Chapter 20 #2
“The next time you guys hear something on the beach, you make sure to wake me and Pope so we can go outside with you,” Danger replied. “You best believe we won’t be doing it unarmed, either. This time it was pups, but the club still has enemies, so it’s best to always be prepared.”
Roan let the words sink in before nodding. “I never thought of that.”
“It’s okay,” Danger replied. “You had no reason to, which is why I’m mentioning it now.”
“I um, I’ve never handled a gun.”
“And you won’t ever have to if you don’t want to,” Danger explained. “But there are some locked in the gun safe, and Pope and I are more than proficient.”
“They kind of scare me.”
“Good, they should; picking one up is not something you should ever take lightly.”
With his eyes closed, Roan could almost pretend that they were alone together, instead of in a room filled with mostly strangers and people he’d just met.
Danger probably knew most of them, at least in passing, with how long he’d lived here.
The rain sounded a bit muffled now, leaving Roan to wonder if it was finally lightening up so they could get out of there.
Drifting, the early morning on the beach beginning to catch up to him, Roan felt something wet splatter against his cheek and nose.
His eyes shot open just as another drip of water fell from the ceiling, and he noticed several others staring up at it as well, while the lady beside Tessa swiped at her face.
Before he could say anything, a series of loud, cracking sounds drew gasps from several in the room, followed by a thud as a piece of the ceiling collapsed into one of the aisles.
Like dominoes, several others fell in rapid succession, smashing into the tile while the manager came hurrying down the row.
“Everyone, please stay calm and follow my staff to the back,” he said, pointing them toward the storage room where they’d retrieved the chairs.
While his staff began leading people there, the manager continued down the line to inform everyone, as several louder cracks drowned out his words. Rainwater began pouring through the largest hole, no longer in drips and dribbles but in a deluge that started running down the aisle.
Roan saw Tessa struggling to stand with her daughter in her arms; the older woman beside her struggling to get out of her seat as well, and hurried to help, Danger right behind him, offering strong arms to aid them from the deep cloth seats.
The startled little girl began to sob when a chunk of the ceiling hit the ground beside them with a loud crash.
Tessa ducked her head, curling her body around her child like a shield while Roan wrapped an arm around her, offering protection as they hurried to the back.
Several folks had snatched up lanterns, carrying them as they fled.
In the storage room, they huddled in a dry corner beside the rolling metal doors, several opening their arms to embrace Tessa and her daughter when they reached them.
One employee was trying to figure out how to get the rolling door to open without electricity, while others headed back out to help the rest of the customers reach the back.
When they opened the door, Roan heard another series of cracks and saw a flash of motion as more chunks fell.
Danger turned to follow them, so Roan followed to see if he could help too, the butcher racing along beside them.
The path they’d just hurried down was littered with debris, and Roan spotted the manager trying to help the elderly couple with the grapes.
The woman was leaning on her cane, her husband’s arm around her on one side, the manager on the other, too slight of stature to do more than offer additional support.
Behind them was a man in a mobility scooter, the debris making it difficult for him to get through.
“I get him, you get her,” Danger said, rushing off without waiting for Roan to respond.
Hurrying to the woman’s side, heart pounding as a bit of debris hit his shoulder, Roan paused only long enough to utter the words, “I can carry her.”
“Bless you, son,” the older gentleman said as Roan carefully scooped the woman up. “Bless you.”
“Sir,” the butcher said. “It might be faster if you let me carry you too.”
“Sonny boy, on any other day I’d be offended, but not this one.”
She weighed practically nothing, or maybe it was the adrenaline that made it so easy, but he hurried to the back, the manager on his heels, with the butcher carrying her husband as the entire building began to shake.
It seemed like the hallway had grown longer since the last trip, or maybe it was the constant need to duck and dive around the bits that fell from the ceiling, rumbling cracks beginning to sound like gunfire as they reached the back.
Several employees rushed forward when they entered the stockroom, helping support the elderly couple when Roan and the butcher set them back on their feet.
Not one time today had Roan witnessed anyone acting selfishly or getting heated with others over the situation they’d found themselves in.
Everyone had just pitched in and worked together.
“Is that everyone?” one of the stockboys asked.
“One more,” the butcher said as he and Roan held the door open, Danger only several feet away now, the older gentleman on his back in a fireman’s carry when the whole roof crumbled. Lunging, they reached for him, yanking as the ceiling came down.
Danger stumbled, crashing against Roan, who was crushed beneath his weight and that of the older gentleman as he fell, dust, debris, and rainwater smashing into the tile behind them.
With the breath knocked out of him, all Roan could do was lie there, breathe, and hope the rest of the roof held, because they were all out of room to run.
In the silence that followed the ground-rattling crash of the ceiling caving in, Roan felt the weight lighten, first a little, then a lot as Danger was rolled off him.
Blinking, Roan tried to focus, the butcher’s face swimming in and out of view.
He still couldn’t draw in a full breathe or find his words, but he groped around, desperate to reach Danger’s hand, needing to know he was alright.
He’d just touched skin when someone dragged him away, his weak struggles doing little to slow their efforts.
His back hurt like a son of a bitch; the floor in here was concrete instead of tile.
He heard someone groan and hoped it was Danger but couldn’t muster up the effort to look.
Everything was fading in and out, even the words the butcher spoke as he patted his face again.
Sucking in a slow, achy breath, which was much easier to take now that no one was lying on him, he did a mental assessment: back throbbing, shoulder aching, but otherwise, he was okay.
Cool. He’d just lay there for a moment, get his shit together, and check on Danger once his heart stopped pounding.
His hands were shaking too, tremors spreading through his body as the weight of what could have happened rolled over him like a heavy wave as the adrenaline crash hit, constricting his throat, making breathing difficult again.
He felt himself dragged into an upright position, one beefy hand splaying across the center of his chest, the butcher’s voice in his ear again, reminding him to breathe.
“He’s okay,” the butcher said. “We’re all okay. He’s got a nasty gash on his head that’s going to need stitches, but he’s breathing alright. Need you not to panic, though. Feel my hand. I’ve got you. Inhale. That’s it. Now relax and let it out.”
Slowly, with the butcher’s voice taking on the same soothing tone that Pope always used with him, Roan was able to steady his breathing and get his eyes to focus so he could finally turn to see that Danger was alright.
A line of blood marred his face, leaving streaks across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, a first aid kit beside him as one of the stock boys pressed gauze to the back of his head.
More stitches; he was going to hate staying out of the water, but this time, Roan would make certain he joined them on the beach, even if he had to stay out of the water too.
He could always sit in Danger’s lap if that’s what it took to keep him there.
When he reached for Danger’s hand, no one stopped him from holding on tight, while outside, the rain kept falling like they were going to need an ark to get home, leaving Roan struggling to battle against another bout of terror.
What if Pope, Ocean, and the dogs weren’t alright?