Does It Hurt? (108)

It ignites in a flash, singeing my fingers as I shove it up between the wooden planks, my eyes burning from the smoke. I repeat the same process with the rest, reaching out past the ladder to spread them out. The flame should catch onto the wet alcohol pads and spread faster.

Then, I scramble back down and tuck myself into a corner, hearing the moment Sylvester either sees or smells the burning cloth.

“Motherfucker!” he bellows, stomping toward the quickly spreading fire. He unlocks the mechanism and throws the cellar door open, proceeding to fire off two shots from his gun, the bullets a loud boom in the small space.

But the fire is still growing, and Sylvester can’t afford to let the lighthouse burn down.

If he loses Raven Isle, he loses everything.

Curses spill from his mouth as he returns to frantically working to put out the fire.

I’m flying up the ladder within seconds, finding Sylvester stomping with his boot over the flames, while Kacey watches on, unmoving as she stares at the red glow with wide eyes.

I charge toward Sylvester just as he notices me, knocking him over and landing a single punch into his face, stunning him long enough to rip the gun from his hold and smash the butt of it into his nose.

He’s out cold, and I’m already heading toward the stairs.

Sawyer is either on the second floor or up by the beacon, and I don’t have the luxury of time to search both.

With Sylvester knocked out, the fire will continue to spread, which could prevent me from getting to her.

I bolt up the steps, down the hallway, and into our shared room. But it’s empty.

“Sawyer!” I roar, nearly collapsing when I hear an indiscernible noise coming from Sylvester’s room. I skid across the floor as I run back into the hallway, up the steps, and into his bedroom.

She’s sitting on the floor by his bed, metal cuffs wrapped around her wrists, a chain dangling between them. The link is trapped around the leg of the bedframe, preventing her from escaping. Dried blood coats her left hand, trails of it leaking down her arm. A piece of duct tape is slapped over her mouth, tears streaming down her beautiful face and brightening her blue eyes to gleaming sapphires.

“That fucker,” I spit, grabbing the frame and lifting the entire bed, allowing her to slide the chain out from the leg. She must’ve been tugging at them, because her tiny wrists are irritated and starting to bleed.

“Baby, you can’t be hurting yourself like this,” I murmur, helping her up.

She rips off the tape in one go, gritting her teeth and hissing through them from the sharp pain.

“I was worried about you,” she admits.

“I’m fine, bella. Did he hurt you?’

“I accidentally cut my hand, and I think my wrist might be fractured, but I’m okay otherwise. He just said I needed to stay in timeout and think about what I did.”

There’s blackness licking at the edges of my vision as I gently grab her arm. After closer inspection, I see a thin cut on her hand, and a faint outline of fingerprints bruising around her wrist, a growl forms deep in my chest.

“Hey, hey,” she calls gently, bringing my attention to her. “It’s fine. I stabbed him, and this is the result. Totally worth it, if you ask me.”

Releasing her, I brush the pad of my thumb across her lip. “You look beautiful painted in his blood. è il colore che preferisco su di te.”

The smell of burning wood is drifting toward us, so I quickly spin around and search his nightstand for extra bullets, finding them in the top one amongst a watch, dentures, pictures, and a case of old quarters—typical old man.

“Is that smoke?” Sawyer asks, crinkling her nose as I load the bullets, pocketing extra in my shorts.

“Yeah. He had me in the cellar. I had to get creative to get out.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Creative is one way to put it.”

“Let’s go. We need to get out of here before the fire traps us.”

Grabbing her hand, I quietly lead her back down the hallway and toward the stairs.

Thick plumes of black smoke begin to rise, stinging my eyes and burning my lungs.

“I’m going to need you to cover your mouth and take a really deep breath. Hold it in as long as you can and breathe in as little as possible.”

Without hesitation, she lifts the collar of her shirt, covering her nose and mouth, and nods at me, signaling that she’s ready to go.

I kiss her forehead, purely because I need to touch her, and then raise the shotgun, sucking in a deep breath before slowly making my way down the steps.

The smoke thickens as we descend, but the fire has been put out, which means either Sylvester is awake, or Kacey took care of it. I see a flash of movement cut across the kitchen and run toward the door, the sound of her chains unmistakable.

Another flash darts in my peripheral a second before Sylvester appears, a hammer in his hand and a battle cry on his lips as he goes to strike me.

“Enzo!” Sawyer screeches, grabbing my collar and yanking me back just as Sylvester swings the hammer right where my head had been.

He stumbles in front of me, and I use his momentum to push him all the way down with the barrel of the gun. He crashes into the floor, rolling onto his back with a grunt.

“Fucking bitch,” he spits on a cough, while I round him and grab the front of his shirt and drag him toward the middle of the kitchen. The cellar is still open, and Kacey isn’t visible through the density of the smoke.