I nod, forgetting he probably can’t see me because the air is so thick and convoluted. “Okay. You’re sure?”
“Go,” Owen urges as he pushes the chunk of wall off Heaven’s leg.
“Fuck! Warn a guy, Owen! Jesus Christ!” Heaven clutches his injured leg, and as the smoke clears, I see how bloody and burned the limb is.
Damn it, this is bad.
“You’re going to be okay. We are going to get out of here. Everyone is going to be fine.”
“I hope so,” Owen says.
“For once in your fucking life can you be positive? If not, keep your damn mouth shut. Jesus,” Heaven spurts off unexpectedly. It’s so unlike him to be serious and pissed off. He must be in so much pain.
I grind my teeth together and fall to my hands and knees to crawl along the floor. Searching for the rest of the guys this way is easier, just in case I feel their leg or arm with my hand. The debris is hot, my palm burning to a near excruciating pain, but I keep on. It’s shit like this that makes me want to stop doing these jobs. We have money for the rest of our lives; is it worth risking our lives every time?
Jaxon has something worth living for now. He has Quinn. When we all get back to the Cliff House, we need to have a pow wow because jobs like this shouldn’t be on our radar.
My hand lands on a leg, and I fumble my way up, trying to see if I can figure out who it is by their height, but all of us are well over six-feet, so the attempt is pointless. I grab ahold of the man’s face and shake him.
“I’m alive,” Grayson knocks my hand away. “Jesus, stop shaking me. My side is killing me.” His hand falls to the left side of his ribcage, pressing against the wound that oozes blood.
“Oh, fuck, Grayson.” This isn’t good. There is a piece of steel embedded in the space between his ribs and hip. I hover my hand over the metal, debating if I want to pull it free or not. If I do, it could risk Grayson bleeding out.
“That bad?” He lets out a languid chuckle.
“Worse.” I rub my palm over my face and my head swims. I need to get out of here before I pass out. The smoke and heat are getting to me. “Can you walk?”
“I think so. I need help up.”
I act as his crutch, taking most of this weight as I lift him up, using the strength in my legs.
Grayson grouses with pain and right as he stumbles, Owen is there to catch him. “You look like shit,” Owen teases.
“I look better than you,” Grayson jabs, his eyelids heavy with agony. “Have you found anyone else?” He hisses, reminding me of a snake as we walk through the maze of destruction.
“Heaven is in the van. We still need to find Jaxon,” Owen informs.
“He was next to me. When we flew backward in the air, he was right next to me. He must be close. You have to find him, for Quinn.”
“For us too.” I stop when we get to the door and looked over my shoulder to see another piece of the ceiling collapsing in a useless heap. “Can you handle taking him to the van? I need to look for Jaxon.”
“Yeah, I’ll be back in a minute,” Owen says. The big brute tightens his arm around Grayson and opens the door, sending a fresh wave of oxygen. While my lungs appreciate it, the fire inside sucks the air in and uses it as fertilizer to grow the flames. I suck in a fresh breath before the door shuts and run down the hall, back to the promise of death.
“Jaxon?” I roar, and a loose wire from the wall sparks, swinging through the air with dangerous intent.
Silence.
“Jaxon! You son of a bitch! You better fucking answer me. Quinn will kill me if you die.” I don’t want to think about him being dead; it makes my eyes water and right now, I need to retain all the damn moisture I can.
Jaxon was the first man I met in prison who was innocent of a crime he didn’t commit. We shared stories, and he told me his plan when he got out to seek revenge. Somehow, we ended forming a little group of our own, and men like us flocked to be around others who were just me and Jaxon. It was how our misfit band of brothers formed, and since I had no one else on the outside, these men were who I considered family. That might not mean anything to some people, because how could criminals like us know how to love the way a family should?
Fuck those people.
I don’t hold a fraction of the amount of love I have for my own blood brother as I do for these men. These guys would risk their life for me, poor their blood for me, prove their loyalty to me, while Kendrick likes to continuously stab me in the back.
“Jaxon?” I hang my head for a second when the smoke starts to get the best of me. My vision blurs, the fire is hot, and I can’t feel the palm of my hands.
“Sebas-tian.” My name comes from the distance. It is broken, garbled, soft, but I hear it. I could be imagining things, but I don’t think I am. If my brain plays a trick on me, I’ll never forgive myself.
“Jaxon? Call out for me again, okay? I can’t see you.” I push the blown-up bit of marble out of the way, my arm burning from rubbing against a chunk of something earlier. I let out a cry, pushing myself to the absolute limit. I’d die trying to get Jaxon out.
Bang, scratch, bang, scratch.
The sound of rock smashing against the floor, then dragging and smashing again tells me Jaxon is signaling me that way.
Bang, scratch, bang, scratch.
It plays on repeat, and the closer I get to where the noise comes from, the more that evil emotion hope sprawls in my chest.
“I’m coming, Jaxon,” I try to yell, but at this point, my throat is hoarse and raw. I can barely breathe. Every bone, every muscle in my body aches. My nostrils burn and my eyes are so dry, when I close them, I can feel the lid scrapping against the cornea.
Bang, scratch, bang, scratch.
Just a few more feet. I am so close. I can’t stop now.
“Jaxon?” There is nowhere else for me to go. It’s a dead end. The only view I have is a pile of marble and drywall.
Movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention.
Bang, scratch.
Jaxon’s hand peeks from under the rubble. His fingers are bloody as they curve around whatever he holds, trying to slam it against the ground, but his movements are getting weaker.
“Jaxon.” I climb up and down piles of rubble and get as low to the ground as I can to investigate the small hole his hand peeks out of. “Hey, buddy. You with me?”
He coughs, and the rocks on top of him jostle. “Yeah,” he answers with a slight wheeze. He is suffocating under all the wreckage. “I’m here.”
“I’m going to get you out of here, okay? Think of Quinn, Jaxon,” I say. “Think of the life you want to build with her after having so many years ripped away from you.” Reminding him of her is my way at keeping him awake. If he falls asleep… This nagging fear of him not waking up presses against the adrenaline swimming in my veins, helping me toss off the junk weighing against Jaxon.
“He’s under this?” Owen finds me and jumps right in, picking up slabs of marble and throwing it to the side.
I don’t answer because obviously Jaxon is under this or I wouldn’t be pushing myself to the limit to get him out. I lean against the pile and try to breathe, I really do, but smoke wraps its tendrils around my throat and starts to choke me.
With drunken-like moves, my pace slows, and while holding a chunk of marble in my hand, I fall to the ground.