Hard to Handle (Caine Cousins #2)(32)

“Hell if I—”

That was all he got out before the world erupted in a violent explosion. The earth-rattling boom sent the three of them slamming against the front wall of the building. Chairs and tables launched into the air, glass shattering, raining down all around them.

And the noise. Holy shit, it was so loud. Too loud.

Reagan landed with a thud on the floor, her head making a solid impact with the hard post that framed the doors. It rang her bell hard, making her see spots momentarily.

Shit.

She tried to push herself up, but she couldn’t manage. Her ears were ringing, her eyes unable to focus.

“Wolfe? Amy?” she choked out as smoke filled the building, invading her lungs, making her eyes sting.

Shit, shit, shit.

When Reagan managed to get her eyes open, she noticed…

“Fire!” Wolfe yelled. “Son of a bitch. Get out, Reagan! Now!”

The man sounded frantic, but Reagan was still having a hard time hearing, her ears ringing from the percussion of the blast. What the hell could’ve exploded?

“Amy? Baby?” Wolfe was shouting now, an ungodly sound that had Reagan forcing herself up, trying to see what was going on.

Fire engulfed the back wall of the bar. The heat from the flames roared toward them as they licked at the rickety ceiling.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck,” Reagan hissed, clutching her head as she got to her knees.

Trying to clear her thoughts, Reagan could barely make out Amy unconscious on the floor. Wolfe was cradling her head, but there was a lot of blood.

“Out,” Reagan said, talking more to herself. With the roar of the fire, it wasn’t like Wolfe would’ve heard her anyway. “Have to get out.”

She glanced at the front door, then at the back wall. Reagan attempted to push the front doors open, but again, they wouldn’t move. They were trapped. The only other door was blocked by the flames and the front one wasn’t budging.

It took a second to steady herself, and her head was screaming at her the entire time, but Reagan managed to feel her way down the wall toward the bar, keeping low to the floor. She covered her face with the edge of her shirt, trying to breathe through the thick smoke. The room was dark, lit only by the flames, but it was enough to light her path to the bar. Reaching around, she fumbled for her shotgun, locating it instantly.

“Get back!” Reagan yelled, getting to her feet and stumbling toward the door. “Move her back, Wolfe! Dammit!”

The man seemed to process what she was saying, and as soon as he had Amy shifted out of the way, Reagan lifted the gun to her shoulder and aimed at the front door right where the handles were. She sent up a silent prayer that no one was on the other side before she fired off three rounds, hitting her mark effortlessly. It was enough to weaken the wood. With her foot, Reagan kicked in the center, but nothing happened.

“Move!” Wolfe howled, grabbing her arm and jerking her out of the way.

With a well-placed kick by the much bigger man, the doors flew open. Air rushed in and the fire thundered behind them.

“Out! Now!” Wolfe hollered, nudging her with his shoulder.

Her brain was so fuzzy Reagan didn’t even realize she’d been standing there, frozen in place.

With Amy in his arms, Wolfe pushed Reagan until the three of them were out of the building, stumbling down the steps to the gravel parking lot.

No sooner had they reached Wolfe’s truck than one of the deputy’s squads came barreling into the lot, sirens blaring, lights flashing.

“We need an ambulance,” Wolfe said, his tone frantic as he spoke into the phone. “We’re at Reagan’s Bar in Embers Ridge. There’s been … fuck … an explosion. We’ve got one injured for sure. Possibly two.”

Clearly the guy had the brains to call 9-1-1. Reagan could hardly process what was going on, much less what she should’ve been doing. Lot of damn good she was doing anyone.

And with that one last thought, everything went fuzzy on the peripheral of her vision. She had to sit down.

So she did.





13


__________


“Where’re you at?”

Lynx pushed up off the couch when Rhys’s panicked shriek sounded through the phone.

“Home. Why?”

“Reagan’s… The bar … it fucking exploded.”

“What?” The growl that came out of him was pretty damn close to inhuman as Lynx launched himself off the couch, his sleep-fogged brain working overtime to process the information.

Copenhagen shot up from his spot on the floor, his gaze steady on Lynx.

“Yeah. Fuck. How fast can you get here?” Rhys was breathing hard. “Wolfe insisted I call you. Amy’s hurt, Reagan’s…”

“Reagan’s what?” he yelled, snatching one boot as he tucked the phone against his ear. “Goddammit, Rhys!”

“She’s… Fuck.”

Lynx was tugging on his other boot as he headed toward the door, his blood pounding in his ears. “Come on, Cope. Let’s go!” Without bothering to lock the door — he never did — Lynx scaled the wooden porch and took off toward his truck at a dead run, phone still to his ear.

Cope jumped in ahead of him, shooting over to the passenger seat as Lynx hopped in, stabbing his key into the ignition.