Free Killshot (Icarus Series Book 1) by Aria Michaels

Blake— they haven’t come back. They are still on the roof,” She sobbed, sagging into Micah, who looked like he had just gotten punched in the chest. “I have to go up there.”
                  “Shit,” Zander yelled, raking his fingers through his hair.
                  “Micah, please?” Riley cried, trying desperately to peel his hands off her arm.
                  “I’ll go and check it out,” Zander said, turning to me. “You guys stay here. Don't move. ”
                  Before I could protest, he disappeared up the stairs. I grabbed a dazed Micah by the arm and dragged him over to the stairwell door. He was winded and confused, but there was no time to coddle him. I gathered his t-shirt at his chest and pulled him forward until I was an inch from his face.
                  “Micah, focus,” I shouted at him. “I need you to hold this door open. Do not let it shut, do you hear me?”
                  His eyes met mine, and he nodded meekly, stepping in front of the door. I left no time for argument and tore off up the stairs after Zander. I had no idea what the hell was happening, but whatever it was, I knew I could not let him face it alone. By some small miracle, I managed to catch up to Zander just as he reached the top of the staircase.
                  “God damn it, Liv. You shouldn’t be here,” he barked, frustration etched in hard lines across his forehead. “Please, you have to go back, it’s not safe!”
                  “I'm not going anywhere,” I said, jutting out my chin. “Now, stop wasting time and open the stupid door!”
                  Zander swore under his breath and yanked me protectively behind him as he reached for the door handle. He grasped it firmly in his hand but quickly jerked it back. The pungent stench of burning flesh immediately filled the stairwell. His free hand squeezed his other wrist so tightly, his knuckles paled. Even in the washed yellow light of the exit sign, I could see angry red welts erupting all over burned skin of his palm.
                  “Son of a bitch,” Zander screamed, shaking his hand furiously.
                  He ripped his over-shirt off and wrapped it tightly around his singed hand before reaching out to grab the handle once more. He struggled with the door, but finally managed to force the door open about half way as a wave of punishing heat rushed into the stairwell.
                  The super-heated gust knocked me off balance. My arms flew in front of my face, instinctively trying to shield myself. I shifted my weight trying not to fall, but the rubber sole of my boot grabbed the traction strip on the concrete. I lost my footing and stumbled back into the wall. My head hit the concrete wall with a crack and my vision went dark around the edges.
                  I was eight years old, baking birthday treats for school with my mom. I was so excited I danced around the kitchen while I helped her mix the ingredients together. I kept myself busy, chewing the leftover cookie dough from mom’s wooden spoon, while I waited for the timer to beep, but I was getting impatient.
                  I had been watching those cookies slowly rise to golden perfection through the glass on the front of our oven for what seemed like forever. Finally, I decided I couldn't take it anymore. Instead of waiting for my mom to get them out for me, as she had instructed, I decided I could handle it. I bent over and reached for the handle. I was much too close to the oven when I opened that door and the heat burst free, hitting me square in the face. I screamed bloody murder and fell onto my butt.
                  I missed school for a whole week, not to mention the birthday party my class had thrown for me, while mom treated the first-degree burns to my forehead and nose. I still had a