, hands blindly finding her waist through the smog.

I hastily shrug off my jacket, thrusting it at her face. "Breathe into this," I yell, and through the haze, I see her gawk at me in disbelief.

"No, you use it," she argues back, flinging it at me in some noble attempt to sacrifice herself. I growl when she starts violently coughing again, gasping for air as my own lungs scream as heat starts to sizzle our skin.

The fire is getting closer, and I grab the jacket, holding it againsthermouth and nose myself since the stubborn woman won't do it. I can feel her body tremble against mine as she fights for air, the two of us pressed together. My free hand feels the board, searching for a weakness in the wood, but nothing comes up.

I snake my arm around her waist, ripping her back toward the stage. We're not getting out through the window, and the longer we try, the closer we get to suffocating and passing out—or being burned alive.

Dragging Spencer at lightning speed, I pull us both through the secret door to the dressing rooms, slamming it closed behind us. We lean our backs against it for a second, wheezing as we desperately suck in oxygen.

She makes an odd choking noise, and I gaze through the shadows at her. I grimace and panic when I see her eyes start to roll back, fighting to stay conscious.

"Don't you dare!" I shout at her, doing the only thing I can think of. I shove my mouth over hers, administering a few rescue breaths, ignoring the taste of smoke on her lips which are a horrible shade of blue. She's limp between the door and my body, but after a few seconds, I feel her tense up, becoming alert again.

I pull back as she sucks in a ragged breath, relieved when her eyes focus, blinking rapidly a few times before her brain finally kicks into gear. She looks at my jacket, draped over my arm, ripping it toward her. I watch as she bends down, shoving it under the door to block the smoke.

"Come on," she mutters, voice hoarse and cracking from the smoke inhalation. Grabbing my hand, she pulls me down the corridor to the last dressing room, pushing me inside before grabbing a fire extinguisher from the corridor wall. Closing the door behind us, we both reach for one of the white sheets, plunging it into the gaps around the doorjamb.

When we've done all that we can, the two of us walk backwards, staring at the door with wide eyes. Our backs hit the wall at the same time, and I feel her slouch next to me in resignation.

"For what it's worth," she murmurs quietly after a few minutes. "I still think you're an asshole."

"I still think you're a fucking bitch," I grumble.

Spencer laughs sadly, the weird contradictory sound making me feel uneasy. "Well, shit. I'm going to die here with you."

"We're not going to die," I snap firmly, but even I don't truly believe my own words.

She turns her head to look at me, offering a tight smile. There's a sickening rumble in the distance, the sound of roaring, hot flames getting louder. I feel her small hand link with mine, our fingers entwining together. And for the life of me, I don't have the will to let it go. I close my eyes, squeezing her hand back with a sigh.

"Fuck."

"Hunter?" she asks quietly.

"What?" I grumble again, but the usual coldness toward her in my tone is gone.

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