12. Alexei #2
“I have to find her,” I bite out.
Luka mutters something deeply profane in Russian beneath his breath, but he follows without another argument. We move quickly, searching room by room.
“Maggie!” I shout.
No answer comes back.
The adoption room stands empty except for overturned chairs and abandoned carriers. The cat room has already been evacuated, its kennels open, and blankets scattered across the floor. The treatment area appears deserted.
Panic kills, and emotion kills. Bratva training drilled those lessons into me before I was old enough to shave, and years later, they remain carved into bone. I force myself to assess, prioritize, and move because fear is useless unless it serves a purpose.
An empty carrier lies abandoned in the middle of the hallway. A leash rests beside it. Several blankets are scattered across the floor. The abandoned supplies tell a clear story. The shelter was evacuated, but Maggie stayed behind.
I continue moving. The recovery wing resembles a war zone. Several kennels stand open while others have been dragged into the hallway. The isolation room door hangs partially open. Inside, every kennel is empty.
“Maggie!” I shout again.
Then we hear it.
A cough echoes faintly through the smoke. It isn't Maggie. It's male. Luka hears it too because his head snaps toward the sound at the exact same moment mine does.
“This way,” he says sharply.
We follow the sound into the rear corridor.
Sam lies near the collapsed hallway, barely conscious. Blood covers one side of his face, and his breathing comes in shallow, painful bursts.
I drop beside him. “Sam.”
His eyes struggle open. “Boss.”
“Where’s Maggie?”
He coughs hard enough to shake his entire body before forcing out the words.
“Storage,” he rasps. “Jules got trapped. Maggie wouldn't leave him.”
Of course, she refused. Maggie would walk through hell itself for the people she loves.
“Where?” I demand.
Sam lifts a shaking hand toward the collapsed corridor. “Supply room. Hall collapsed.”
I’m on my feet before I realize I've moved.
Luka catches my arm. “Firefighters first.”
I rip my arm from his grasp. “Every second matters.”
“Alexei.”
“She's in there.” My voice comes out low and lethal. “Nothing is keeping me out.”
Without waiting for another argument, I push past him.
The look on his face is caught somewhere between frustration and resignation. Then he keys his radio.
“Fire team to rear corridor immediately,” he barks. “Three civilians trapped near supply room.”
I’m already climbing over debris before he finishes speaking.
The heat intensifies with every step. Part of the ceiling has collapsed completely, leaving burning beams and shattered drywall piled shoulder high across the corridor. Flames crawl across the debris, consuming everything in their path.
No one survives long breathing this much smoke, and that knowledge drives me faster.
Two firefighters reach me shortly after carrying axes and breathing equipment. One of them grabs my arm.
“Sir, you need to get out of here.”
“Not until she's out.”
“Sir.”
“There are people trapped behind that collapse,” I tell him, pointing toward the debris. “My pregnant girlfriend is one of them.”
The firefighter pauses, clearly weighing his options. Whatever he sees in my expression convinces him not to argue.
He mutters a curse, yanks an extra respirator mask from his gear, and shoves it into my hands.
“Put this on and stay behind us,” he orders sharply. “You do exactly what we tell you. Understood?”
I secure the mask. “Understood.”
He nods once. “Help us clear it.”
We work. We clear wood, drywall, twisted metal, and broken shelving, but the debris feels endless.
As we work, memories assault me without mercy. I see Clara dying in the street, then Maggie laughing in my kitchen. I hear Ivy asking whether Maggie can stay for dinner. I remember Maggie pressing my hand to her stomach, her eyes shining as she whispered that our baby was growing there.
I failed to save one woman I loved. I won’t fail another.
A firefighter suddenly raises his hand. “Quiet!”
Every muscle in my body locks.
We all go silent.
At first, all I hear is the roar of the fire. Then another sound reaches us through the smoke.
Coughing.
A woman's voice.
“Maggie,” I breathe.
“We hear you!” one of the firefighters shouts into the smoke.
I scramble over the remaining debris while two firefighters continue pulling away broken drywall and splintered beams.
“Maggie!” I shout.
Silence answers. Then, faintly through smoke and flames, I hear her.
“Alexei?”
Relief nearly drops me to my knees.
“I'm here!” I shout back. “Keep talking.”
Another coughing fit echoes through the corridor.
“Supply room!” Maggie calls weakly.
I follow her voice. The supply room door is partially blocked by collapsed shelving, but I can see movement through the opening.
Then I see her.
Maggie sits on the floor beside Jules with one arm wrapped around him. Soot covers her face. Her hair hangs loose around her shoulders, streaked black with ash. Both of them cough violently, and for an endless second, all I can do is stare.
She’s alive. Thank God.
The prayer moves silently through me with enough force to leave me unsteady.
“Maggie,” I say roughly.
Her head lifts slowly. Her head lifts slowly. The instant she sees me, emotions flood her soot-covered face.
“Alexei,” she whispers.
I cross the room in seconds and drop to my knees beside her. My hands move over her automatically, touching her face, her shoulders, her arms, reassuring myself that she’s alive and breathing.
“Kotyónok.” My voice sounds unfamiliar even to me. “Are you hurt?”
“I'm okay,” she says through another coughing fit before pointing toward Jules. “Help him first.”
Even now, frightened, exhausted, and struggling to breathe, her first thought is someone else.
Jules manages a weak smile. “Your timin’,” he rasps, “is honestly impeccable.”
I assess him automatically. Smoke inhalation. Possible head injury. Possible leg injury.
Alive.
That last fact is the only one that matters.
“Can you stand?” I ask.
Jules grimaces. “Depends entirely on your definition of stand.”
Maggie actually laughs.
The sound dissolves into another violent coughing fit.
Fear claws through me again as I look around the smoke-filled room. We’re running out of time.
The firefighters begin clearing the doorway while Luka appears behind me, carrying oxygen masks.
“We need to move now,” Luka says grimly.
I nod. Maggie is alive. Nothing else matters. I’m taking her home.
As firefighters move around us, Luka appears and shoves an oxygen mask into my hand. I secure it over Maggie’s mouth and nose before she can argue. Her fingers close around my wrist, and that single touch does more to steady me than the air burning inside my lungs.
“Breathe,” I tell her, keeping my voice firm. “Slowly.”
She tries, then coughs hard enough that her whole body folds forward.
I brace one hand between her shoulder blades while the other keeps the mask in place.
The sound tears through me, but I don’t let it show.
If she sees fear on my face now, she’ll carry it along with everything else she already insists on carrying.
Jules coughs beside her while one firefighter crouches near his injured leg. “I think my ankle’s broken,” he rasps, his voice muffled by the mask Luka shoves over his face.
He squints up at Luka. “You know, for a man built like a refrigerator, your bedside manner is truly terrible.”
Luka stares down at him. “You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”
“See?” Jules coughs again. “Terrible.”
A firefighter clears more debris from the doorway and looks back at me. “We can get them out through the side hall, but we move now. Roof is unstable.”
I look at Maggie. “Can you walk?”
She nods too fast.
No.
I know her too well for that now.
I slide one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back before she can protest. “You’re not walking.”
Her hand grips my shirt. “Alexei… Jules.”
“Luka has him.”
“I have him,” Luka confirms from behind me. “And if he talks more, I may leave him.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Jules mutters as Luka and the firefighter lift him carefully.
“I would,” Luka answers.
Maggie’s eyes close for a moment against the mask, and I feel the tremor that moves through her. I hold her closer and turn toward the narrow path the firefighters have opened through the debris. Heat rolls across us from the hallway, and smoke presses against every inch of the air.
“Stay close,” the firefighter orders.
Maggie feels too light in my arms. Her head rests against my shoulder, and each breath rasps through the mask.
I move through the hallway with her held tightly against me while water rains from broken sprinklers and ash drifts through the air.
The walls sweat soot. The floor is slick beneath my shoes.
Somewhere ahead, another firefighter calls out directions while the beam of his flashlight cuts a pale path through the smoke.
Behind me, Jules groans when Luka and the firefighter help him over fallen debris.
“Maggie?” he calls, voice rough.
“I’m here,” she answers against the mask.
“You better be,” Jules says, coughing after every word.
Her fingers tighten in my shirt. “I’m okay.”
She’s lying.
They both know it.
So do I.
A section of the ceiling cracks above us.
The firefighter ahead curses and signals left.
I turn with Maggie in my arms as burning debris crashes down behind us, scattering sparks across the floor where we stood a heartbeat earlier.
Heat bursts against my side. Maggie jerks in my arms, and I wrap myself tighter around her before the motion can jostle her again.
“Move!” Luka shouts.
We move.