Wild Fire (Firehouse 99)

Chapter One

AJ

I never used to hate the quiet; in fact, I used to think it was soothing. Relaxing, even. But now? Now, the silence is anything but calm or comfortable, especially in the firehouse.

All that can be heard is the indistinguishable sounds of Sam—or as I call him, Slammy—browsing TikTok on the bed next to me, and I’m about ready to rip his damn phone out of his hand and throw it across the room.

Though I know I need to chill out, because the kid is new, and the last thing I need is Sarge on my ass giving me shit.

I’ve told him numerous times, I don’t want to be anyone’s damn mentor, but he can’t seem to get it through his thick skull, and thus, here I am, sitting on my ass, going slowly insane as I wait for the damn alarm to go off and save me from this fucking torture.

And because I have the worst luck on the planet, that’s when Slammy lets out an annoying, high-pitched laugh that makes me consider murder, even if only for a second. And judging by the way Dark looks at me as he walks through the room, I’m not the only one with manslaughter on their mind.

“Knock that off, will you?” I grumble.

Slammy has the audacity to look up at me like I just stole the last cookie out of his damn cookie jar.

“Sorry, boss,” he utters, his eyes widening as he reaches for his phone. I glance at it, noting the video is one of those cat compilation videos, and it’s my turn to raise an eyebrow.

“Cat videos, Slam? Really?”

Dark shakes his head, muttering something to himself as he walks towards the door.I don’t have to understand him to know we’re probably thinking the same thing.

What a fucking idiot.

I don’t begrudge any man who wants to do this job; really, I don’t.

I mean, we all have our reasons for why or how we ended up here at Firehouse 99.

But after doing this job for a decade now, it’s hard not to make assumptions or judge the crop of new blood that walks in and out of these doors.

Or maybe I’m just getting too old for this shit, who knows.

“You know,” Slammy begins as he reaches over and hits play on his phone, backing away quickly as the video plays. The two cats meow and hiss as they paw at one another, making the weirdest noises I’ve ever heard cats make. “Maybe a little pussy would lighten up your mood.”

Sterling, lounging catty-corner on his bed from where we are, erupts into laughter and Dark curses as he leaves the room.

“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day!” Sterling says through his deep laugh. I don’t miss the surprised look on Slammy’s face, and I roll my eyes.

“Fuck off, Sterling,” I bite.

Slammy looks at me in question, and I move to get up off my bed. Dark had the right fucking idea.

“Aww shit, Daddy’s gonna whoop my ass,” he says, bursting out into laughter again.

I debate reminding him just who the fuck he’s talking to, but think better of it.

Control is a choice, and I know that better than most; I need to be in control at all times because that’s the only way I’m ever going to get through this life with a clear conscience.

Impulse breeds mistakes, and mistakes can be deadly.

I glare at Sterling, grinding my jaw as I hold back the venom that wants to escape me.

There’s a myriad of ways I could exert my dominance over him and punish him for being disrespectful to me, and I wouldn’t even have to tell the guy off.

Plus, they’d all be legit under the rules of the firehouse, technically.

Sam lets out a chuckle of his own as he raises an eyebrow at me. “Daddy? Really, AJ? Didn’t peg you for the Daddy type.”

Phoenix shakes his head. “You’re a fucking moron. Both of you.”

I don’t disagree with his assessment.

Though I’m pretty sure most of the guys dubbed me Daddy as a reference to my age because I’m one of the oldest guys on the crew, not because they know about that aspect of my life.

Well, I mean, JJ knows, but that’s different.

For starters, he only knows about my double-life as a dom because he actually showed up at Shadows shattering everything around us.

All the laughter dies, and the energy in the room shifts as the switches inside each of us flip like a breaker.

We don’t think; we just move. Like a well-oiled machine.

My blood rushes, my heartbeat racing as I follow Dark.

Slammy is beside me, and the others are following on my tail.

It doesn’t take any of us long to suit up, and I feel a strange sense of pride that Slammy is on the truck before me.

I climb aboard after him, and not a moment too soon, as Dark takes off like a rocket.

Slammy sits beside me, and I note the determination on his face.

But even behind that quiet determination, I see his fear.

He’s still green enough to have it, and part of me envies that.

After over a decade fighting fires, there isn’t much that terrifies me. Not anymore. There’s a lot that depresses me, but the only thing that quiets the unruly ache, the bitter voice inside of my head, is the rush of the fire.

And my serving my sub. When I have one, of course; but I haven’t in years, so fire…

Fire’s all I have.

Everything else around me fades away when I run into a burning building. My mind shuts out all the noise, focusing instead on extinguishing the fire in front of me and preventing more damage. My only goal is to make sure that everyone is safe and that there are no casualties.

I know what it’s like to be the victim. I know what it’s like to lose everything: your entire life in the blink of an eye.

It’s how I lost my dad.

It’s hard not to think about the fire that took him, especially when I sit in this truck, knowing he sat here, too.

Sometimes I wonder if his heart raced like mine does, the closer he got to the flames.

If the fire quieted the noise inside him, too, in some way.

If he knew that fire was going to be his last.

I shove the thoughts aside, knowing they’ll do me no good.

Not when it comes to this. I need to focus on the things I can change.

The things I can control. I see the flames about a mile away.

It’s impossible not to. I know that means it’s pretty bad already, but I can’t think about how bad it is, or how much worse it might get.

“Holy shit,” Slammy says, his voice shaking a bit.

“Fucking hell,” Dark utters, and my chest tightens.

The sight is ominous, like something straight out of a horror movie as we speed towards what I can only describe as an inferno.

Smoke fills the air, thick and black as the flames engulf the once beautiful pink Victorian house, and the heat from the rising flames is like a raging aura.

The air smells acrid and sharp, like charred wood, mixed with burning paint and metal.

Connie Barrett, its owner, passed away last week.

The place hasn’t even been put on the market yet.

And it won’t be now. Judging from the height of those flames, this house will be lucky if it’s still standing by the time we’re done here.

When we pull up to the lot, I note that there are several neighbors out on their lawns, huddled together or sparsely spaced along the sidewalks, gawking at the sight.

People are morbid creatures– enticed by life and death.

I guess it makes sense to an extent, and seeing tragedy often makes people feel a little relief about their own lives, but still.

Disasters are just that—disasters. People need to be smart, careful, or they could end up hurt, too.

Sam moves to corral everyone back, his voice loud and firm, and I have to say there’s a bit of pride in me at that. Because it wasn’t a thought for him; he just did it. Leapt into action and focused on making sure the civilians are safe and we’ve got a clear path to do what we need to.

Maybe there’s hope for this kid, after all.