Unleashing Blaze (BLP Breeds #9)

Chapter 1

My crew was solid, the kind I could trust if flames were licking my back. The ritual of the equipment inspection grounded me and gave my restless energy something to do as I checked the fire hose for cracks or weak spots. My crew talked their shit in the background.

"What I'm saying is, if she was at The Savoy on Saturday, you wouldn't be standing here talking about 'taking it slow,'" Dane said, his voice carrying as he organized the medical supplies.

Evan shook his head. "Bro, you think with your dick too much."

"At least I'm thinking with something," Dane shot back.

I looked up. "If y'all put half the energy into these equipment checks that you put into discussing your sad love lives, we'd have the most efficient fire hall in the state."

I caught their smirks, but the banter quieted.

Good. I needed them to focus, not to be distracted by their weekend bullshit.

The balance was delicately built, and the brotherhood tight enough to trust each other with our lives but disciplined enough to execute when seconds counted.

Still, I cataloged the details of how Dane's laugh hitched when he was tired, or how Evan kept checking his phone when he thought I wasn't watching.

Some lieutenants might have missed those details, but noticing shit others didn't was what kept my men alive when everything went to hell.

And hell always came sooner than I thought.

"Lieutenant Crawford, Chief wants the safety protocol updates by the end of the shift!" Jaxon yelled across the bay.

Without looking, I nodded. "Already on deck. I just need to sign off."

We continued with our morning routine. I pushed harder during drills, harder than any other lieutenant in the department. I'd seen what happened when preparation met bad luck, and it was the preparation that determined who walked out alive.

The alarm shattered my calm. Its piercing wail jolted through the station. I dropped my clipboard and headed toward the trucks as my heartbeat accelerated.

"Engine 791, Battalion 7, structure fire, 819 Long Street. Two-story residential. Reports of flames and smoke visible from the second floor. Possible entrapment."

My crew moved with efficiency, sliding into turnout gear and checking masks, with no bullshit or jokes. They knew lives were on the line.

I swung into the captain's seat of Engine 791, adrenaline pumping through my system. I keyed the radio. "Engine 791 responding."

"I know that address. It's the old neighborhood off Main. Those streets are narrow, but there are hydrants on every other block," Dane explained as he climbed in next to me.

I nodded, mapping the approach in my head. "Dane, Connor, we're going defensive on the first assessment. Jaxon, you're with me on the primary search if we can get in. Evan, secure the water supply. I need two lines ready the minute we pull up."

"Yes, sir," everyone responded.

The siren wailed, and other vehicles pulled aside as we tore through town. My mind raced ahead, calculating the scene. Possible entrapment meant someone could be inside, counting on us to reach them before the fire did.

"Remember your training. Stay in communication, stay low, and stay together. We move as a unit or not at all," I said over the noise of the siren and the truck's engine.

The sky darkened as we approached Long Street, and black smoke billowed upward as the flames engulfed the second story of an old Victorian. The full scene hit me as neighbors gathered on the street. A woman ran toward our truck as I stepped out.

"There's someone upstairs in the back bedroom!"

I scanned the house for entry points, structural integrity, and fire spread. The fire had a good hold on the second floor, but the first floor wasn't fully involved yet. We had a narrow window to work through.

"Evan, get a line through the front door and another on eastern to contain the spread." I pulled my mask down to check the seal. "Battalion 7, Engine 791 on scene of a two-story residential, heavy fire showing on the second floor, initiating interior attack with a reported victim still inside."

I rushed inside with Dane and Connor on my heels. The heat hit us as we pushed through the front door. Thick smoke hung in the air.

"Stay on me. Watch for weakness in the floor," I ordered, moving toward the stairs.

We climbed the wooden staircase. The temperature climbed as we went higher.

Sweat was already soaking through my uniform underneath my gear.

Upstairs, the hallway was a tunnel of smoke, with visibility low.

I dropped lower, scanning for structural failure.

A crack overhead caused me to push my arm out instinctively, pushing Dane back as a piece of ceiling crashed down where he'd been standing.

"Careful! This place is coming apart!" I barked.

We moved room by room, as urgency pounded in my chest.

"Fire department!" I tested the door with the back of my gloved hand. It wasn't as hot as I expected. I pushed it open, and the smoke moved in, claiming new territory.

That was when I spotted a woman crouched by the window with a wet towel pressed to her face.

What struck me wasn't her position or the fact that she'd found the one room where the fire hadn't broken through yet.

It was how goddamn calm she looked, like she was waiting for a bus instead of facing her last moments.

Our eyes met through my mask, and something passed between us. Maybe it was the strange intimacy of meeting someone when their life was in my hands.

"I've got you," I assured, moving toward her.

She nodded without tears or panic, yet her steady gaze caught me off guard. I swept her up in one motion. She was lighter than expected, but solid. I turned back toward the door.

"Lieutenant! The east side's fully involved now. We need to move!" Dane ordered.

I tightened my grip on the woman, positioning my body between her and the worst of the heat as we moved into the hallway. The flames had intensified, now visible at the end of the hall, eating through the walls as if searching for me.

"Down the stairs, now!" I ordered as the house shifted beneath us.

We moved as a unit, Connor first, and Dane in the rear. The staircase threatened to give way with each step under us.

We were halfway down when I heard the distinctive crack of the structural failure overhead. Without thinking, I curled my body around the woman, shielding her as a section of the ceiling came crashing down near us, and debris showered us.

In that moment, heat seared through my gear, and my heart hammered as another fire flashed before my eyes. Another hallway, another voice calling for help, another decision that changed everything. Reggie. His face was superimposed over the smoke for a second and then disappeared.

Not here, not now. I pushed down the memory and focused on the woman in my arms.

"Go, go, go!" I shouted, propelling my team forward as the house groaned like a dying animal.

We burst through the front door into blessed air. The cool air of the outside world was shocking to my overheated skin. Still, I didn't stop until we were well clear of the structure. Only then did I set the woman down carefully on her feet by the awaiting ambulance.

As I pulled off my mask, my chest heaved, sweat poured down my face, and smoky residue was in the back of my throat, despite the protection. We made it — unlike last time — not like with Reggie.

The paramedics guided her to the ambulance. Her eyes found mine again over her shoulder before she got in. It was something about her eyes that intrigued me.

I stood back while the paramedics swarmed the woman, draping a blanket over her shoulders and pressing an oxygen mask to her face — standard procedure after smoke inhalation, though she didn't seem to need it much.

Most civilians I'd pulled from fires were in shock or hysterical by this point, yet she sat on the edge of the ambulance, looking more annoyed than traumatized.

"Ma'am, you need to keep this on," the paramedic advised, repositioning the mask she'd pushed aside.

"I've had it on for five minutes. I'm fine," she insisted.

I approached the ambulance, peeled off my gloves, and tucked them into my belt. "How's our victim doing?"

"Vitals are stable. Minor smoke inhalation, nothing serious, but she's refusing further treatment," the paramedic responded.

"I'm sitting right here. I have a name. It's Gisselle Daniels."

Up close, I got my first real look at her. She was gorgeous, with natural curls, high cheekbones, and full lips, but it was her dark, intelligent eyes that captivated me.

"Lieutenant Crawford. How are you feeling, Ms. Daniels?" I asked.

"I'm not sure, considering I just lost my home."

"I get it. I'm glad you're safe."

"Thank you for getting me out. I appreciate it." Gratitude from victims was common, even expected, but warmth was in her voice.

"I was just doing my job. You were remarkably calm. Most people panic when they're in the middle of a fire."

Gisselle smiled. "Panicking has never improved any situation I've been in."

I nodded, unsure how to answer. Normally, civilians wanted to explain how scared they were or thought they were going to die.

"Were you alone?" I asked, gathering information for my paperwork.

"Yes. I was working on some designs. I'm an architect. I just moved here last month. This wasn't exactly the welcome I was expecting."

"Welcome to Goodwin Grove. We don't usually greet newcomers with house fires."

She laughed. "Good to know. Though the rescue service is excellent."

Her eyes lingered on my face, making me uncomfortable, not because I didn't like it — God knew I did — but because being stoic, disciplined, and in control was what kept me together.

It kept my crew alive or at least didn't portray me as unbreakable as I pretended to be.

I glanced away, checking on the progress of my crew battling what remained of the fire.