My Fake Husband by Black, L. (lightest ebook reader .TXT) 📗

of control, and a building wasn’t worth the lives of my men. We talked to the Overton chief, smeared with soot and breathing hard, defeat etched in the lines of his face.

“We’re gonna have to pull back, treat the perimeter,” he shook his head.

“I can help evacuate your crew,” I said.

“Thanks. We got a couple guys on the way to the ER in an ambulance, smoke inhalation. They were just stacking cargo in there when the smoke hit them.”

“You got everyone out, right?”

“We think so. They were both so knocked out by smoke they couldn’t answer questions. Every time we try to get in and search, some shit falls in and I can’t endanger my crew searching for somebody that isn’t even there.”

“Have you contacted the owner of the warehouse? Did they have a shipping manifest and a list of who’s on shift?”

“I’ve got dispatch making calls, but it’d be too late by the time we get word. Nobody could survive that much smoke inhalation, Vance,” he said.

My men and I moved in closer and turned on our SEBA gear for breathing. I barked orders and summoned people down from the ladder truck. The roof was bound to collapse soon, and I didn’t want men dying on it. We scouted around the edges, spraying flame retardant and clearing any debris that would feed the flames. As I skirted around the back, I could hear something beneath the roar of the fire. I was so used to the creaking of burning structures, the hiss of flames, that I could tune them out partially. I heard a rhythmic thump, what sounded like a human voice and then thumping repeated.

I looked around. No other firefighters were nearby. I knew it was stupid but I had to do it. I spoke into my radio that I was going in the back because I’d heard signs of life. Then I kicked in the door. I bent low and wound my way through charred detritus and dodged rubble that was burning hot. I went toward the direction where I thought the noise had come from. I heard it again and switched off my earpiece because the Overton chief was shouting at me to get out because the roof was going to go.

I took my ax to the door because it was stuck, and chipped out a hole big enough to step into the small room—an office or storage closet. I was smoke blind, the black smoke too thick to see. I used my headlamp and glimpsed a booted foot. I reached down and grabbed an arm. The man tried to help me but he was mostly overcome. I lifted him and hauled him out as fast as I could. Which was pretty fucking slow because there was a veritable shower of cinders and burning bits of the ceiling starting to pepper the interior of the structure. I batted away anything I could, but I needed my arms to carry the survivor. The smoke was insane.

I stumbled out of the back door and went to my knees. I laid the man on the ground and waved over the paramedics who were standing by. I ripped open the buckles on my coat, pushed back my mask and tried to get cool night air on my skin. I felt raw and blazing hot, the roar of the flames and the fear that crept in as the adrenaline receded made my head pound. It didn’t help that one of my guys and the chief from Overton were shouting at me about what an idiot I was and how I could’ve been killed. I had known there was a guy in there, and I couldn’t have forgiven myself if I’d let him die because I was too scared to risk going in. It wasn’t who my dad raised me to be. I would’ve let them know that if I hadn’t been so winded, so hot that I could barely get up off my knees. Someone handed me a bottle of water. I drank some and poured the rest over my head.

After an hour, we had everything under control and I took my crew home. I was exhausted but proud. The medics said the guy I saved was going to the hospital for tests, but his oxygen saturation was already improving. He was going to make it. I had managed to avoid the local news that camped out with their bright lights just outside the safety barricade. It had been a long night. I just wanted to go home, shower, drink about a gallon of water and get some sleep.

When I unlocked the door, about four hours later than I had planned on being home, I found Trixie pacing the living room. When she looked up and saw me, she launched herself at me. I staggered back from the impact, my back going up against the door. She flung her arms around my neck, buried her face in my chest. She was ranting and raving, half sobbing, half angry as hell.

“I heard what you did, goddammit,” she gulped out, dragging in a noisy breath. She gripped my shoulders and gave me a shake. “You could have died. I thought you were gone—I called your dad. He said you were just being a cowboy and you’d be fine, but then he asked me to call and let him know if you made it home so even he was scared. It was on the news, Damon! I saw you stumble out and lay down the guy you were carrying and just—go to your hands and knees and rip off your mask and then it cut away to the paramedics working on this guy—how could you do that?”

I held her close, not realizing till I had her in my arms just how badly I needed this. I needed to feel her wrapped around me, proof I had survived.

“Just because you’re fearless does not mean that I am!” she practically moaned, looking up at me with