Page 76 of Courting Danger

Chapter 21

Danger

“W-where are we?”

Groaning, he tried to sit up, but hands on his shoulders and back forced him to stay where he lay.

Shit, he’d barely had his baby back for a month. Had there been another accident?

Roan’s face swam into view, hair and face streaked with dust and crumbly bits.

“Still at the grocery store,” Roan replied. “We’re in the back room, which, fortunately, was an add-on, or the roof might have come down in here too.”

“F…errr…is it still pouring?”

“Unfortunately. Cell service is down and the rolling doors are stuck. They broke a broom handle trying to pry them open.”

Blowing out a breath, Danger struggled to piece Roan’s words together, sound fading in and out, drowned out by pain that made it feel like his head was about to explode.

“You got hit by a chunk of the ceiling,” Roan explained. “The whole thing collapsed.”

“T-the, t-he old guy,” Danger stammered. “He o-okay?”

“Still alive and kicking,” the older gentleman replied from somewhere on the other side of him. “Which wouldn’t be the case if it weren’t for you.”

“G-good.”

Exhaling, Danger took a moment to try and gather his wits. “How about you? You okay?”

“A little bruised from hitting the floor but fine otherwise.”

He tried to nod, which proved to be a bad idea, so he swallowed, licked his lips, and managed to say a couple more words. “Glad to hear it.”

The longer he was awake, the worse the throbbing was, but he forced himself to focus. “Repeat what you said, about the door, just slowly.”

“It’s stuck,” Roan said. “It won’t pry open.”

“Rolling metal…top mounted?” Danger managed.

“Yeah.”

“O-okay…give me a minute…”

“You’re not getting up to help with anything while your head’s still bleeding,” Roan declared.

“Creature’s garage. The doors are like that. Always a way to manually open. Just need to remember how,” he said, aware that his words were beginning to slur.

Roan fell silent, giving him the time he needed to work shit out. Where his boy had been nervous while they’d been parked in those chairs, he sounded sure and steady now, which was good, because Danger felt anything but.

“They need a ladder,” Danger explained.

He heard feet scuff against the concrete and movement, the squeak of wheels desperately in need of oil, and then the butcher’s voice, proclaiming that he needed help moving retainers.

“They’ve got one,” Roan said. “They’re digging it out now.”

“P-perfect. They need to set up beneath the motor.”

There was more scraping now, the rattle of metal and squeaky wheels. He let his eyes drift close, immediately snapping them open when Roan’s fingers caressed his cheek.