SCORCHED: A Firefighter Stepbrother Romance Thriller Read Free

    But
it’s not real. And I don’t just mean that in an “it’s on TV” way. What I
experienced that day in my apartment isn’t something that will ever be shown on
TV or the big screen. No one will ever capture the sheer terror of those
hopeless moments the way my memory did. And I’ll never be able to forget.

 
    I was
in the kitchen when it started. My apartment was on the sixteenth floor and it
was kind of a shithole, so of course while the lower floors were burning, the
alarms up by me weren’t going off. I was microwaving one of those Lean Cuisine
dinners wearing nothing but some tiny pajama shorts and a tank top when the
first curl of acrid stench went up my nose.

 
    Huh, I thought. Maybe I put it in for too long.

 
    Obviously,
that wasn’t the case. I’d checked, though. Wasted precious seconds trying to
figure out if the microwave was on the fritz. I even texted
my landlord to see when he’d be able to get someone up here to take a look at
it.

 
    Now,
just minutes later, I was thinking something totally different.

 
    I was
thinking , I
don’t want to die.

 
    Once I
realized the smoke was billowing up from under my door, I’d made it out into
the hall, but the smoke was way thicker out there. People were running,
tripping over each other, trampling others just to get to the stairwell. Kids
were crying. A couple of people were shouting just trying to keep everyone else
calm. It was chaos. I couldn’t see a thing. My eyes burned. My lungs ached.

 
    In just
a few minutes, that narrow hall was packed with people. It was getting violent.
I closed the door and ducked back inside. I figured I’d just break my window
and removing the outer bars to get to the fire escape. It never occurred to me
to think about why nobody else had tried to get out that way.

 
    You
were supposed to be able to twist a knob on the inside and then lift the bars
up individually to take them out, but the knob was gone and the bars were stuck.
In fact, it looked like someone had welded them into the holes. Shit. Fuckin ’
Vinnie. My landlord was a paranoid piece of shit who didn’t listen to
anyone about anything, much less young women trying to educate him about the
city’s fire codes.

 
    “You
want burglar to break in?” he’d repeated to me every time I tried to explain
why bars on the fire escape windows were bad news. That, or he’d say, “No, no,
no. Fire escapes are crime magnets. I’ve seen the Law & Order . Is better this way.”

 
    Fuck Vinnie, and fuck Law
& Order, too.

 
    By the
time I realized it was a lost cause, the smoke even in my apartment was dense,
like fog on the streets in the winter. I tried to get out the door again, but
the knob was so hot. It seared the flesh of my palm; the smell made my stomach
turn.

 
    “Shit.
Shit!”

 
    I
stuffed anything I could under the door. Towels, clothes, whatever I had handy.
I got on my cell phone and dialed 9-1-1, returning to the window to look
outside and watch the fire engines pull up.

 
    They
were just getting here. They hadn’t even got the hydrant going yet. My pulse
pounded in my ears, deafening everything else except for the roar of the
flames.

 
    “9-1-1,
what’s your emergency?”

 
    “Please,”
I managed, but devolved into a coughing fit a second later. My mouth was dry.
My throat was ragged. Everything ached and burned. The window wasn’t helping
filter out the smoke anymore. I ducked low, eyes stinging. “I’m in the Parker
building. The one that’s on fire. I’m on the sixteenth
floor . . . ”

 
    “Yes,
ma’am, we are aware of the fire and have dispatched units to the scene. Is
there a way you can exit the building?”

 
    “No,” I
choked. “The windows are barred. The fire’s in the
hall already.” As I spoke the words, I realized how bad they sounded, how
screwed I was. I swallowed a throatful of ash and
continued, “Please. Someone has to know I’m up here. You have to tell