Page 5 of Silver Fox Mountain Daddies

Then, a loud crack. The door jolts inward an inch, splinters bursting from the frame. Another impact follows, and this time it gives way completely, crashing open under the force of a broad-shouldered man in firefighting gear.

Hands grab me before I can react. Rough gloves scrape against my skin as I’m yanked into the hallway by strong arms.

Smoke curls thick along the ceiling. Alarms wail in every direction. Water sprays from a busted pipe near the stairwell.

I stumble, coughing so hard my vision blurs, but the firefighter keeps me upright. Another figure appears, then a third, both in the same heavy gear, faces masked and obscured by helmets.

They shout something I cannot hear over the chaos. I am half-carried, half-dragged through the motel.

The blast of cool air when we reach the parking lot hits me so hard I gasp, collapsing against the firefighter holding my arm. Someone else lifts me and carries me the rest of the way.

I blink against the floodlights and smoke, heart jackhammering against my ribs. Other motel guests mill around in small clusters, coughing, clutching one another, staring wide-eyed at the burning building.

I am outside. I am safe.

But my bag?—

I whirl around, searching frantically. My hands are empty. No wallet. No phone. No ID.

Panic seizes me again, sharper than before.

"My stuff," I croak, stumbling toward the motel. "My bag—my phone—it's all inside?—"

One of the firefighters steps into my path. He raises both hands, voice calm but firm. "You can’t go back in."

"I need it," I say, voice breaking. "Everything I have?—"

He shakes his head once, slow and deliberate. "It's not safe. You’re safe out here. That's what matters."

Safe. The word barely registers through the rising fog of panic.

Am I?

Because without that safety net, without my wallet, my phone, any proof of who I am, I will have to call my parents. They will bring me back. They will drag me into that ceremony. I’ll be forced to marry Davit. And I’ll be locked down even tighter than I was before.

I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, willing the thoughts away, but they swarm faster than I can stop them. I can’t breathe. Is this smoke inhalation? Or am I having some kind of panic attack?

The firefighter who blocked my path steps closer. His voice cuts through the noise around us, low and steady. "The building is unstable. It’s not worth the risk."

I drop my hands and meet his eyes. His face is partially shadowed beneath the helmet, the edge of his jaw covered in a short, neat beard.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go. All my money, my ID,everything, is still in that room,” I blurt out, feeling the panic rise again.

"There aren't any other motels nearby," he says, softer now. "But we can get you somewhere safe for the night, okay? You won’t be stranded."

The thought of getting into a car with strangers knots my stomach almost as tightly as the idea of staying here.

Another man approaches from the side, his gear smudged with soot, a wide grin flashing through the grime. "Poor thing’sgonna freeze out here," he says easily, his tone carrying a warmth that wraps itself around my fraying nerves.

“She says she doesn’t have anywhere else to go. All her things burned up inside.”

They exchange a glance I can’t decipher before returning their attention to me.

“We’ve got room. Cabin’s not fancy, but it’s clean and safe."

The first firefighter—the one who pulled me out—gives a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head. "We don’t even know her name," he says, voice low, wary.

"I don’t care if her name’s Cinderella," the grinning one says, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. "She’s not sleeping out here."

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