Page 242 of Ruin My Life
There won’t be a second chance.
The flames crawl closer, spitting sparks at my back. The heat is blistering, and the walls groan with the threat of collapse.
“Let’s get you out of here,” I rasp, my palm still cupping her cheek as my other hand braces on the beam.
I turn and wedge my fingers under its edge. No plan. No leverage. Just raw force and blind desperation.
Iroaras I lift.
The weight of it tears through my thighs, my spine, my shoulders. My arms quake—every muscle fiber screaming—but I don’t let go.
I shove it forward and drop it—THUD—the impact ripping through the blaze like a crack of thunder.
I spin back to her.
Her calf is mangled—bloodied, purple, and raw. But she’s awake. Stillhere.
I drop back to my knees and hook my arms beneath her. She whimpers as her whole body stiffens, fighting the scream that I know is clawing up her throat.
It’s so like her—bleeding out and half-broken, but refusing to let the world see her flinch.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper against her damp, blood-soaked hair. “Hold on for me. Just a little longer.”
The fire hisses behind me, livid that I’m stealing its prey.
I carry her through the broken window. Glass crunches under my boots and flames claw at my back, chasing us out into the biting cold.
Light snowfall slams against the my skin—a shock after the heat—but I don’t slow down. I clutch her tighter as sirens wail closer. Red and blue lights scatter across the white yard like spilled paint.
“Damon…” Her voice is threadbare. Fragile. “Is Lee…?”
“He’s safe,” I tell her, tightening my grip until my arms shake. “Lee’s with Dahlia. And you’re next,mi rosa.”
She winces, her eyes fluttering, fighting. “I’m not… gonna make it there.”
My throat locks tight.
“Yes, you will,” I rasp, the words cracking at the edges. “You hear me? You’re not going out like this. I’ve got you—and I’m not letting go that easy. I’ll chase you all the way to hell and drag you back if I have to.”
Her lips twitch. The faintest smile. A ghost-laugh breaks through the smoke—barely there—but it’severything.
I round the house’s charred corner as the fire trucks pull in, their hoses already unfurled as water arcs hiss across the blaze. The house probably won’t last. But Brie—
Brie might not either…
The woman from earlier runs toward us, wide-eyed. “Is she okay?”
“She’ll be fine,” I lie—to her, to myself—pulling Brie tighter against my chest. “She just needs a hospital.”
I scan the drive. There are cruisers, fire engines, blinking strobes—
No ambulance.
“Where’s the medic team?” I bark at the nearest firefighter.
He lifts his radio, urgency cutting through the static
Dispatch crackles back: the only available ambulance is responding from its last call—a car crash on the far side of the island.
