Page 43 of Dallas Rivals

The leather bites into my skin; I don’t care.

He does the same for himself and sits down beside me.

“This is the main water line,” he shouts over the wind. “It’s deep in the ground. It should hold if the storm shifts.”

Outside, the roar builds—low at first, then monstrous.

Wood cracks. Something slams against the outer wall, rattling the boards.

The air pressure drops, stealing the breath from my chest.

The smell of dust and hay mixes with the sour scent of fear and sweat.

Instinct takes over. I press closer to him.

He wraps his arms around me, his chest solid and warm even through the cold.

The walls start to tremble.

The sound is indescribable, like the sky itself is tearing open.

I can feel it vibrating through him, through the ground, through me.

And all I can think is:

Please, let my parents be safe.

Please, let the animals make it.

“Cala, breathe. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you,” he says against my ear.

Tears stream down my face before I can stop them.

I clutch his jacket like a lifeline, fingers buried in the fabric.

The world is shaking, The roof groans, wood splintering above us.

“Oh God!” I cry out, holding tighter.

He shifts, pressing me closer against the pipe.

His chest and stomach are flush against my back, his arms locked around me—around us—holding the pipe like it’s the only thing keeping us on this earth.

“Hold on!” he shouts. “It’s close!”

The pipe itself starts to rattle beneath our grip, vibrating with the force of the storm.

I dig my nails into his sleeve and into the leather rein, every muscle in my body screaming.

My eyes squeeze shut. My pulse is a drum in my throat.

I’m terrified.

Not just scared—shaking-down-to-the-bone terrified.

The air feels alive, charged, pulling at my breath.

The sound is deafening, so deep it’s not even a sound anymore, just vibration.