Arson, p.1
Arson, page 1
Arson
Tori Ross
Copyright © 2021 by Tori Ross
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
All main characters are age 18+
Editing by April Pearson
Cover by GetCovers
Printed in the United States
Contents
Author's Note
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Chapter 22
23. Chapter 23
24. Chapter 24
25. Chapter 25
26. Epilogue
About Author
Author's Note
This book contains an FFM scene between two women and the main male character. This book is the first in a series of four, and the scene is a small, slightly humorous plot point in future books. It's also necessary for a scene in book 2, Thirst. However, you can skip over those chapters if you're uncomfortable.
Other content warnings: Attempted sexual assault, memories of some childhood bullying, and references to other sexual partners before the main characters were together.
Thanks for reading Arson!
Chapter 1
Archie
Even after ten years of being a firefighter, fear still sinks straight into my balls when I hear the dispatch alarm. We don’t ever really get used to the fear because we’ve seen what the red beast can do to our friends. Well, they’re not just friends. Our fellow firefighters are our family. That’s why the fear is always so thick. A firefighter is nervous for themselves, but they’re also worried for their coworkers and innocent people that depend on all of us. It’s not an easy gig when you’ve watched a coworker throw themselves through a twenty-story window to avoid being burned alive. It’s downright terrifying knowing that an ordinary workday can have so many twists and turns.
“Morganstern, get your head out of your ass and into the game,” Zeke yells as the fire truck slows to a crawl as it rounds to the back of an industrial warehouse engulfed in smoke. “You’re zoning out. I need you on point.”
“Yes, sir,” I reply as I hastily finish applying my gloves and helmet. Pushing down on the helmet, I secure it to my uncomfortably hot suit. The suits are built to keep us from burning when we come into small amounts of fire, but it’s hot inside the suit as well. I can already feel the sweat drip down my back. Taking one last chug of bottled water from my assigned cup holder, I do a few neck stretches that I usually do out of habit before going into a big fire.
The smoke engulfs us as soon as the firetruck door opens. Adjusting my gear, I nervously step down and begin to help my crew unwind the firehose. The truck lights flicker strobe-like on the warehouse, and my fellow fire crew scatters to their respected positions. I can already feel the intense heat coming off the building and see the window frames warping and melting in the heat. The sagging aluminum frames on the warehouse doors and windows look like something from a horror movie.
A few members of the public are milling around. Most look like the standard nosy people that listen to the police and fire scanners. You’d be surprised how many people can’t sleep at night and like to just show up at fires or domestic disputes because it gives them something exciting to talk about with their friends. If you’ve ever watched the news and wondered why a geriatric man in a bathrobe was at the site of a drug ring bust, it’s because he heard it called in and wants his small amount of fame. Most people are just curious and stay out of our way, but those that live near an event still miraculously beat us to some fires.
“Is anyone in there?” I ask breathlessly of the nearest bystander. The man’s face is covered in soot, and black snot runs out of the man’s nose as he trembles. He’s dressed in a suit and looks like your standard office drone. The man’s weasel-like eyes squint at my question as if he’s bothered by my question or my existence.
“No. It’s empty,” he responds tersely, looking me up and down. “I didn’t see anyone, and it’s after work hours.”
I blow out a sigh of relief and thank the bystander. My team has been through enough this year with the loss of my old boss without having to go into another blazing warehouse to rescue someone. Dry conditions, drought and the wind catching careless cigarette butts or firepit flames have started more than a few outrageous fires in the warehouse district of Jensen City this year.
The water crisis started last year with people not filling up their pools or watering their lawns. This year, the drought worsened to the level of people not being allowed to shower for more than five minutes. It’s not like anyone is watching and would punish people, but a city-wide marketing campaign promotes water conservation while showering, brushing teeth and flushing toilets. The department has been told to let buildings burn out unless there is a danger to critical infrastructure, neighboring property, or life. Lone rickety warehouses aren’t a water priority as the reservoirs evaporate, and the small creeks that are the only natural water source within a hundred miles run dry.
Shattering glass interrupts my thoughts about water conservation and public service marketing. Someone threw an object through a window to get attention, causing a small hole that causes more smoke to escape. Fuck, there’s a person still inside.
“Get the hose over here!” I yell at my team while giving myself a last-second gear check. “There’s someone in there. I’m going in!”
Sprinting through the entrance, I franticly look around the warehouse for signs of life. Whoever is in here must have been near the door just a moment ago. It’s like they tried to get out of the building but lost their way. In most fires like these, people lose their way easily because they panic in the smoke and go the wrong direction.
Pulling out my flashlight, I turn it on and flash it around the inside of the warehouse. Surely, the person that threw the object would still be somewhere near the window. They may have got turned around a little, but they’ll be close.
“What the fuck are you doing? Over,” Zeke yells through the radio. It always makes me giggle a little when he cusses us out on the radio and then calmly says “over” like he’s trying to be professional.
“Someone threw an object through the window! Over.”
“Fuck! It can never be easy. Over.”
“That’s why you’re the chief. You do the easy while we do the hard. Now let me see what I can find. Over.”
“Copy that. But don’t have a party in there. Report back in one minute. Over.”
I shine my flashlight around frantically to locate the person that threw the object. Rounding the boxes, I almost trip over the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Her legs are long and lean, and she has long, wavy hair splayed out across the floor. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and heels like she’s just come from work or works here. Turning her head to see if she’s breathing, I’m shocked by the beauty of her bow mouth and almond-shaped eyes with long lashes.
A thought simmers through me that I could stare at her all day. What’s wrong with me? I chastise myself for even thinking such an unprofessional thought like the hotness of a rescue victim as the walls are getting ready to come down around us.
“Ma’am! Ma’am, can you hear me?” I yell for her to wake up while shaking her cheek gently. Quickly, I take off one of my gloves and move her cheek aside to get to the pulse spot on her neck. “Ma’am, I’m going to move you. We’re going to lift you and get you out of here.”
“Bennett! Come help me!” I snarl through the radio. “I need help inside the doorway about twenty feet to the right around the first set of office supply boxes. Over.”
Bennett Parks, my closest friend on the force, comes through the door in full gear and runs to where I’m holding her. His tall frame makes short work of lifting the woman, who moans quietly again as she’s cradled in Bennett’s arms.
“I’m going to do a sweep of the main floor and make sure there aren’t any other civilians lingering in here,” I yell while gesturing to the warehouse floor area.
“Are you insane?” Bennett bellows around the noise of creaking rafters, muffled sirens and flames. “This whole damn fucking thing is about ready to come down. We don’t know what’s in these pallets. It could be rocks, or it could be something caustic. Chief says we need to let it burn. Get the fuck out of here!”
“It’ll just take a few seconds. She wasn’t supposed to be here either!” I yell angrily back at him while jabbing my finger at the woman in his arms.
Bennett storms out of the warehouse carrying the rescued woman in his arms, and I find myself wishing I could’ve been the one to carry her to safety. Disappointment roils my stomach as I realize that I really want to be that woman’s hero. At that moment, I m ashamed of my own vanity and my hero complex, But something else unsettles me besides Bennett’s arms carrying her to safety. Why was she here? The bystander said the area was clear. Who is she, and why is she hanging out in a warehouse in a professional-looking skirt this late at night?
I reach for my flashlight again and point it furiously around the lobby space of the warehouse. There isn’t much to the warehouse. There’s a small, open lobby with a desk, some filing cabinets and some coffee machines along a table to the side. Pallets of boxes begin as soon as the lobby area ends and are arranged in rows on either side of the warehouse. The entire warehouse, other than the storage area, is nothing but rafters and ceiling fans. A small staircase up to an office is to the side. It looks like a manager’s office. Like most warehouses, it’s functional with no designer decorations.
I quickly run up the rows of pallets, looking left and right for other victims. At the back of the warehouse, I turn and begin to run back. Heavy creaking startles me from above, and I look up in enough time to see a rafter licking with flames tumbling toward me. Remembering my training, I roll out of the way just as the rafter comes crashing to the ground. As the flaming rafter hits a pallet near me, something wet splashes my suit. There’s something liquid in the pallets. More out of curiosity than fear, I pull myself up to my knees to investigate the pallet contents. I know I’m running out of time, but the stuff that splashed me is like nothing I’ve ever seen for a drink or personal care item. It's…slime.
Shrugging my shoulders, I pull myself up to get ready to run to the front door. I don’t see anyone else in the warehouse, and Zeke calls for me over the radio, yelling at me to get my ass back to the meeting point.
As I turn to go back out the front door, a cloud of smoke and heat hits me with a force that knocks me on my ass right into the pallet. My gear hits the sharp edge of the pallet and my suit splits open in the fall. I groan as the goo seeps into the large gash in my gear, and I quickly give myself a harm check. A light tingling feeling starts on my leg where the goo hit as I begin to panic and wonder if there is more to the pallet contents.
“What the fuck is this stuff?” I ask aloud as I pull it apart between my fingers and try to recognize the slime.
“Archie! Get your ass out of there! That’s an order, Morganstern!” Zeke bellows angrily through the radio. “Don’t make me send Parks back in to haul your ass out because you’re taking a jerk off break during a fire.” There’s silence for a few seconds, and then a quiet and professional-sounding Zeke says, “Over.”
Getting up takes time since I’m like a bug that’s fallen on its back with all of this gear on me. Eventually, I’m able to roll and get my knees under me. Electric pain shoots up my leg, and I briefly look down to see if I really hurt myself when I fell. Nope. There’s just the gash in my suit and some greenish slime drops on my leg.
I limp back to the entrance as rafters began raining down from the ceiling and barely miss me. A burning feeling is moving up my hip to my stomach as I run. It not only burns but tingles. By the time I’m outside and have removed my helmet to gasp for air, pins and needles move up my arm. I flex my fingers as if stretching them, and I halfway expect them to fall off because the pain is intense. Sweat drips off my tanned face and neck, and my brown mussed hair feels wet. I realize I’ve just left a fire, but I almost feel feverish.
“You OK, man?” Bennett asks, suddenly appearing beside me. He must notice my weird hand flexing. “You look pale as fuck.” Bennett’s face crinkles in concern, and he begins to check my hands and forearms by turning them over and around. “Did you get burned?”
“Something happened in there. I don’t know what that stuff is, but it got on me. It burns a bit.”
“Burns? Like herpes?” Bennett asks, obviously not understanding that I’m in real pain. He then smirks at me and raises his eyebrows like he just made the funniest joke ever heard. Something on my face must have clued him in that I don’t think he’s funny, and he clears his throat. “Um, do you think you should get checked out?”
I take deep breaths as heat slides up my neck, and I feel electric pinpricks around my mouth. It’s not as painful now as it moves around my body. It’s like the pain is worse at the exposure site and lessens as it moves away from the site. My mouth still feels like it’s asleep, though. A few seconds later, my eyes start to sting, and I try to wipe them. It feels like when you get shampoo in your eyes.
“Dude, are you crying? What the fuck? I’ve never seen you cry.”
“I’m not crying. I have smoke or something in my eyes. I’ll be fine.” I say, waving him away. I really wish he’d just get in the fucking truck.
“You sure about that? I feel like an EMT should look at you.” Bennett says, grabbing my hand again to check my wrist pulse.
“No! There’s only one EMT on-site, and they need to look at the woman to make sure she’s ok. You guys are busy wrapping up. I’m not taking her resources.”
“Suit yourself, but I think you’re wrong.”
“Is she OK?” I ask, grimacing from the pain in my legs and nodding toward the ambulance. The tingling feeling won’t stop. I’m concerned for myself, but I want to make sure she’s OK.
Bennett drops my hand and turns to the ambulance. “She’s going to be just fine. It looks like she may have just tried to get out and lost her way. She was actually pretty smart to throw something through the window like that. We wouldn’t have known she was there if she hadn’t thrown the stapler we found. They say she’s breathing with the help of a little oxygen and will be on her way to the hospital for shock observation in a few minutes,” Bennett explains, throwing some hydrant tools into the truck.
The woman sits quietly with a blanket around her and an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose. The EMT shines light into her eyes, causing her to back away and squint. The action makes me want to take the light and shove it up the EMT’s ass for causing extra suffering to the woman. Logically, I know that makes no sense. I just don’t like the feeling of powerlessness that rolls over me and sinks into my stomach. I want this woman healthy and happy. The thought that I wish that for a woman I don’t even know unsettles me.
“Any idea who she is?” I ask curiously. I have to know who she is, or it’ll drive me to insanity.
Bennett stops and looks at me a moment before a slight smirk creeps over his face. “Why don’t you go ask her, Romeo?”
“You laugh all you want, asshole, but I intend to do just that.”
“You’re going to go over and bother her while she’s getting oxygen on a stretcher?” Bennett asks as I begin to take tentative steps toward the ambulance. “Maybe you can get her phone number. Better yet, just ask her for a blowjob.”
I pause and turn around to look at Bennett. “Bad timing?”
Bennett sighs and puts his hands on his hips in a way that makes me think he’s going to stop being an asshole for five minutes. “Maybe you could go to the hospital first thing in the morning and check it out?” he suggests.
I shrug my shoulders. “That’s not a terrible idea. You’re good for something, Parks,” I say as I throw my helmet into the firetruck and get in slowly.
The pins and needles feeling feels better as I move around. I’m sure it’ll be just fine. I’ll shower when I get back to the station and get whatever this slime is off of me. No harm, no foul.
I close my door and tap the roof twice as a sort of “let’s go” check-in thing we always do when we’re ready to leave a scene. Zeke comes up into the truck and does his taps, and the truck begins to pull away. I look over at the ambulance pulling out at the same time with the mystery woman behind its closed blue and red doors and mutter to myself, “What were you doing there?”
Chapter 2
Darby - Two Hours Earlier
The whiskey burns my stomach as the bartender pours another round into my glass. It’s been a long day at the bank processing mortgage applications and telling people they couldn’t borrow the amount of money they need to buy homes, cars, or fund college. I’m one of those people that can really make a difference by approving a loan for a first home or a first car. I’m also the asshole that rips a person’s dreams apart because they have bad credit. It can be hard to take some days.
