15. Wyatt
FIFTEEN
WYATT
“Need a ride to Luna’s Lodge?” he asked me after dinner, and even though it wasn’t too far to walk, I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to him yet.
Not after the morning we’d just had, the way he’d looked after me and helped me rebuild a part of my life I’d lost to the fire.
His eyes were like anchors, pulling me closer, body, spirit, and mind, and I couldn’t let go. I didn’t want to. Even if I had to.
The fact I’d found out there was nothing going on between him and my brother didn’t help. Because whatever hesitation I’d had before dissolved as soon as he confirmed they were just friends.
“Sure,” I said and walked with him to his car, passing the spot in the boardwalk where Zach’s bakery truck had been before it got burned to the ground.
I felt a pang on my chest. Why was I worrying about my love life when I should’ve been worried about the motherfucker destroying all our lives.
It didn’t—or shouldn’t—matter that Ari was single, which in all fairness he hadn’t confirmed.
It was an assumption I’d made. Either way, I should’ve been spending all my time trying to undo this fuckery instead of worrying about being seen with a guy I was most definitely crushing on and doing my absolute best to resist the temptation to kiss him.
As soon as we got into the car, I pulled out my phone and searched for Wilson’s name, scrolling through the results as if I’d uncover his biggest secret.
It was better than staring at Ari as he drove though, but a pointless task anyway.
If there was something to be found, Slade, with his much more superior research skills, would have found it.
I needed to use my strengths. I needed to use my trained tactical brain. I hadn’t spent over three decades in the Silver Squadron for nothing.
“Are you okay?” Ari asked me at the first stop lights, and I looked up at him and found his sweet, wonderful gaze on me, and my breath got a little softer. A little easier.
“Yeah,” I mumbled. “Just…trying to figure out this mess.”
“You’re looking for digital footprints?” he asked.
“Digital, physical, but of course, he’s covered all his—” I started and paused.
Physical footprints…
How did I not think of that sooner? I was such an idiot.
I excused myself and turned my attention back to my phone, scrolling through my contacts all the way to K before I pressed the dial button. Ari set off again and drove down Main Street before he came to a stop at the next traffic lights.
“Furfection, King speaking, how can I help?” Slade’s partner said, and for a moment, all I could hear was barking and howling from the background before the line went a little quieter.
“Hey. It’s Wyatt,” I said.
“Oh hi, Wyatt. How can I help?”
I looked at the windshield and ran my hand through my beard before I spoke. “I was wondering if your brother could,” I said.
“My…my brother? How?” he asked.
“I know your father had a vested interest in finding Salieri and getting his money back. Does your brother?”
I had been just as surprised as anybody to find out King came from one of New York’s biggest crime families and that he had left that life behind when he’d had his daughter.
But his younger brother hadn’t. After their father’s death, he had inherited the throne that was meant for King.
And Salieri, aka Wilson, aka our dear mayor, had stolen a lot of money from both father and son.
“I…I can ask,” he said with some hesitation as Ari turned on Union Street, and I saw the smoke rising in the air two blocks down.
“I’ve got to…I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later,” I mumbled and turned to Ari. “That’s the Lodge.”
I pointed ahead, and Ari didn’t say anything. He just stepped on the gas and rushed straight ahead toward the source of the smoke.
And that was how we went from a relatively peaceful, quaint morning, into an inferno.
The Lodge was on fire. Plumes of black and gray rose from every side of the beloved bed-and-breakfast, and dozens of people stood outside watching it go up in flames.
Ari stopped the car, and we exchanged a brief glance before we rushed out to the nearest person.
It was Autumn, standing by the B&B’s white picket fence, her hands all over Elliot’s chest and shoulders and the dog he was holding in his hands.
“No! Elliot, no!” she screamed.
“What happened? Autumn, what happened?” I reached for her, and she turned to me.
Her face was puffy and her eyes red, fresh tears running down her cheeks but still doing her best to stop Elliot from running inside.
“Donovan. Mr. Rogers,” she said. “We couldn’t…I couldn’t…oh my God! I can’t.”
I’d never heard her like that. She was always so composed and put together. Quick-witted and snarky. This was an entirely different woman in front of me.
“Let me go!” Elliot shouted. “Let me…”
Ari stepped in front of Elliot and studied his face the way only a doctor would, and I felt the bitter taste of smoke against my lips.
With dread, I turned to look at the building, realization washing all over me. That motherfucker. He was determined to destroy us. To destroy everything.
“Are they still inside? They’re still inside, aren’t they?”
“Donovan. He went to get Mr. Rogers—” she started, but I didn’t wait for her to finish. I ran. I ran as fast as I could right into the inferno.
There was a whisper of my name in the air. Someone calling out for me. When I turned around, I found Ari right behind me.
“Get back!” I shouted. “Go back. Go back now.”
He didn’t listen. Instead, he covered his mouth and nose with his shirt and ran inside, unbothered by the danger he was putting himself in.
“Wait!” I shouted and ran inside after him, immediately enveloped by the fire. “You don’t even know where they are!”
I didn’t know if he could even hear me, but I took the lead and walked farther ahead, toward the back where Mr. Rogers’ room was.
A few steps forward and I felt a pair of hands pull me back just as a long beam dropped from the ceiling, causing a cloud of embers.
I glanced at him, at his hazy eyes, and he glanced back at me, and we both nodded. A silent show of gratitude in the middle of this chaos we were trapped in.
I pushed forward, navigating to Rogers’ room as his house, the place he’d built from the ground up all those years ago, turned to nothing but ash and scorched earth.
Just before we got to him, my boot hit something soft. I looked down. A tall man was sprawled all over the floor, his shirt and slacks on fire.
“Donovan.” Before I could even think, instinct took over and I started patting him down to put out the fire, and Ari joined me before he knelt beside him and checked his vitals.
“He’s still breathing,” he shouted.
“We need to get him out of here,” I said and pulled his arm. Ari dragged him by the other hand, and once he was upright, he pushed me away and stared right at me.
“You get Mr. Rogers. I’ve got him,” he said.
I froze.
“What?” I asked.
“Wyatt! Go. I’ve got it. I can do this,” he said and dragged himself and Donovan toward the exit before I could stop him.
I didn’t have to worry. To watch over him or help him. I needed to get to Rogers. I needed to get to him before it was too late.
I looked at his bedroom door up ahead. I closed the distance and stopped. My foot collided with the handle, and it swung open.
I braced myself. The waft of heat and fire threatened to knock me back, but I held on and pushed through until I was inside.
The smoke obstructed my view and made my breathing wheezy and heavy. I couldn’t see well beyond my own hand, but I knew where his bed was and that was where I ran to first.
“Gregory!” I called out.
There was a lump under the covers. I pulled it off and found the short old man. He looked peaceful. Normal. As if he was sleeping. As if he was…
No.
I don’t have time to think like this. Not when every second counted. I grabbed the man and hoisted him in my arms, my knees buckling under his small but sturdy weight. I had carried heavier things. I’d been in more dangerous situations. This was nothing. I could do this.
I ground my teeth, narrowed my eyes, and looked for the exit. Just as I found it, something collapsed behind me and I started running as another beam fell on the bed behind me and broke it in two.
One step. Two steps. Three steps.
My knees swayed. The further I went, the harder it was to keep upright. There wasn’t an inch of my skin that wasn’t sweating. Every part of me felt like it was being torn apart.
My lungs were harsh and stinging, and yet I pushed through. I had no other choice. I had to save him. I had to get Mr. Rogers out. I had to make it out of here if for no other reason than to make sure Mr. Rogers lived the rest of his life in peace.
But there was another reason. An equally vital reason.
Just so I could wring Salieri’s neck with my very own hands for what he had done. First me, then the bar, then this!
That was enough.
I had to make it out of here to make sure he paid for his crimes. All of them.
I ground my teeth so hard my gums hurt, breathed out through my nose, and ran the last few feet to the exit.
It was all a blur. Everything. How I jumped over the beam that had nearly killed me. How I managed to tumble my way out, and how I crossed the fire that had broken out in front of the threshold like a firewalker.
I only stopped when I felt grass under my feet, and I allowed my eyes to close just for a second.
When I opened them again, there were people all over me. Helmets, reflections, shouting. None of it made sense. I blinked. I breathed. I coughed.
My insides were on fire.
But I wasn’t concerned with myself. I could see pieces of blue sky above me, in between plumes of black. I had made it out. I was outside. There were firefighters all around me. Hoses. Water.
I blinked again and turned to the side.
There was a man over a sack of cloth.
No. Not a sack.
A man.
Mr. Rogers.
And Ari over him doing something with his hands.
What was he doing?
I blinked again and sat up. The world around me started to take shape. To make sense.
Ari was still over Mr. Rogers’ body. He was pouting.
No. Not pouting. Breathing.
Loud, heavy breathing that seemed to have a tempo that matched the movement of his hands.
“Shit!” I spat and crawled beside them both as Ari wrapped his lips around Mr. Rogers’ and let out a long breath.
Then he was back up, hands over Mr. Rogers’ chest and muttering under his breath.
“Staying alive. Staying alive.”
I stared at the unconscious body underneath him. The body he was trying to revive.
“Agh!” he shouted, and I fell back on my elbows.
Dread washed over me the more I watched the beautiful man lose his temper and composure.
On and on he went, singing under his breath, breathing into the unconscious man. Over and over again. A morbid anthem that sounded more and more macabre as the seconds ticked by and there was no response. No breath. No heartbeat.
Until someone reached him, pushed him out of the way, and put an oxygen mask around Mr. Rogers’ face, one last effort to keep the old, kind man that had done so much for me, for my men, for this whole island alive.
“We’ve got it,” the paramedic said. “Don’t worry. We’ve got him.”