Black Jack

by A Parker

  Like tonight.

  While Chips rushed to the bikes, I ran around to the front of the bar to the front doors. Chips met me there with Knox, who dragged me back away from the doors as Chips stepped forward to cut the chains off.

  I shrugged out of his grip.

  “Stand back,” Knox said. “We don’t know what scale of fire is going on in there. The flames will rush to the open air.”

  Chips gritted his teeth, closed the cutters on the chain, and pushed the handles together. The chain came undone with a sharp snap. He yanked hard, sending the chain tumbling to the porch, and tucked his hand in the sleeve of his jacket to use it to grab the handle.

  “Watch yourselves,” Chip warned before throwing the doors open.

  Smoke billowed out and cleared, revealing the interior of the bar and the blaze.

  “Fuck me,” Chips muttered, burying his mouth and nose in his sleeve. “The fire brigade should be here any minute. They’ll get this shit out and we can get to her. Is there a hose on the side of the bar? We could try to get through if—”

  “Nobody follow me in,” I said. “That’s a fucking order.”

  There was no time to stand around talking and definitely no time to wait for the firemen to show up. For all I knew they were still five to ten minutes away, and Samantha didn’t have that kind of time.

  I surged into the bar.

  Chips and Knox yelled after me, but their voices were swallowed up by the crackling roar of the fire as I wove between burning tables with my face buried in my elbow. The heat was incredible and unlike anything I’d ever felt. It bit into my exposed skin and didn’t relent. Every passing second as I moved deeper inside, the bar only increased in temperature, and for a moment I became disoriented.

  Everywhere I looked, everything was black and burned or on fire.

  The only thing in the bar that remained untouched by flames was the massive stone fireplace. The wood mantel and hearth had all but burned away, but the stone structure still stood, defiant and stubborn as the owner of the place.

  Sam. Please hold on. I’m coming.

  I pressed past the fireplace and into the very back of the bar, where I reached the stairs. The railing was on fire, and flames licked up the side of the stairs but had not yet begun to eat away at the steps themselves. I didn’t hesitate. I took the stairs two at a time and didn’t start hacking and coughing until I was four steps from the top, where the smoke was thicker where it had gathered up near the ceiling.

  The top step broke out from underneath me.

  A surprised yell left my throat, pushing out precious air I’d been trying to hold on to, and I fell straight down until I got caught in the floorboards. Wood tore at my hip and flames beneath the stairs licked at my dangling leg. The pain brought me back fighting.

  Pressing both hands to the top step, I heaved myself upward and dragged my leg out of the ragged hole. Splinters of wood had cut straight into my jeans, which were now soaking through with blood.

  I made it up to the landing and the apartment door, only to find it locked.

  I pounded on it and shouted Sam’s name.

  Nothing.

  No response.

  Shit.

  I dropped my shoulder and rammed it into the door. It took three hits but the hinges broke off and the door fell away, landing against the wall and smashing a mirror in the entranceway. My boots crunched over broken shards and I charged ahead into the living room. The whole place was thick with smoke, but nothing in there was on fire.

  Not yet.

  “Sam!” I bellowed.

  She didn’t answer me.

  Fuck, it was so damn hard to see anything. I choked on smoke and tried to get my bearings, but one wrong turn left me disoriented, and I couldn’t pinpoint any furniture, so I had to feel my way into the apartment. My knee hit the sofa, and I inched along the back of it to where I knew there was a side table. I guided myself along it and around, and I went down on my hands and knees to feel around on the floor near the window where smoke was being pulled outside.

  I found her.

  My hands found wet but hot fabric, and the smoke cleared under the window just enough for me to see her. She’d wrapped herself in wet towels.

  That’s my girl.

  I shook her, but she didn’t stir. I called her name, but she didn’t respond.

  I would have to carry her out.

  Groaning with the effort and strain on my battered body, I pulled Sam up against me and used my legs to lift her. Crawling out of the smoke would not be an option, and we would need protection from the smoke and flames below, so I carried her to where I knew her kitchen sink was. I had to feel around a bit with her over my shoulder, but I found the nozzle that detached from the faucet and sprayed her down with cold water.

  Next, I felt around for more towels and found a few on the counter. I soaked them, wrapped them around my face, concentrating the bulk of it around my nose, mouth, and throat, and turned toward the door.

  It was all or nothing. Now or never.

  Live or burn.

  Fuck, even if we lived there was no way we were getting out of here without a little burning.

  I moved toward the door as the smoke thickened and my lungs began to protest. The first fit of coughs slammed into me at the top of the stairs, and I had to grip the railing to stay on my feet and keep the dizziness at bay. The floorboards creaked beneath me, reminding me that the flames were eating away at the structure of the stairs from down below, and I had to move my ass or risk falling through again.

  I moved.

  One step at a time, we descended. I kept Sam balanced over my shoulder and tried to see where I was going, but the heat and the smoke were burning my eyes. After making it past the hole I’d put in the stairs, I closed my eyes and went the rest of the way down blind.

  At the base of the stairs I opened my eyes again and forced them to stay that way.

  The fire was worse than when I’d gone up.

  The way I’d made it to the back of the bar was no longer a viable way out. The flames were too thick, too angry, and I couldn’t even see the front door or hear my men, even though I was sure they would have been calling for me.

  We needed to go another way.

  I moved toward the stone fireplace and kept my back to it as I crept through the bar toward the kitchens. The bar was on fire but it hadn’t yet reached the liquor bottles on the back shelf. That in itself was a miracle.

  It took everything I had in me to run past the liquor and duck into the kitchens, where mostly everything was metal. No fire burned in here, but the smoke was thick and heavy, and it got in my throat and threatened to choke the life from me.

  Another fit of coughs took me, and as I stumbled out of the kitchens into the back hallway, the coughs won I fell to my knees. Sam toppled off my shoulder and fell heavily to the ground, where she lay on her side, motionless.

  I’m sorry.

  We were so close. So damn fucking close. Just another twenty or so feet and we’d be out the back door.

  You can do this.

  I pulled Sam to me and picked her up in my arms. I cradled her close to me, keeping her face tucked against my chest for extra protection, and ignored how the heat ate away at my cheeks and hands as I dragged my feet toward the exit that would let out into the back parking lot near the dumpsters.

  Each step felt like a mile, but we made it. My arms could barely hold Sam up, so I used my hip against the bar handle of the door and pushed.

  It opened.

  But only a few inches before it got stuck and a chain rattled.

  No.

  I pushed harder with my hip, but the chain bolted around the handle on the outside held fast.

  “No!” I shouted into the smoke.

  Samantha slipped from my hands and we both went down. I pulled her up and propped her against the door, turning her face to the side so that she could get some of the air coming through the three-inch gap in the door. Fuck, I didn’t even kno
w if she was still breathing, and I didn’t dare pull the cloths away from her mouth and nose.

  I did the only thing I could do.

  I pressed my face to the gap in the door and I shouted for help. I yelled the names of my men, the only ones who could save us both, and prayed like hell they could hear me all the way back here over the sounds of the fire.

  Somewhere close by, something snapped and shattered, and the whole bar seemed to shake. I knew in my bones that the ceiling had caved in.

  We didn’t have much time.

  “Mason!” I roared.

  I thought of my sister. Susan would never forgive me for this. She was going to lose both of her brothers in less than a month, all because we had to keep fighting. All because of Walter Bates and our unflinching loyalty to this town.

  I never wanted to leave her like this, but I knew the others would take care of her.

  Mason would take care of her.

  He’d assume my place, too. He was next in line, after all. He’d step in, step up, and take charge. In his hands the MC would prevail.

  Perhaps this was how it was intended to be.

  I used my body to shield Sam from the smoke and heat inching closer to us down the hall. She didn’t stir, but I could have sworn I felt her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths beneath me. I held her face in my hands and apologized over and over. Soot and tear tracks stained her face, at least what I could see of it, and I hated that she’d been so scared and so alone.

  I hated that she’d needed me and I didn’t make it in time.

  I gathered her up in my arms and held her fiercely.

  I would burn before her. I would burn a thousand times over if I could, just to spare her the pain.

  Suddenly, the door at Sam’s back gave way, and we both fell. I landed on top of her as hands grabbed my shoulders and dragged me away from the door. Whoever grabbed me yelled in pain and started wrenching my jacket off.

  It must have been damn near on fire.

  Someone else grabbed Samantha while Mason slid his shoulder under my arm and dragged me to my feet.

  “You crazy son of a bitch,” he said as he half dragged, half walked me away from the bar.

  “Where’s Sam?” My voice was nothing more than a scratchy croak.

  “Tex has her. Stay with me, Jack. Help is on the way. Jack? Jack!”

  His fear echoed in my head as I went down on the pavement.

  Chapter 33

  Samantha

  I woke to the sounds of sirens shrieking somewhere close by.

  A pair of hands worked all over my body, pressing at my hips and my chest, and I tried to swat them away.

  “Samantha? Samantha, can you hear me?”

  I tried to say yes, but my tongue didn’t work, and neither did my throat. My lips burned and felt terribly dry, like I’d been cooking out in the sun for days on end with no water.

  “Samantha, you’re going to be okay,” the voice told me. I wished it was Jackson, but I knew it wasn’t.

  Oh my God, Jackson.

  I tried to ask for him, but my voice still failed me. Forcing my eyes open, I found myself looking up at a starry night sky and a familiar face leaning over me. He had soft eyes, but he looked worried. Who was this again? He looked familiar.

  He forced himself to smile at me. “Sam, it’s me, Brody. Remember me? I’m the asshole doctor.”

  I licked at my lips.

  He continued inspecting me. “I’m making sure you don’t have any injuries we don’t know about. Can you nod or shake your head to the following questions?”

  I nodded.

  “Good,” he said, his approval tinged with what sounded to me like a hint of pride. Then again, I might have just been delirious. Either that or he thought I was a bad-ass chick for surviving the fire. And maybe I was. “Are you in any pain?”

  I thought about his question. It seemed straightforward enough, but for some reason I didn’t know how to answer. Perhaps pain wasn’t the right word. I was in discomfort. So I shrugged.

  Brody’s brow furrowed. “Do you have a headache?”

  I shook my head.

  “Can you take a full breath?” he asked. “Take your time. Don’t force it.”

  Carefully, I inhaled as deeply as I could. It definitely wasn’t as full of a breath as I could usually draw, but I was able to pull in a decent amount of air.

  Brody sighed with what sounded like relief. “Good. You’re doing great, Sam. Can you see me normally? Is your vision good?”

  I nodded.

  Slowly, he began peeling off the wet towels I’d wrapped myself in. I’d forgotten that they were there. He moved gingerly, like he was terrified I’d be all blistered and burned underneath, but as each towel came away it revealed nothing but damp skin.

  He patted the back of my hand to reassure me. “You’re going to be okay. You inhaled a lot of smoke, but I don’t think you’re at risk in terms of inhalation. You’re going to have to go to the hospital and get properly checked out and monitored, but that was quick thinking with the towels. You saved your own life, Samantha.”

  I tried to thank him.

  “Try not to speak,” he cautioned. “Your throat is in bad shape. Your tongue seems a bit burned, too. Nothing a couple days of rest won’t fix, but it’s going to cause you some discomfort right now. I just have a couple more questions.”

  I nodded, suggesting I understood and was willing to answer.

  “Are you nauseated?”

  I shook my head.

  “Dizzy?”

  I shook my head.

  “Any stomach pain?”

  Again, I shook my head.

  Brody placed two fingers under my chin and gently tipped my head back so he could look up my nose. It felt terribly undignified, but I didn’t really care. He made a somewhat uneasy sound in the back of his throat but removed his fingers from under my chin.

  What was he looking for? More signs of smoke inhalation, I supposed. Perhaps I had soot in my nose or my nostrils were burned on the inside.

  I didn’t really care. My concerns had shifted. I needed to know where Jackson was.

  Had Bates killed him? Why wasn’t he the one here holding my hand? Why was Brody all up in my business? I wanted Jack.

  Despite the pain in my throat, I forced myself to speak. “Where’s Jackson?”

  Brody sighed, and for a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to answer me, but he tipped his head to his right, gesturing with his chin. “Over there. The paramedics are working on him.”

  Working on him?

  What did that mean?

  I pushed myself up onto my elbows.

  “Steady,” Brody cautioned, putting a hand on my shoulder and gently trying to push me back down.

  Several things came into focus all at once.

  The first thing I realized was that Brody wasn’t the only guy crowded around me. I was surrounded by almost all of the Devil’s Luck members, and each and every one of them wore a mask of concern on their faces as they sat either crouched down on the grass, on their knees, or stood with their hands braced on their thighs. The only two missing were Tex and Snake.

  And Jackson.

  They looked like worn-out, half-broken men, and that scared me.

  I looked wildly around until I spotted the ambulance, and I tried to push up to my feet.

  “Careful,” Brody caught my arm as I swayed.

  Mason stepped in beside me and offered his support. “We can take you to him.”

  They helped me one step at a time across the grass that separated the private property of my bar from the main street. An ambulance was pulled over just up ahead, and three paramedics were down on their hands and knees on the ground working away on Jackson, who was lying on his back. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew by the way he was lying that something was wrong.

  He wasn’t conscious.

  Mason gripped me a little tighter when my legs started to wobble. “It’s all right, Sam. He looks bad, but the
y’re helping him. Take a breath.”

  I did as he said and filled my lungs as deeply as I could. The air felt simultaneously hot and cold somehow.

  To my left, the bar continued to burn as a firetruck pulled into the lot and firemen leapt out to unravel their houses and set to the fight of putting it out. Flames licked out the shattered windows and smoke continued to pour out of every opening. It surged up to the sky, creating a beacon for all of Reno to see.

  The street was lined with onlookers who looked aghast. Women covered their mouths in shock while their husbands held them close. Children clung to their mothers’ legs and looked on with wide eyes as the neighborhood bar, which had stood on this block for more than two decades, burned.

  “That’s my home.” The words fell from my lips without me realizing I’d spoken.

  Mason held me a little closer to him. “Home isn’t a building. You still have a home, Sam.”

  I didn’t know what that meant, and I didn’t care because we’d finally reached Jackson and the paramedics.

  He looked dead.

  His skin was pale and covered in soot and ash, except for the angry red patches on the backs of his hands and the right side of his neck. Jackson’s chest rose and fell with short, labored breaths, and a paramedic leaned over him to place an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose while the three of us hovered over them, just out of their way.

  “Is he going to be okay?” I asked.

  Nobody answered me.

  “Is he going to be okay?” I asked louder this time, totally aware of how hysterical I sounded. Mason and Brody held me up, and I gripped their jackets and wrists—anything I could get a hold of—to stay on my feet. “Please tell me he’s going to be okay.”

  One paramedic, a young woman with a soft smile and kind brown eyes, looked over her shoulder at me. “Miss, you need to sit down. We’re going to come take a look at you next. For now, we’re going to work on your friend until he’s stable enough to transport to the hospital.”

  Her words rang in my ears.

  “Stable enough?” I whispered.