Chapter Twenty-Four High Risk #3
Jude raised a shaky hand, touched his head as though only just realising how bad it was. “Hit my head.”
“We’re getting you out of here.” Warren hooked an arm under him.
“No!” Jude widened his eyes, his glasses cracked and askew. “We can’t… leave him.”
Warren turned back to Radley. Stuck. Half-unconscious. The op was already in ruins, everything compromised, the sting blown apart. If Radley died here, maybe it solved the problem. Maybe it even tied the bow.
Jude cupped Warren’s face, trembling, forcing him to look. “We can’t.”
That plea cut deeper than the fire ever could.
Warren swore, hard and raw.
Radley’s leg was twisted under the beam, the weight pinning him down as if the house itself had chosen him as its sacrifice.
His breaths came harsh, shallow, his skin pallid through the smoke.
Every instinct in Warren screamed to grab Jude, throw him over his shoulder, and get him the hell out.
Leave Radley to the fire. Let the bastard burn for every life he’d broken.
But Jude braced against the beam, coughing, shaking, refusing to move.
That stubborn hand on his face lingering in Warren’s mind.
We can’t.
“Fine,” Warren ground out. “We do this fast.”
He planted his boots, dropped to his haunches beside the beam. Smoke clawed at his throat, heat baking through his shirt, but he locked his grip around the scorched timber. “Get under there with him. Pull when I lift.”
Jude nodded, dazed but determined, shifting to wedge himself under Radley’s arms. Then Warren heaved. Muscles tore fire down his back, every tendon screaming as he dragged the beam up an inch, two. The weight was crushing, searing through his shoulders, his lungs already shredded from the smoke.
“Now!” he barked.
Jude hooked his hands under Radley’s torso and hauled.
Radley groaned, half a curse, half a cry, but his body shifted, leg scraping free in a jagged pull.
Warren let the beam crash back down with a splintering thud, stumbling to his knees, coughing so hard his chest spasmed.
Radley sprawled over the desk, clutching his leg, his face twisted in pain and fury.
Warren wanted to leave him there. Wanted to scoop Jude up and get the fuck out before the ceiling buried them all.
Especially when Jude pushed himself upright, blood streaking down his temple, and his knees buckled, body folded and… collapsed.
Warren caught him before he hit the floor. “Hey, hey, I got you.”
Jude’s head lolled, curls damp with sweat and blood. Too much blood. The hit to his skull had left him swimming, his weight slack in Warren’s arms.
“Shit… baby, please.” Warren pressed his lips to Jude’s temple, stroking matted curls back from his face.
“Stay with me. Just stay with me. I got you.” He then jammed a hand against his comms. “DS Beckford. Basement office, east wing. Two casualties. Priority one, unconscious head wound, heavy bleed. Priority two, leg trapped, likely fracture. Basement clear. I need fire crew and medics now!”
Static crackled, then Patel’s voice came sharp: “Copy, Beckford. Hold position. Teams en route.”
Warren bent his head back over Jude, voice breaking low, meant for him alone. “Hear that, baby? They’re coming. You stay with me until they get here. Stay with me.”
Movement scraped across the floor. Radley. Crawling for where Callum had bolted. Smoke curled thick, the corridor beyond lit orange with flame.
“Not a chance.” Warren clamped his boot between Radley’s shoulder blades, grinding him flat. With one arm he hauled Jude tighter to his chest, keeping him upright. “Don’t move!”
Radley froze, breath hissing.
Warren checked the service exit. The garage corridor choked with fire, the way out Callum had taken gone to hell. His gut tightened. And his training screamed the same answer it always did. Don’t risk the unknown. Use the route you know is open.
That meant back through the stairwell. Back through the flames.
Warren hauled Jude tight to him, his arm a cage around his waist, then hooked his other hand into the back of Radley’s collar.
The man cursed, hopping on his ruined leg, but Warren dragged him forward all the same.
The stairwell loomed through the smoke, sagging beams and cracked plaster spilling across the steps, heat rolling down it in waves, scalding, choking, but it was the only way.
Warren braced his shoulder under Jude’s ribs, adjusted his grip, and shoved them both up.
Every muscle screamed. Jude’s weight was slack, head lolling on Warren’s shoulder.
Radley stumbled, grunted, swore, the dead weight of him dragging Warren’s balance.
“Move, you bastard,” Warren growled, hauling him higher. “Or I’ll leave you for it.”
They clambered over splintered timber, glass crunching beneath their boots, the air thick and sour with burning chemicals.
Warren’s lungs tore for breath, every inhale scalding, but he kept moving.
One step, then another, dragging Radley while keeping Jude tight to his chest. A beam groaned overhead, threatening to come down, when lights cut through the smoke below.
Firefighters.
Figures in full kit and BA, helmets low, torches slicing through the haze as they pushed down the stairwell.
“Two casualties,” Warren called out, lungs burning. “Priority one—head injury, smoke inhalation. Priority two—leg injury, possible fracture. Basement clear!”
The lead firefighter’s beam cut across Warren’s face, paused. “Warren?” The voice carried muffled through the mask, disbelieving. “PE teacher?”
Recognition hit. Reece.
“Long story.” Warren hauled Jude tighter into his arms, blood and soot streaking his curls. “DS Beckford. I’ve cleared it. Repeat, basement clear.”
Reece gave a sharp nod, turning his head. “Steph, priority two.”
The second firefighter stepped in, crouched beside Radley and got him upright in a practiced lift. Radley swore, clutching his leg, but they hauled him towards the stairwell.
Reece straightened, torch beam fixed on Jude. “Priority one’s mine. Hand him over.”
“No.” Warren clutched Jude tighter, voice iron. “He stays with me.”
A beat of silence. Fire roared overhead, timbers cracking. Reece’s visor glinted back at him, but he gave the faintest nod. “Fine. Stay on my shoulder. Don’t drop back.”
“Not planning to.”
“Move!”
They climbed, following the white circles of torchlight, Warren’s boots crunching glass.
Each breath was fire. The stairwell groaned, heat pressing from every side, until at last cold air rushed across his face and they burst out into the open.
Blue strobes slashed across the night, hose lines hissed, radios crackled, the house behind them still spitting flame into the sky.
“Over here!” A paramedic broke from the cordon, hi-vis catching the blue strobe, kit bag slamming his thigh as he ran. Warren blinked through the haze, recognising the shape of him even before the torchlight hit his face.
Trent.
He hit the gravel hard, dropping to his knees beside them, snapping gloves on with sharp cracks. “Lay him down. Now.”
Warren crouched, Jude locked in his arms. “He’s concussed. Head wound. Smoke inhalation. He needs oxygen.”
“And he’s not getting it while you’re crushing him like that.” Trent swept Jude’s face, hovering a hand over his kit. “Put him down, or you’re going to make it worse.”
Warren couldn’t move. He was locked there, Jude limp in his arms, smoke curling around them.
If he let go, it would be over. They’d prise Jude away, work him over, and Warren would be hauled into briefing.
He’d undergo another internal investigation.
They wouldn’t let him near Jude. Then later they’d tell him he hadn’t made it.
And Jude wouldn’t be his anymore. Not to rescue. Not to hold.
Fall in love with.
Reece’s visor caught the firelight as he landed his gloved hand on Warren’s shoulder. “I swear to you, he’s in the best hands Worthbridge has.”
As the fire howled around them, hoses hissing, radios barking, orders cutting through the roar, Warren knew the drill.
The procedure. He’d handed casualties over a hundred times before.
But this wasn’t any other casualty. This was Jude.
And the thought of releasing him, even for a second, ripped panic through his chest like claws.
Trent glanced back, barking to his crewmate.
“Liv! Take priority two!” He jerked his chin at Radley being dragged towards the cordon.
“Broken leg, smoke inhalation. I’ve got priority one.
Need police!” Trent turned back to Warren, his tone shifting, softer but cutting sharper for it.
“If you want to help him, then keep hold of his hand. Let me do the rest.”
Reece was called back towards the hose line and another figure stepped in. Uniform, peaked cap, eyes wide. Freddie.
“Jesus, Jude…” He darted his gaze between them, to Warren. “What do you need, Trent?”
Trent unzipped his kit. “I need him flat. I need airway access, and I can’t do that with this one clamped on him like a bloody limpet.”
“Let him go, Sarge.” Freddie put a hand on his shoulder. “Or I’ll have to arrest you for obstructing emergency services.”
Warren growled, throat burning tighter than the smoke. Jude stirred weakly in his arms, a rattle in his breath ripping him open. Then slowly, reluctantly, he sank to his knees on the gravel, easing Jude down onto the waiting stretcher, but kept holding his hand.
Trent checked him over, tilting his head, jaw support, two fingers sweeping clear.
Then the mask over Jude’s face, oxygen hissing into the night.
He glanced up at Warren, not breaking rhythm.
“Breathing’s shallow. Pulse thready. I need a GCS.
Eye response, verbal, motor.” He pinched Jude’s nailbed, watching for reaction. “Come on, Jude. Squeeze for me.”
Jude’s fingers twitched weakly in Warren’s.
Warren bent low, lips brushing damp curls, whispering through the mask’s hiss. “Still here, baby. Still here.”
And this time, the squeeze came again — stronger.