Page 60 of Tiny's Testament
His boots crunch over broken glass and charred rubber. The side door’s frame is half-melted, jammed by fallen debris. He shoves me behind him again, lowers his shoulder, and slams into it.
The metal doesn’t budge. He hits it again, and again, as fire claws up the walls behind us.
“Come on,” he snarls, voice breaking. “Come on.”
I press my hands to the frame with him, pushing even though I know I’m not helping. My lungs scream for air. Tears burn tracks down my cheeks.
“Please,” I gasp. “Please, Tiny…”
He steps back, wraps an arm around my waist, and with a roar that sounds like it’s ripped from his soul, he throws his entire body into the door.
It bursts open. Cool night air blasts in. We stumble into it like we’re falling through a second birth.
I collapse to my knees outside, coughing so hard I taste blood. Tiny drops beside me, pulling me tight against his chest.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs into my hair, even as the flames behind us devour the rest of the garage in a tidal wave of heat. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
But the way his arms tremble tells me we came seconds away from not being okay at all.
The compound erupts. Brothers are everywhere. Trigger and Torch hauling hoses, Dagger shouting for extinguishers, and Red shouting readings from his phone. Bones staggers by, carrying a box of salvaged tools like it’s a wounded brother.
Capone’s silhouette moves through the smoke like a god of war, giving orders in a voice that cuts through the roar. “Derange, get the women clear! Blayze, seal the east gate! Nobody leaves until I say!” Capone’s voice cuts across the chaos like a blade. “GET THAT FIRE CONTAINED! MOVE!”
Tiny pulls me against his chest, pressing my face into his shoulder. His heart pounds against my cheek, steady even now. “Breathe,” he whispers, low enough only I can hear. “Just breathe, Baby Girl.”
I do, or try to. The taste of ash sticks to my tongue. Tiny shifts me into his lap, checking my face, my arms, and my neck for burns. His hands shake so hard I can barely feel the warmth in them.
“Are you hurt?” He demands, eyes searching mine with a kind of fear I’ve never seen in him.
“I’m.” My voice cracks. I try again. “I’m not burned.”
He exhales like someone stabbed him and then pulled the blade out. His forehead drops to mine. His breath is hot and frantic. “I thought I was gonna lose you in there.”
“You didn’t,” I whisper, brushing soot from his cheek. My fingers come away black. “You saved me.”
His eyes close. A broken sound escapes him, half relief, half something darker.
Then Torch shouts, “TINY! YOUR BACK!”
Tiny stiffens. He tries to turn, but a bolt of pain flashes across his features. I scramble behind him, lifting his charred shirt. My stomach drops.
His back is an angry, blistering red. Debris clings to his skin in places where the fire kissed too close.
“Ethan,” I whisper, voice shaking. “Oh my God.”
“I’m fine,” he rasps.
He’s not. But he got me out first.
“Water!” Torch yells, dragging a hose forward. Trigger yanks the valve open, and a jet of water blasts into the inferno. Steam surges back like a monster’s breath.
Torch’s voice cracks with fury. “That was our history in there!”
Red shouts, “Pressure’s dropping, get that line clear!”
Dagger coughs hard enough to double over, then keeps spraying. Bones is muttering prayers between curses. Every man moves on instinct. Chaos organized by loyalty.
Tiny keeps me close. I feel him shake, but pretend not to. That’s what we do. We pretend until pretending becomes real.
