Little Fire

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Jackson

The time has come to leave this hellhole, and all it will cost is the lives of a few people.

Maybe. Hopefully more. Escaping prison is a complicated affair, and one I’ve been meticulously planning as soon as those fucking cops slid cuffs on my wrists.

Being framed for a crime I didn’t commit places the one responsible at the very top of my kill list. Now, as fate would have it, that bastard, known as my twin brother, is finally back in town.

He won’t live past a couple more days. And I know that at least one person will have to make the ultimate sacrifice for me to go on my way.

It’s a small price to pay to get what I want.

To be fair, I’ve been patient. It’s been five years since I’ve smelled the air outside. The crisp, chilly wind of Montana is not for everyone. But I have found that the mountains can help hide a lot of bodies. What they don’t do is make sure the right person ends up in jail.

My mouth inhales a sharp breath as my psychologist pulls me back from my thoughts.

Every evening, I find myself in her office, doing more fucking than talking.

On her desk, on the brown-stained carpet, and most recently against her unlocked door.

My eyes peer down at her face, taking in the way she looks while having my cock between her lips.

On her knees, she smiles slightly now that my attention is back on her.

My blonde-haired, green-eyed pet. The fucking one that sunk her claws into my skin and refused to let go.

Not until I was rehabilitated. Like a murderer can change.

Like I’d want to. Nevertheless, in order for my plan to shift into place, I plaster on a smile and grab the base of her neck.

Pushing her closer, she takes the last of me, causing her to gag.

The sound annoys me. How many times does it take before she learns to expand her throat? “Cecelia, you told me you would practice,” I say, my voice harsh.

She tries to pull away only to find my hand keeps her in place. A jumbled response escapes her throat, the effect not allowing me to understand anything she said.

I release her slightly, only allowing room for movement.

Cecelia takes the hint, as she circles my head with her tongue.

“This is your fault,” I whisper, voice low.

“You came on to me.” I click my tongue. “All the while in a position of power.” She goes faster now, an act that only comes with accepting my words.

I glance at the clock above Cecelia’s desk to see its green numbers signaling close to midnight.

Her office is closer to the prison exit than not, but I still have some ways to go.

And I can’t waste precious time waiting on her to make me cum.

“You should know how to give head better than this.” I place my hands on both sides of her head and thrust myself into her hard.

She gags again, pissing me off even more.

I continue to fuck her mouth so that my head feels the back of her throat.

If she won’t open wide for me, I’ll make her.

Spit slides from her lips and down her chin, making me feel something for the first time tonight. My cock twitches, and I smirk, knowing this is the last time Cecelia will ever get to taste me.

I pull out of her and move my fingers from her head to her neck.

Her eyes widen at the sudden shift. “You really shouldn’t mess with criminals, Cecelia.

” I squeeze her throat. Her hands flail to mine, clawing my skin.

“You might end up dead.” I murmur. Heat rushes to her face as her heart races.

The sound of her heart drums against her chest. I close my eyes to revel in the noise. So beautiful.

I squeeze harder until her movements slow, causing me to look at her.

She’s not dead. Yet. I could do it. Leave another corpse in my wake.

In fact, I should. She knows too much. There is no room for loose ends.

My fingers let up only to circle back to her neck.

With one last sudden movement, a crack releases into the air followed by her body dropping to the floor.

I grip her hands and pull her to the opposite side of the desk.

If someone enters the room, they shouldn’t notice her corpse right away.

Not that I guess it matters too much. My DNA is all over her body, so any idiot would connect me to her, anyway.

I open the top drawer of her desk in search of her worker ID.

Cecelia always tucked it away during our nightly fuck sessions, as if hiding it would erase any wrongdoings on her part.

My eyes zero in on the plastic card, and I stare at her picture.

Even at her most professional, she was sloppy.

I pocket the ID before moving on to the next drawer.

There I find her purse and help myself to the cash she left inside.

“Cecelia, you are more useful to me as a corpse than you ever were alive,” I whisper, inching closer to the door. I take one last glance her way, only seeing the edge of her shoe poking out from under her desk. Heat rushes to my face, and I fight the urge to break her body to hide it completely.

But getting out is more important than destroying bones. Remember the plan. Remember the plan.

When I was first booked into the prison, smoke rose above the trees a couple of miles away.

The sight caught my attention as a place of potential.

An area to which I could run and lay low for the night.

Throughout the years, the smoke remained throughout the colder months.

And with it, my ever-growing anticipation of finding who lights the fire that will lead me straight to them.

Decided, I walk out of her office, back against the barren and cold walls.

The way out is only down the hall. At this time of night, more often than not, the guard in charge naps at reception, ever so confident that no trouble will find him.

As I continue on, this holds true tonight.

His bald head leans back against the top of his chair, mouth open, oblivious.

Wasting no time, I slip next to him, my hand pressing against his mouth.

He jumps and attempts to get out of his chair.

“Listen,” I say. My right knee digs into the back of the chair fabric and prevents any farther movement.

“You are going to do your magic,” I nod toward his computer.

“And let me out. If you do, you get to live.”

His eyes flutter between my face and his computer screen. Tightening my hold, my arm goes around his neck while my other hand goes to his gun holster. My fingers rip the gun away and I place it against his back. “You are wasting time.”

Having the gun pressed against him must have finally activated some brain cells because he gets moving.

With a few clicks of the mouth and keyboard, the computer screen unlocks.

“Okay. Okay,” he says. He types in a code, and the doors unlock with a click.

I smile, slowly taking the gun off his back.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it? You can go back to being useless.

” The butt of the gun slams against his head, and he slumps to the floor, unconscious.

Now, I run. Pass the exit and my feet land on grass for the first time in years.

My lungs inhale fresh, cool air as I continue toward my final barrier.

An outpost that allows staff cars to enter is up ahead with one more guard delaying my progress.

A shout erupts into the night, and at the same time a bullet lands a few feet to my right.

My chest rises and falls, full of adrenaline and real fucking excitement.

I had no plans to kill anyone else at this moment, but what’s another body?

Taking the gun, I aim it at the outpost and shoot a couple of shots at the glass.

It shatters, throwing glass crystals all over the guard. “Fuck!” the guard yells in pain.

The sound amps me up more, and I pick up the pace until I reach him moaning inside the outpost. Blood pools down his face as a piece of glass pokes out of his eye. I kick the gun out of his hand and bend over him. “I guess the bosses didn’t care to get you bulletproof glass.” I tsk.

“You’re dead, motherfucker,” mumbles the guard.

I glance around for a second, finding no one is coming to rescue him.

“No,” I whisper. “I think you might be.” I lift my boot and slam it against the bad eye, causing the glass to embed itself deeper.

Blood sprays out and onto my face and shirt.

The guard sputters out some incoherent words and falls back.

If he had just minded his own business, the worst thing he would have experienced was getting knocked out.

Instead, he decided to shoot, and I just can’t have that.

I take my leave, using Cecelia’s ID to scan my way out the steel doors built to withstand cars busting through.

Smoke still rises above the treeline, offering a clear view of where to go.

The cabin is just through the woods; the terrain is slightly rough.

But I’m ready. I have to be. Just whoever is there doesn’t have a choice but to be too.