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Run. Run is the option. Get away while there’s still functioning feet and willing limbs. And while the light bulb is still on.
“Blacking out would be very bad,” I whisper to myself as I listen for someone outside the apartment door.
Unfortunately, I hear a muffled noise of someone speaking.
“Styx.” My heart skyrockets out of my mouth.He’s in trouble.
With the help of the towel, I twist the doorknob just enough to wedge the door open, then flatten myself against the opposite wall. No one comes. No one notices. But the scent of burnt wood infiltrates my nostrils.
The mob is going to burn this place down with both of us in it!
My nails scrape against the chipping paint on the wall while the other hand squeezes the towel so tight, it’s wrung free of water. Only after a few moments, do my senses realize the wall is not hot. The smoke doesn’t bombard the entrance of the doorway and I can breathe, rather freely, if I don’t inhale to deeply.
The fire hasn’t reached the lobby.
Doesn’t mean the mobsters aren’t trying to smoke us out. Lure is into the lobby to gut us and leave our entrails behind to stink up the place. What if… Styx is already hanging up by a sex whip, with his skin flipped open, inside bits dangling—uhh.
My hand flies up to my mouth and I tilt my chin up. The imagery has seriously offended my stomach and my heart, which is currently clawing its way up with the help of vomit propulsion. The thought of leaving Styx out there, dead or not, doesn’t sit well with me.
Although I had swallowed a few million things, I hadn’t anything of substance all day, which was my luck. I don’t have time to puke right now. And I rather not die of smoke inhalation in a staircase.
Styx needs me.
Using my foot, I slide the door open a bit further so I can squeeze through, but I decide to make an entrance on my knees.
Stop, drop, and roll, right?Plus, if there’s an angry dude out there with a gun pointing at my head, he won’t expect it to be closer to the floor. The confidence boost of outsmarting a criminal for a few seconds gets me on all fours.
There may be no out there and this is just an accident from the candles.
Styx is fine,I tell myself as I align my shoulders with the doorframe.
Styx may be fine,I correct because I’m obviously not good at lying to myself. I slide my nose just over the threshold to take a quick peek. No people in the immediate vicinity, but there are items all over the floor.
Ransacked. I hide back inside and lower my head.
Styx is most definitely not fine.I force my knees forward as my damn mind adverts to all the possibilities.
Crispy skin.
Melted eyeballs.
Just as I’m about to freak the fuck out, I hear something. “Come inside.”
No. No. No. No.
Again. “Her door’s always open.”
Fuck.Behind me there’s a way out. Shoving myself through the floor-length Juliet window create a scene, probably buy me some time in the hospital. Officer Beyer could help me.
But what about Styx? What about Mama Rosa?
A muffled Spanish voice, the same tone as the dancing dick, interrupts my reasoning. Where is that coming from. Where would he—
Oh.The bathroom.The window leads out to the back alley.
That’s not good.
Between the smoke smell, the nerves, the grotesque pictures in my head that have it spinning, and the throbbing heartbeat in my aching throat… I… I…
