Page 96 of Marcus

“Ma, my throat hurts,” Tiffany mumbled, hugging tight to her mother, and hiding her face in Cella’s neck. “It really hurts.”

His gaze darted between the girl, and her mother. “Just look after her. I’ll be right out. And if someone hasn’t done it already, call for help.”

“Marcus—”

“I’ll be right back—I promise.”

He let the door close behind him, and headed back into the dark, smoky hallway. Above the crackling of the flames, he could hear the phone in his pocket buzzing. He ignored it as he pulled the lapel of his blazer up over his mouth to cough into the fabric and try to give him some sort of filter to breathe without as much smoke.

Not that it helped.

Fucking pointless, really.

Marcus came back into the lobby, but quickly realized the space was far darker than it had been just minutes before. No, that was wrong—it was black from smoke. The heat from the flames felt like they were licking far too close to him as he used his knowledge of the area to head for the swinging double doors that led into the bottling plant on the right side of the receptionist’s desk.

Not that he knew if he was going the right way by sight because he couldn’t fucking see at all. The phone in his pocket kept ringing.

And ringing.

“Trina!” Marcus shouted into the bottling section of the plant.

The storage was at the back of the plant where it would be easy for the workers to move pallets of bottled syrup to the rooms at the rear. While there were exit doors in the plant, and cargo doors for trailers to back up, in the rooms where they kept things for the tours and the general public, there were none.

And chances were, Trina hadn’t even known a fire started if the power had been cut. Which was exactly why the alarm stopped.

But why had the alarm been set in the first place?

She should have been out by now.

That alarm was for break-ins. Pushing those double doors wide to enter the main floor of the plant had been a mistake because the second he did, it took the place all of ten seconds to fill with smoke.

More smoke.

The fire had traveled.

“Trina!”

In the quick moment it took for the place to fill with all that toxic smoke, Marcus found the plant manager. On the other side of the conveyer belt at the far end of the plant near one of two exit doors, apparently, the one that had its glass smashed out at the top which explained the alarm, the plant manager rested face down in a puddle of her own blood.

The wires leading into the main breaker box for the plant had been cut.

Marcus didn’t need to check to know Trina was dead.

And now he couldn’t breathe, either.

He moved for the door with the broken window, coughing harder into his jacket. The smoke crawled out of the hole leading to the outside in thick plumes, and while he tried his hardest not to breathe it in, he couldn’t help it.

How did the bikers know he would be here?

Who gave them that information?

It was all Marcus could think about as he pushed open the exit door and rushed outside into the fresh air. He thought taking in huge gulps of the outside would help, but his throat burned. His eyes watered from stinging so bad.

All he could taste was that smoke.

And then the coughing started again.

Until all he could do was cough.