3-VINCENT
My screen flashed to life after I plugged it into the battery pack. The drive home from our last roll of the season was long, and I had emails to kill time.
Ash and soot sat tucked in the creases of my ears and any other place that the quick shower couldn’t reach.
A few years ago, someone gave the whole unit ringworm; everyone who used the fire camp showers, anyway.
Ever since then, I’ve rocked the funk and resorted to baby wipes if we were demobbing and getting a hotel that night.
Heather’s emails filled my inbox. She knew I was out of service, and I told her I would get to them as soon as I could.
The first was final confirmation on dates and location for those who needed hotel accommodations.
I was relieved when it was announced we would be thirty minutes south of where I lived.
I knew that was an option. October tenth was the date of the run.
I had a few meetings before and just over a week to prepare.
It was going to be hectic, but it would be worth it to add to my savings account after draining it to build my home on the ranch.
I had already signed the contracts and wasn’t too concerned. This was my third year, and Heather had grown to appreciate Fang’s personality.
I sent Uncle Mark a text letting him know I was on my way back and that I would be around for a few days. The news would spread like wildfire through the ranch since I told him.
He knew about The Forwarning and didn’t have much to say about it as long as it didn’t interfere with my job.
Mark didn’t love that I was part of the Hotshots either.
But I made it work. It kept me busy for damn sure.
When life finally slowed down with the frigid months of winter, I’d pick up work at other stables and nearby ranches.
To boost my ego, I swapped my texts and emails for social media. Looking at the comment section of my Forewarning videos gave me the confidence I needed to fulfill Fang. It was like feeding the beast.
“What the fuck?” My crew member, Cortez, breathed over my shoulder. “Girls go crazy for that shit?”
My lip twitched. “I guess they do, don’t they?” Not bothered by his eyes on my screen, I kept scrolling. It wasn’t like he knew the guy was really me.
?
The drive to The Forewarning location was short. Being outside of the city, it was a few miles closer to my home. My mind kept me busy as I transitioned from Hotshot season to sitting-in-one-place season.
I met with the other masked guys in the common area, some new but most familiar faces. Our group chat was updated yearly, so I’ve gotten to know some of them through text.
I knew Shane was no longer Gage and someone would be replacing him. What I didn’t know was that he was a co-owner. He stood in front of us, and Heather off to the side. “Alright guys, it’s that time. By the end of the week, you fuckers will be making ten girls’ dreams come true.”
Shane paced in front of us, boots thudding against the wood floors.
“Let’s go over your runners and their preferences, limits, safe word, and medical conditions.
Then we will move on to sign the last of your contracts and waivers.
We also have the last round of testing to do.
” He continued as Heather worked the remote to the projector against the wall behind him.
“Things to remember: No unmasking at all. Do not break character. Do not contact or find your runner before or after the event. Do not leave marks or bruising without her consent. And most important—if she uses her safe word, everything stops. No exceptions. You reach out to the staff immediately if that happens.”
The room stayed silent as the projector flickered to life, exposing a profile behind him. Heather looked through her notes on her clipboard and led Shane through the process. “This is Striker’s runner,” She whispered.
Shane turned his back on us, announcing the woman’s information. “First up, Striker’s runner. Jess. twenty-nine. Five feet and five inches. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Her runners-up are Gage and Solace.”
“Ah haa! Not if I get to her first.” Solace cackled.
I noticed Shane roll his eyes before listening to Heather. “Next up, Fang’s runner. Ellie. twenty-five. Five feet, nine inches. Brown hair, brown eyes. The runners-up are Grave and Smoke.”
A whistle came from the group; I didn’t care to find out who.
I took a mental note: Ellie. Twenty-five and fucking tall.
She wasn’t taller than me, but if things went in the right direction, it would make throwing her around not as easy.
I’d have to look at her file again later. She was attractive; they always were.
My eyes lock onto the wall as my runner disappears, and the next one takes its place. “Smoke, your runner is Daisy. Thirty-one. Five feet and two inches. Dark blonde hair, green eyes. Her runners-up are Fang and Havoc.”
Daisy. Innocent-looking enough, but smiled like she was hiding something.
She resembled the kind of girl who would cuddle up to you on a Friday night and wake you up with sex or breakfast Saturday morning.
I’d take either. The picture of her in the kitchen was feeding my imagination at record speed. And goddamn, I was a runner-up.
Was I about to purposely ditch my runner to go after another? A simple mistake, right? Ellie was Five-nine. Would they believe me if I said she outran me? Or I couldn’t find her? I needed a taste of Daisy and was contemplating ways to get her in my cabin Saturday night.