by Cathryn Fox
Lily spun on her toes and darted out the door, her feet clattering on the metal stairs as she raced down them.
“EVAN!” she screamed, trying to warn him as the structure swayed and groaned.
A hand caught in her hair, yanked her head back, pulled her against a massive male body.
“Not so fast,” the man snarled.
An arm went around her throat tightly and the knife was transferred into it as he dragged her down the last few steps. He hauled her quickly around beneath the stairs as she kicked and fought. She couldn’t breathe, blackness hovered around the edges of her vision. Beneath the stairs a row of bottles waited with napkins trailing from some of them. The smell was pungent and familiar. Fuel for the small lanterns on some of the tables.
The man tossed the bottles quickly, his movements giving her a little air. Glass shattered as they struck walls and appliances. There was a soft WHOMPF as one of the pilot lights lit the fuel. Lily watched flame blossom in horror.
He picked up the last bottle and dragged her toward the dining room doors, and Evan.
Evan shot to his feet at the sound of Lily’s scream and his blood ran cold. Her cry was quickly followed by the sound of glass shattering. He had started for the doors when they slammed open and something was thrown almost straight at him.
Automatically, he ducked and it sailed past him to shatter against the entry doors, spraying liquid across them. The smell was distinctive. Alarm shot through him.
Even as it did a familiar metallic sound alerted him, but he was too late to catch it.
That sound had been the top of lighter opening at a snap of a wrist. A simple press of a button and the gas of the lighter had caught. It flew across the room, his fingers just tipped it.
It skittered across the floor and the fumes from the fuel went up with a roar.
A part of him cursed the company that had made that lighter and guaranteed that it would not only light, but stay lit.
Evan turned to see Lily being pushed into the room. His heart sank even as fury surged through him, and with it the need to defend, to fight. But he couldn’t, not with a knife at her throat.
He knew the face of the man who did it, even twisted in rage. It didn’t make sense. This was the man who was there every morning and every night. He was the man who had driven them to and from the restaurant.
Bob.
He wasn’t important, though. There was only one thing important here.
“Lily.”
Everything he felt for her was in his voice, he hoped she could hear it.
Her brown eyes were huge, the expression in them stricken. Her face was pale, set, her mouth soft. Blood dripped down her arm from a deep cut.
Their eyes met.
“He hurt Dylan,” she said, then struggled as the arm tightened around her throat.
There was no way Dylan would have let Bob anywhere close to Lily. If Bob had reached her, Dylan was hurt, and hurt bad. Evan closed his eyes as his rage ratcheted up that much higher.
“Fire,” Bob said slowly, “is the number one danger in a restaurant. I looked it up. It’s one of the main reasons for accidental deaths in homes, too.”
“Why?” Evan asked.
He needed to know.
Ominously, Evan watched smoke furl across the windows to the kitchen, seep beneath the doors. Behind him, he could hear the crackling from the fire there and he thought he could feel some of the heat from it. He could certainly see the smoke as it slid across the ceiling.
A chill went through him. Now Bob’s first words made sense. The restaurant was on fire. The man had set the entire restaurant on fire. Evan knew where Lily was. Where was Dylan?
Lily had said Dylan was hurt. Fear for them all chilled his blood.
“You have everything,” Bob said. “Everything. She’s so pretty, so nice. I warned her about you, but she didn’t listen. You have everything and I’ve got nothing. Now you’ll have nothing, too.”
“Let her go, Bob,” Evan said, moving carefully closer. “You want me, come get me. It’s me you have a problem with, not her.”
The burly limousine driver’s eyes were wild.
“No,” Bob said, by her ear. “Back off and back off now or I’ll cut her throat and let you watch her bleed like a pig.”
The knife danced far too close to Lily’s slender neck and the vulnerable veins and arteries there. Evan backed away, hands raised, fear for her coursing through him.
“Bob,” Lily said, “don’t do this, please don’t do this.”
“Shut up, bitch, you had your chance,” he said and tightened his arm around her throat. “It’s him, it’s him. He has everything. I have nothing. Why does he have everything and I have nothing? It’s like everything else. They’re gonna take my house. They’re foreclosing on my house, gonna take it away from me.”
“Let her go,” Evan said, looking for an opening, an opportunity, willing to promise anything. “If it’s me you want, come and get me.”
Bob looked at him and sneered. “My wife left me. Said I drank too much. All she did was sit around and read those magazines with men like you inside them. Like I wasn’t good enough for her. No, I want you to have nothing like I have nothing. I watch you walk around, one lady after another, nice place, restaurant, TV show, every fucking thing while I got nothing.”
“I came up from nothing too,” Evan said. “All you had to do was tell me. I would have helped you.”
“Bullshit!” Bob shouted. “You’re nothing like me, nothing, with that pretty face and those fancy clothes. Now you get to not have the way I don’t have. I’m going to take it all away from you. I want you to feel what I’m feeling. I want someone to hurt like I’m hurting. I want to take away from you everything they’re taking away from me. Including her… I liked her, I almost had her once, but all she can see is you. You and that other one. Mr. Bryant. My boss says I have to call him that. Like I’m not as good as he is, as you are., but he’s gonna die here, too.”
Dylan would never have let Bob take Lily, but Lily had said he was hurt. How badly?
The knife flashed ominously close to Lily’s eyes as the madman gestured and Evan saw fear flicker in them, but her gaze remained locked on his. He couldn’t help Dylan until he finished this and Lily was free.
“Whatever happens, Evan,” she said quietly, her brown eyes soft, “it’s not your fault.”
“It is!” Bob shouted, gesturing with the knife. “It is his fault. I want him to watch you bleed. I want him to watch you die so he knows what is to lose everything like I lost everything.”
Behind Bob, Evan saw the door to the kitchen inch open a little, nearly silently over the growing roar of the fire and Dylan crawl through, nearly literally. He was dragging himself forward on his arms, wincing with each movement. Blood covered part of his face and soaked his side. He panted shallowly, visibly, but his eyes were clear. And determined.
Desperately Evan focused his attention back on Bob, for fear of Bob turning to see. In the shape Dylan was in, he wouldn’t be able to defend himself. Bob would kill him easily.
“Let her go, Bob, do a trade,” Evan said. “Lily for me.”
Lily looked at him. “No.”
“Maybe,” Bob said, and smiled craftily.
He switched the knife from his free hand to the one around Lily’s neck, the blade flashing dangerously close around her face again. She winced visibly as Bob reached into his pocket, pulled something out and tossed them to Evan.
Handcuffs, bright and silvery.
Evan caught them.
“Put those on,” he said, switching the knife between his hands, “and I’ll consider it. Do it fast or I slit her throat.”
Bob pressed the blade against her throat. Lily winced as it pierced her skin. A thin rill of blood trickled down her throat.
Behind him, Dylan used one of the booths to pull himself to his feet. His face was white, drawn, the effort clearly costing him.
“Evan, no,” Lily whispered, her e
yes huge, unable to see what was going on behind her as Evan closed the cuff around one wrist.
Lily was horrified, terrified. She knew Bob wouldn’t let Evan live, he would kill him or leave him to die in the fire.
Just the thought of that sent horror racing through her as she realized that was exactly what Bob intended.
“Shut up,” Bob snapped and popped her in the head with the handle of the knife, “or I’ll cut you now just for fun.”
Pain shot through her head, but it didn’t matter. She looked at Evan, her heart breaking, terrified for him.
His voice oddly excited, Bob said, waving the knife in the direction he wanted Evan to go, “Now, put it around the leg of that table.”
Keeping his eyes on Bob, Evan moved as if to obey, aware of Dylan setting himself.
Driving with his legs, knowing he’d only have one shot at it, Dylan launched himself at Bob’s bulk, aiming for his kidneys, and rammed his elbow hard with as much force as he could muster into them.
The blow didn’t have a lot of power behind it, but it had enough.
Bob’s arms flew open as he staggered, loosening enough for Lily to wriggle free. She threw up an arm to block the knife as Bob grabbed and slashed at her. Blood flew and then he backhanded her.
She sprawled on the floor.
Evan was already moving, but Bob was crazy quick.
All Dylan could do was watch helplessly.
The air was thickening with smoke.
Grabbing a chair, Evan threw it, but Bob dodged it and dove into him like a football linebacker even as Evan evaded the knife driving for his chest. The force of the tackle slammed him into the support between banquettes and he felt his ribs bend, something crack, as they struck.
Bob pounded a fist into his ribs, tried to get the knife turned around.
It had been a long time since he’d done any street fighting, but Evan had learned the necessities hard, early and fast. It had been that or get his ass kicked.
Now it was literally life and death. And not just his, but Lily’s and Dylan’s.
Lily had crawled to Dylan, one side of her face a mask of blood, and gathered Dylan into her arms with the back of his head propped against her shoulder.
Evan drove his elbow down hard, with as much force as he could put into it, into Bob’s thick neck and back, driving a grunt from the man, and felt him try to bring the knife to bear. Desperate, he drove down again.
Bob grunted again, staggered back, his eyes furious. Evan nailed him with a straight jab to the chin and Bob’s bellow of fury, and then Evan sucked his belly in as the man swung the knife at him.
He danced away, his eyes on the other man.
Smoke curled beneath the ceiling, making it hard to breathe as little threads of fire snaked up the walls of the room. The fire was spreading, the smoke thickening. There wasn’t much time.
The blade slashed, but Bob left an opening. Evan hit him with another straight jab that caught the other man on the cheekbone and rocked his head back. With unprotected hands, Evan couldn’t do that very often or he’d break every bone in them, but they were the only and best weapons he had.
Roaring like a bull, Bob charged. Evan caught the knife hand and tried to turn the force of impact so Bob’s knife hand took as much of it as he did, knowing it was likely he was going to get cut.
They slammed into the tables opposite and Evan felt the blade skip along his ribs, praying that it wouldn’t slip between them or they were all done, him, Lily, and Dylan. Bob shouted as his arm took the force, but even so his hand opened and the knife clattered to the floor. It skittered away underneath the tables.
A fist connected with Evan’s face, splitting the skin over his cheekbone and drove him back.
A distant part of him was aware of Lily crying out as she watched, Dylan propped up in her arms. She had scrambled to her knees.
He felt blood run down his jaw.
Snatching up the thick linen napkins they used, he wrapped them around his hands to give them some protection as Bob circled him. Bare knuckle fighting was rough on the hands if you didn’t protect them, if you didn’t hit exactly right you risked broken bones. That was why boxers wore gloves.
Now, with no knife, the odds were more even.
Fury flashed through him, but this time his rage was contained, controlled and focused, unlike Bob’s mad fury.
Bob came in fast, his big hands fisted. Evan knew if Bob got too many shots on him, the man’s bigger bulk would tell. He’d have to be quick. Evan hit him, one quick right to the jaw, a quick hard left to the body as Bob grunted and moved back warily.
“I grew up on city streets in the parts of town most folks drive through quickly, you ass,” he said, sharply and furiously, and then hit Bob again, square on the cheekbone, rocking the man’s head back.
Evan felt something snap in his hand, but there was no time. If they were to live, he had to keep fighting.
“I have a bit of a temper and a mouth on me, if you hadn’t noticed. I learned to defend myself in the alleys and on the streets as a boy. You’re not the first to make assumptions about me. Nor the last.”
The angrier he was, the stronger his accent became.
Watching him, Lily was reminded once again of the time she’d compared him to a Scottish Laird, or a wolf, and at the moment he looked as fierce and furious as either. His blue eyes blazed, every muscle in his magnificent body was taut. Blood drenched his side, more spilled from a cut over his cheekbone.
A fist sailed toward him, but Evan ducked away.
It was a feint, as Bob charged him.
This time Evan darted sideways and drove a fist hard into Bob’s lower back.
Like a goaded and maddened bull Bob spun.
Evan was implacable, finally with an outlet for his rage. His fist lashed out, caught Bob again, driving his head up and back. Bob’s arms wind-milled as he staggered backward. Another punch clipped the man’s chin and Bob went down. His head caught the edge of a table sharply as he fell, his neck twisting at an impossible angle.
When he hit the floor, he didn’t move.
They had to get out and quickly. Smoke gathered thick beneath the ceiling. Evan’s lungs burned.
Evan picked up a chair, his hands screaming as he flung it at the doors. With luck, it would shatter the lock and the doors would fly open, letting in fresh air and giving them an escape. The fire would flare up as well, but all he cared about was getting them out.
It hit and bounced back. The doors rattled, cracked a little, but didn’t give way.
He’d been afraid of that. At a guess, Bob had either chained them shut or run a bar through the handles to keep the doors from opening.
They were locked in, trapped.
Kneeling by Dylan and Lily, the air closer to the floor marginally clearer he looked at them both.
By the look of him, Dylan was in the worst shape of the three of them, blood ran down his face and soaked his side. He struggled for breath. It wasn’t because of the smoke. Broken ribs? A lung punctured by the blade? He didn’t know and it didn’t matter. Couldn’t matter. Nothing mattered except getting out.
The skin over Lily’s cheekbone had been split, and her lip, too, and swollen.
Her brown eyes looked back at him. In them, he could see she knew how bad it was.
Dylan’s eyes met his.
“Bob chained the doors shut,” Evan said.
Dylan closed his eyes, a sick look in them. His mouth moved. “Fuck.”
Taking a breath, Evan nodded.
“I don’t think he intended to die here, though, but I could be wrong. So there might be a way out. At least, we have to hope so. I don’t think we’ll have more than one shot. Can you walk at all?”
“If it’s walk or die then I’ll walk,” Dylan croaked.
Evan looked at Lily, her brown eyes set. She nodded.
The kitchen was ablaze, but there were fewer flammables out in the open between the cook tops and the ovens. Fire crawled up t
he walls. If it got hot enough, the gas lines would go. It was, however, the most likely escape route out. Evan opened up the taps in the big industrial sink. The water was already heated as he dropped tablecloths under the taps, soaking them thoroughly. They were running out of time and he knew it.
Pain burned through his hands, but he had to make them work, had to bear it until they were out.
“Lily, your hair, soak it down.”
Obediently, she ducked her head under the tap.
He and Lily took Dylan’s arms over their shoulders, slid their other arms around his waist, and he groaned deeply. Somehow he held on. They tossed the wet tablecloths over their heads, their clothes.
“Ready?” Evan asked.
All of them were coughing, the air thick with smoke.
“Go,” he said.
They ran, heads down as the fire roared and licked around them, the heat like an open blast furnace, scorching exposed skin.
Evan hit the door with his shoulder. It gave, but didn’t move. He slammed his shoulder into it again.
It rattled, but didn’t give.
He looked at Dylan, his eyes fluttering closed, then at Lily.
She coughed, but her gaze was calm, resolute. With a nod to him, she set herself.
Desperate, furious, rage boiled up in him. They weren’t going to die this way.
Once more he threw his shoulder at the door, he and Lily both, putting everything they had into it. This time it gave way, spilling them out into the lurid light-filled night, staggering, as sirens wailed, tires screeched and people shouted and called.
Evan reeled, tried to keep from falling and spilling an already injured Dylan to the pavement outside.
Bracing herself, Lily caught their joined weight, throwing herself backward, yet barely kept from being pulled over by them.
Firemen ran up to them with air packs, pressed masks to their faces as they supported them and hustled them away from the building while shouting for assistance.
“Who the hell chained the doors shut?” one of them demanded.
Another asked, “Is there anyone else inside?”
Evan didn’t hesitate. “Yes, he’s on the floor in the dining room, but there isn’t much time, the gas lines could go any minute. If you can get in through the front doors…”