Rowan approached his house, his mind already spinning. Had any of his guys gotten there? Was anyone inside? How bad was the fire, and would his house be damaged beyond repair? Too many things to think about right now. This was a time for action, not thought.

 

He sped up and raced to his house. When he was a few hundred away feet away, he saw the flames. Angry red and orange licked out of the windows. It was bad. The fire looked like an inferno already. The smoke turned black and even thicker.

 

He stopped his bike at a safe distance away and ran toward the house. His helmet was still on, making the scene even darker. He yanked it off and carried it under his arm. He pulled his phone from his pocket as he ran, but the screen was dark and it wouldn’t turn on. Damn it. It must’ve died. Great timing on that. Hopefully a neighbor or someone would call the fire department. His house might already be destroyed, but someone would need to put out these flames.

 

As he ran to the house, he saw a man standing out front. The smoke was thick enough on the ground to disguise his face, but he thought maybe it was Nate. Another man was on the ground, on all fours.

 

“Hey!” Rowan shouted.

 

Their heads turned. The man on the ground coughed and tried to wave the smoke from in front of his face. The man standing had a bandana over his nose and mouth, but said, “Row? That you, man?”

 

It was Nate’s voice. Rowan reached them and clapped Nate on the back. The roar of flames and crackling wood was so loud they had to shout to each other to be heard.

 

“Let’s get you out of here,” Rowan said. “There’s too much smoke.”

 

“Can’t.” Jameson, on the ground, broke into a coughing fit.

 

Then he saw Ricky run out the door. “I can’t find him!”

 

Rowan’s heart sunk. Someone was inside still? In this blaze and heat and smoke? “Who?”

 

“Marcus is in there,” Nate shouted, leaning close to Rowan to be heard. “Jameson and I made it out, but Ricky was trying to find him. He was in the bathroom when we smelled the smoke. But by that time, smoke was already coming in the room and there were flames everywhere when we opened the door.” He coughed several times and bent over, his hand on his stomach.

 

“All three of you, get across the street and make sure the fire department is on their way.” Rowan pointed and reached down to clasp Jameson’s hand. He pulled him to his feet and Nate and Ricky helped him walk. “Is anyone else here?” Rowan shouted after them.

 

Nate turned back. “Just Marcus!”

 

Rowan pulled his shirt up over his nose and mouth. He wished more than ever he had his Jagged Rebels leather jacket. It’d be much better protection than his riding jacket. He zipped it up as he bent over to avoid the smoke as much as possible. He popped his helmet back on for protection, even if it made things darker. Better to keep his head safe.

 

The front door was open and thick black smoke poured out. He dropped to his knees and crawled through the living room. It was hard to see anything. He didn’t have to worry about his face shield making things too dark. There was already too much smoke to see through. He felt his way around, careful not to put his hands on anything hot or burning. He listened carefully, too. If it sounded like the roof was going to collapse or the walls were going to fall in, he’d have to get out fast. It wouldn’t help anyone if he got trapped, too.

 

He felt the opening that was the doorway from the kitchen down to the basement. They always met in the basement. He’d finished it off years ago to make it nice down there. Carpet, couches, the whole deal. He’d even had a bathroom put in. That was where Marcus was now, or nearby. Ricky had known he was in the bathroom and couldn’t find him, so maybe he’d come out and got trapped trying to get out.

 

He coughed, and his chest burned. The shirt covering his mouth and nose wasn’t doing much at all. His head spun already with dizziness. Just keep going, Rowan. Got to find Marcus and get him out. He couldn’t let one of his guys die in there. Especially not like this.

 

He thought he heard the faint wail of sirens. Good. Help was on the way. He hoped.

 

He felt the first step with his hand. “Marcus!” He listened for any sound of movement or a voice. But it was so loud with the flames. Who knew fire could make so much noise. And the heat was getting to him. He felt sick to his stomach. His head was spinning worse than before. And he was wet with sweat.

 

But he had to keep going. Had to save Marcus. Help was on its way.

 

He turned around and slid his knee back until he felt the floor disappear. He moved his knee down carefully, crawling down the steps backward. Going face first had seemed far more dangerous than going backward.

 

Rowan tried to see down the stairs, but the smoke was coming up too thick and fast. He went as quickly as he could, keeping his throbbing head down as much as possible to get it out of the worst of the smoke. His helmet felt like it weighed fifty pounds, but he didn’t dare take it off.

 

“Marcus!” No response again. If he’d been in this house the whole time, he was likely passed out already. Maybe he was even dead. No. He couldn’t think of that. He would save him. Had to. He could not die here like this.

 

Finally, his knee hit the harder basement floor. There was a small layer of air that was less smoky and he lay flat on his belly for a moment to breathe. Maybe he could just take a quick nap right here. That would give him more energy to move forward. To find Marcus.

 

He closed his eyes. He was so tired. But then he heard shouting. Not in the house. Outside. It brought him back to awareness and he got to his knees. Had to find Marcus.

 

“Marcus!”

 

But he was turned around. Which way were the stairs? Which way was the bathroom? He felt around, but it was all the same carpet and empty space. No Marcus, no items in the room at all. Where were his couches? Where was the table?

 

He crawled along the wall. If he kept going, he’d make it around the whole perimeter. That would take him to the bathroom and then the stairs if he just kept following the line of the wall.

 

His hand reached to the wall again, and he almost fell when it landed on empty space. He’d found the door. The bathroom was so black, he didn’t want to go in, but he slid along the ground, feeling. The toilet, hot to the touch, the wooden vanity that almost burned his skin. He circled the room, but no Marcus.

 

He kept following the line of the wall. It was the only way to stay on the right path. If he got turned around, it was all over. He crawled back out into the big room. He kept crawling and feeling around him. Now the sirens were getting louder. Definitely help was coming. Good thing because he didn’t think he could keep this up much longer. How long had it been? Felt like hours he’d been down here, breathing in the smoke and coughing and crawling along, but it was probably only a few minutes. A person couldn’t last very long in this smoke, so if he were still alive, it couldn’t have been as long as it felt.

 

Then his hand hit something that wasn’t floor or wall. He felt in a circle. A leg. Definitely a leg. “Marcus?”

 

No response. The leg didn’t move.

 

Rowan crawled up the body to his head. It was Marcus, he was pretty sure. A brief thought ran through his mind—what if one of Abram’s guys who started the fire had gotten stuck and he was about to rescue him? But no, that was stupid, irrational thinking. His guys said Marcus was in here. Said he had gone to the bathroom and this body was very close to the bathroom. He wished he could see better just to be sure, but there was no time to worry about that now. If he rescued the wrong guy, he’d just choke him when they got outside. No problem.

 

Rowan tugged on Marcus’s body and managed to drag him to the wall. Beside the bathroom was a small room that held the water softener and furnace, and some random boxes of old things he was storing. But in the room, there was a window. A small one, but a window all the same, and it was big enough that they could fit out of it with some help.

 

He crawled a foot, then tugged and slid Marcus’s body along behind him. It was slow progress, but they were moving. He found the door. Something about feeling the door in a fire before opening it came back to him. Probably learned it ages ago in high school. This door didn’t feel hot. In fact, it felt somewhat cool in comparison to the heat of the room. So it should be safe.

 

He reached up the door, and found the knob. He turned it quickly, but not quickly enough. He yanked his hand back, but it throbbed in pain. He couldn’t see it clearly, but it must be burned, the way it was hurting so badly. He had no choice but to press it against the floor to use as traction to pull Marcus into the room.

 

Pain tore through his hand and up his arm. His head buzzed and he couldn’t tell if the black spots were smoke or he was about to pass out. He couldn’t hear anything now over the ringing in his ears.

 

Some warning bell in the back of his mind said this was bad. He was about to pass out and they would die down here.

 

But then Marcus’s body cleared the door. This room didn’t have carpet. It was still bare cement. Which made it easier to slide the body along. It also made it cooler by the tiniest fraction.

 

Rowan stuck his foot out and kicked the door closed. Smoke still crept in under the door, but there was less in here than there had been in the main room. He collapsed to the ground for a moment, letting the slight cool seep into his body. He was so close now. But the window seemed so far away. Miles away from him.

 

He had to stand. It was the only way to reach the window, and even then, it was still high. He pulled himself up, using his storage shelves. He inched his way along the shelves, his hand burning bright with pain every time he moved it. He stopped and pulled Marcus behind him every few steps. Was he getting heavier?

 

The shelves ended and Rowan felt the brick wall. It was the coolest thing he’d felt in ages. This was the wall at the edge of the house, not an interior wall. On the other side of these bricks was dirt and cold earth, not flames and smoke.

 

He reached up, but the spinning in his head made him stumble back. He fell on top of Marcus. And that was it. He couldn’t get back up. He wouldn’t be able to reach the window. All he could do now was lie here with his friend, his club member, and hope the firemen got to them before the flames and smoke did.

 

He closed his eyes and let images of Becca flood him. His mouth pulled into a smile. Becca. Where was she now? Was she home or at work still? Was she sitting in her apartment with Emma? Were they doing something fun like coloring or playing with Emma’s stuffed animals while he was lying here, dying? He’d never see her again. Would she cry for him? Would she come to his funeral?

 

That ass Abram had ruined everything. Had almost killed him. Though that led him to Becca, so maybe that had been okay. But now it seemed his angel had only saved him to give him a few more days. A few days to be with her and to see what love might be like. To know what it felt like to be cared for. He could love her. He could have loved her forever. But he was going to die because of Abram. If only she would appear again and save him.

 

Maybe they would just take turns saving each other. She had saved him when he was dying on the road from stab wounds, he had saved her when the gunman showed up and threatened her. Well, okay, he’d protected her. She’d gotten away herself that time. But he had been there in case they came back.

 

His eyes flew open. If Abram had sent guys to come for him again, why wouldn’t he send guys to go after Becca again? He found the energy to sit up. But the movement was too much. His head whirled and he leaned away, raising his helmet just in time to get it over his head before he threw up. Luckily, he’d not thrown up all over Marcus.

 

He heaved and coughed and when he was done, wiped his mouth. The air felt cooler with his helmet off. It had protected him, but it had made things darker and his head heavier. Now he felt like maybe he could stand again. Maybe he could get them out.

 

He forced himself to his knees, avoiding his puddle of puke, and crawled to the wall. The edge of the shelves was there. He reached out and grabbed them with both hands, forgetting all about his burned hand until the sharp agony shot through him. He cried out in pain and pressed the hand to the cooler wall. It did little to help.

 

The window. It was close. He shuffled along the wall until he saw a square where the smoke was lighter. This had to be it.

 

He reached up to the window and pushed. It didn’t move. Right. There was a lock. He couldn’t reach it, though.

 

He had to turn around and get a box from the shelves. One on the floor would have to do. He couldn’t pick a box up in his current condition. He shoved one with his foot until it was under the window. Then he stepped onto it, his feet weighing a ton each as he forced his legs to move them.

 

He stood and almost fell again. The room was spinning around him and the smoke was thicker up here. He hadn’t put his shirt back over his mouth and started coughing and could not get himself to stop. He fumbled and felt the lock. He barely had the strength to turn it, but he heard the click.

 

Then the window popped open. He hadn’t even had to do anything. It just fell open. Was that right? He knew the glass tilted outward, but it’d never been that easy. He had to push it.

 

“Rowan! Rowan!”

 

He realized someone was calling his name. He blinked through the smoke and could make out figures. Now that the window was open, the smoke was swooshing past him, going for the new hole. But it also gave him some fresh air. He coughed again, but could breathe now.

 

Someone grabbed his hand. There was another hand on his other arm and he was being lifted. He landed on wet grass and lay on his back, a coughing fit taking over him. He coughed so hard he threw up again, turning his head just in time to avoid puking all over himself.

 

He blinked through the smoke. He couldn’t see or hear anything.

 

Someone grabbed him and pulled him. His back touched gravel and he stopped moving.

 

The smoke had gone. He could see, but his eyes burned. He rubbed them and kept coughing. Cool water. Someone poured it on him. The cold was so shocking after the heat, he shivered.

 

“Rowan?”

 

He blinked at the voice. Who was there?

 

“Marcus,” he coughed out. “Get him out.”

 

“We got him. He’s right here.”

 

Rowan couldn’t see.

 

“It’s okay, man. Everyone is out.”

 

Rowan fell back to the ground, the wet gravel sticking to his face. He closed his eyes. His work was done.