Page 120 of Sweet Redemption

“The fire department is close,” I argue, trying to hold him back as the windows beside us explode, glass flying everywhere.

It’s fucking chaos.

He shakes his head and breaks my hold, adrenaline fueling him. “She’s in there. And I’m going to find her.”

That’s when it hits me. If the roles were reversed—if it were Serena—I wouldn’t let anyone stop me either.

I nod, grabbing his shoulders, needing him to understand me. “You go upstairs, and I’ll check the shop.”

Ryker stares at me for a fast beat and nods as he runs one way, and I go the other.

The door to the shop is hot and locked, but the window next to it is already blown out, so it’ll have to do. Covering my face with my jacket, I knock the rest of the glass free and throw my leg over the sill as I climb into the shop, hoping I don’t find Delaney hurt. Or worse.

Fire climbs up one side of the room while smoke stings my eyes.

Fuck. Where is she?

I try to look but can’t see shit. The smoke is too thick.

“Delaney . . .” I call out, my voice cracking and throat burning. “Delaney . . .”

I move as far as I can until I’m choking on smoke, and the fire gets closer. I can’t risk going deeper into the building that sounds like it’s going to collapse.

And that’s when I hear it.

The pained roar from the apartment above the shop.

No . . . That’s Ryker.

I cough again, looking around for an exit, but I can barely see a foot in front of my face. My skin is too fucking hot by the time I break a new window to get outside and lean my hands on my knees, bent over as I suck fresh air into my lungs. Before something explodes behind me, and a ball of flame engulfs a wall.

This isn’t good.

I rush around back to the parking lot as fast as I can, and the sight I’m met with guts me.

Ryker’s bent over Delaney, her pet pig by his side as she lays lifeless in his arms.

“Please, baby. Wake up. Come on,” he screams, tilting her chin and pinching her nose before he breathes for her because she’s not breathing on her own.

And holy hell, a vivid memory of holding Britt’s lifeless body flashes in my mind.

Knowing I couldn’t do anything to help her.

There was no saving her.

“Come on, baby. Come on. Breathe,” Ryker begs and laces his hands together over the center of her chest and starts compressions.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Her body rocks with each compression, her eyes never opening.

“Don’t fucking do this, Delaney,” he pleads.

Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

She’s not moving as I move across from Ryker, counting his compressions.

Nine. Ten. Eleven⁠—