by Vivian Gray
It would be so goddamn easy, and I would instantly rid myself of two massive problems. But as I stand there, flicking the lighter’s trigger over and over again, allowing it to singe my palm’s skin, an idea strikes me. There are so many better ways to make sure Ash Cooper gets what he destroyed, and now that I have observed him enough, I know there is a weakness I can target easily. In seconds, I have made bigger and better plans for those two lovebirds. They aren’t going to get the privilege of dying together. One by one, I will watch them burn in my flames as they screech for mercy.
And this time, the man who gave me my nickname all those years ago, the man who tried to have me killed, won’t be able to ignore me any longer. His last words will be calling out “Spark!” as he is engulfed in flames.
----
“Well, well, well,” Remmy sneers at me as I charge through the door and into the main meeting hall. “Where in the holy fuck have you been this evening?”
“Knock that bullshit off, Remmy,” I snap back. “I was where I was, and it’s none of your fucking business, now, is it?” I was in no mood to play to this guy’s massive ego. There is a job to be done. “Where’s the police scanner?” I demand, calling away from Remmy and around the room. “Someone grab it for me. I got fucking work to do.”
A young kid, maybe sixteen or seventeen, runs out of the room and towards the main office where we keep our supplies. I take a seat at the main table as I wait in deathly silence for him to come back. He sets the radio in front of me, and I turn the dials slowly until I find channel 9, the channel for the fire department.
A man’s nonchalant, almost too-calm voice talks over the static of the station. “We’ve got a three-alarm fire at 404 Bridgeview. Three units responding. There are at least four still inside. EMTs have been requested and are on the way.”
I look down at my hands and stare at them in awe. Why are they shaking? I have heard these calls before. And even when we started realizing these fires might be targeting us, it still didn’t really affect me to hear these radio calls. It was what it was. So why now? Is it because she is there?
No. No. No. It can’t be that. I don’t want it to be that. Dani is just some bitch -- granted, an incredibly hot and sexy bitch with a hellspawn’s attitude and a take-no-prisoners body. But let’s be real: she was nothing more than a good fuck. I didn’t owe her anything else after I saved her the first time. I certainly don’t need to care about her any more than this.
I shake my head and try to focus on something else. I stare down at Remmy’s boots before looking back up at him. “Get me Duane,” I growl. “Tell him to bring his PI stuff. I have an idea of who this motherfucker is and what’s going on.”
Remmy nods his head and silently walks outside to make his phone call. The rest of the men light up cigarettes or just stand there like idiots as they watch me closely for some sign or guidance. Problem for them is, I’ve got none. I don’t have a fucking clue what to tell them, either to reassure them or to get them good and pissed off enough to take this fucker out. I’m out of ideas.
Twenty minutes pass by before we hear the roar of a motorcycle pull up to the front entrance. Duane walks in, a laptop bag swung over his shoulders and a tired, pathetic look in his eyes. As our accountant, he isn’t exactly used to being summoned late at night for absolutely no reason. As his leader, I don’t really give a flying fuck.
He bypasses the rest of the crew and heads straight towards me. He can’t hide his annoyance. Can’t say I blame the guy -- this isn’t usually his bag. “What’s going on, boss?” he asks, probably a little more irritated than he means to. “What’s the big emergency?”
I give him a cold, hard stare, and he backs down somewhat. I jerk my head towards my office and begin walking towards it.
He follows, always just a few paces behind. When we get there, he pulls the door shut behind him. “This is about that Dani girl, isn’t it?” he says, making me wince -- the motherfucker knows his shit, and he can read me like a book. “Honest to God, boss, I’ve looked, but I don’t have anything new on her. Besides, I thought we were done chasing after her.” He looks straight at me, a glint in his eye. “Or was there another reason you needed me?” he asks cautiously.
“It’s not about Dani,” I insist, maybe a little too vocally. My head pounds as I think of her body, her tits, that long blonde hair of hers streaking down her back as she straddles me. Goddammit. “It’s about this burner.”
“Burner?” he asks.
“The motherfucker starting all these fires,” I explain, doing my best to keep my patience. “I think I have an idea of who it might be. Thing is, if it’s who I think it is, we’ve either got a zombie on our hands, or I’m a real fucking idiot.”
He eyes me curiously. “What do you mean, a zombie?” he questions me.
“The guy, Duane,” I say, my voice a little more strained, “he’s supposed to be dead.”
“Dead?” he repeats in surprise. “C’mon, boss. Who are you thinking it is? Old Mac? Jerome? Those guys are dead and buried. We were there -- we saw it.” He sits back in his chair and looks at me as if I’m absolutely batshit nuts. And maybe I am -- the club president who went off the rails and started accusing old foggy ghosts of members who died of drug overdoses and heart attacks.
But I’m not crazy, and I’m pretty sure I’m not wrong, either. “No,” I say emphatically, “not Old Mac or Jerome or any of those guys. This one we didn’t put in the ground. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t even a member when he was killed.”
“Killed?”
There’s a long pause as he pieces together what I’ve just said. Killed isn’t a word we used lightly. While we aren’t afraid to throw our weight around and land a few hits, we are also not the kind of club that takes a life for no reason. Only in extreme circumstances is there to be a murder that isn’t during wartime. I had killed two people in my life, my brother and sister-in-law, and I had murdered one other -- a guy I called “Spark.”
“Do you remember a boy named Henry?” I ask him. “Tiny little fucker. His leather jacket weighed more than him. He was always begging the Rangers to put him in charge of the routes, but they thought he was insane.”
“The guy with the weird eyes, right?” Duane asks. I nod, and he continues, “Yeah, I remember him. He went nuts when you gave that job to Topper. Didn’t we give him his walking papers? I...”
There’s a pause as his memory traces back five years to that day when Spark, this tiny guy of only 5 feet 7 attacked Topper, a man twice his height and weight, from behind with a box cutter. He dove it into his neck and twisted it viciously while we watched on in shock. It was just a routine, leadership meeting. We were sitting there talking about charity rides for the summer and the man came in from the backdoors squealing with the blade above his head.
None of us even knew what was going on until it was too late. Blood poured out the wound in his neck and through the corner of his pale lips. When the deed was done, Spark looked up at us with blood splatter smeared on his face and uttered the words, “I won.”
The club held an emergency meeting the next night. Spark was detained, put in one of our enforcer’s torture rooms, while we deliberated. It only took us ten minutes and one vote to decide to spare the poor bastard’s life but to disown him from the club altogether. It was the first and only time I had to burn a man’s colors, and it would be the one move of my presidency that I would regret more than anything else.
The next week, the enforcer’s house where Spark had been held burned to the ground. Spark hadn’t started fires up until that point, but there was no other reason or motive for it that we could suss out, and we couldn’t imagine who else it would’ve been. My boys and I rode out, tracking him down at the bridge between town that overhangs partially over the ocean. It was pouring that night, and the chase was easy. He was never the best rider, one of the reasons why I gave that job to Topper in the first place.
When I got to him, his back was up against the bridge’s
railing and he held on tightly to the same knife he used to kill Topper. I shouted at him, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Spark!” It was a stupid nickname. It was something we called him between us boys. But it sounded more and more appropriate each time I used it. He was this little guy, no bigger than a flame. Yet he had somehow caused more chaos with just a little effort than anyone else inside or outside the Crucifix had.
He didn’t answer me, though. Instead, he leapt to his feet and ran at me with such a force that I could feel each millimeter of that blade slice through my skin and into my abs. He looked up at me with wild, wicked eyes as he stepped away. But the blade didn’t move. He grabbed a hold again, but this time, I was faster. My hands reached for his wrists and pulled him up against the railing. Down below, I could see the water lapping at the darkened rocks as the storm brewed above us.
Spark didn’t plead or beg or anything like that. Just the opposite, in fact: he didn’t do anything but smile, as if he realized this wouldn’t be his last moment on earth and that I wouldn’t be the last person he would ever see. It was if he knew his story didn’t end when I threw his body over the metal rails and down towards the rocks.
I couldn’t stand to look down after I heard that crash. I trusted that the four-story fall was enough, especially with the rocks. His body would be washed out to sea and he’d be fish and whale food. He had gotten what he had deserved, and in my heart, I knew there would be no way for a man like that to survive.
But I have to ask. Every sign points to this being the work of a man completely insane and void of a conscious. This is the work of a man who is going after me directly. I turn back to Duane and say sternly, “I killed Spark – at least, I thought I did. But I have a feeling he is back, and I need you to find out what we’re dealing with.”
Duane’s face drains as white as his shirt, and he pulls out his laptop and begins to type.
Chapter 12
“No. Seriously, Dani. What happened to you? You look like a mess.”
“Leave her alone, Jamie. The girl is fine. She was working out.” Nate hands me a cold water bottle from the cooler under one of the passenger seats. He eyes Jamie suspiciously, as if he knows this is getting way out of hand. Who made Jamie the boss of me?
“She doesn’t look fine, Nate. She looks like she’s been through some shit. I’m asking because I’m concerned.” Jamie holds his head high, his thin nose slightly in the air while he looks down on me. The shadow of the helmet covers his long, thin face.
“If there were something wrong with her, she would tell us. She’s a tough girl, tougher than your pansy ass.” Nate reaches over and slugs Jamie in the arm, forcing him to shut up for once.
He rubs his arm as if he’s truly injured and returns to staring out the window of the truck as we slowly swing back through town on our way to the station.
“I’m fine.” I answer after taking in a long gulp of water. My sound breaks the icy awkwardness that has settled between us trainee firefighters. But still, I can’t keep my voice from sounding put off. I thought we were through with this conversation when we got to work on the small house fire on Bridgeview.
It was my first fire since getting back, and I was trying not to focus on how the almost-healed skin on my arms burned slightly against the heat. Even with my jacket on, the small fire felt too hot for me as I couldn’t bring myself to go into that home. I manned the perimeter instead, letting my fears and doubts overtake me.
Now, heading back home to the station, all I can think about is fire and flames. All I can feel is the powerful heat and the wind pushing the black smoke into my face. My throat burns as I try not to cough up imaginary smoke. And the veins in my hands pulsate as I wrap them around the oversized pant legs of my suit.
I keep replaying a moment from that fire in my head. It’s there when I close my eyes -- the site of one of our guys carrying a teenaged girl out of the fire. She was still dressed in her pajama pants and a black tank top. Her braided hair fell down the side of the firefighter’s suit as he walked her straight towards the ambulance. When he placed her gently on to the blue matted stretcher, her hand fell softly to the side. It was still clenched in a tight fist.
She is going to be okay. That’s what they say, at least. It was just a little smoke inhalation. I had it much worse than her. But as I remember that girl with the braided hair and the hand that dipped without control, I see myself. That stretcher is replaced by the long, tattooed arms of Ash. He cradles me slowly as he places me down and then disappears into the darkness.
Ash. I can’t get that man off of my mind no matter how much I try, no matter what distraction I’m dealing with. He’s an endless record playing over and over again as I try to figure him out. Jamie is right. There is something wrong with me. I am stuck on one thought, one unanswered question remains above everything else. Why was Ash there?
I can’t believe I haven’t thought of this before, really. But why was Ash in my neighborhood? Why did he scale those walls? Why was he watching an apartment building go up in flames? I don’t understand it. The only motivation he could have was the worst one possible -- he was the one who started it. I foolishly allowed him to go on without fessing up, but now it was time to face reality and truth.
I need answers. I crave answers. As we pull into the firehouse, I strip out of my suit so I am still in my tiny workout shorts and bra. I can feel Jamie stare at my skin, and I wonder if the imprints of Ash’s body are some kind of roadmap to what has happened. I try not to blush as I run backwards towards the station’s housing. There is one room for females that has never been used before, but the Chief let me take over for now while I worked.
In the quiet bunk space, I wait for a long period of time, listening to the voices of the men on the other side quickly fade into the distance. Most are sleeping. The rest are off drinking or playing pool in the mess. When I feel like I’m finally in the clear, I pull out my phone and dial Ash’s number.
I blurt into the phone as soon as I hear his breath, “I need to talk to you.”
“That’s how you greet me after what we just did?” His voice is dripping with humor, but this isn’t a laughing matter.
I am serious. I need to ask him about the fire. “I don’t care, Ash. I need to talk to you. Can you meet me somewhere?”
“Aren’t you off being a hero?”
“I’m off being a firefighter, yeah. But I’m not on duty anymore.” I pause as I try to hold back those butterflies growing inside of me. “Aren’t you off being an murderous leader of a motorcycle gang?”
He lets out a long, hard belly laugh that lasts far too long. Finally, he says, “You watch too much TV, Dani.”
“I don’t watch any TV.” I don’t know what it is about him that gets me both feisty and fiery. It’s like he brings out this side of me that I can’t really control. I’m not a flirty person. Hell, I’m not really a humorous person either, but that laugh makes me want to hear a million more.
“Is that what you’re wanting? A little television time? I’ve got a TV here at my office, but I don’t think you want to come over here. We don’t have any popcorn.” In the background, I hear him move from inside to outside as the wind whips against his speaker. There’s a brief loud roar before his voice cuts off slightly.
“Come on, Ash.”
“I’m coming.” His voice is lifting over the background noise, slightly shouting.
“What?” I ask, confused.
“I’ll be there in about five minutes. Bring a hair tie or something. I hate when hair whips in my face.”
“I don’t understand,” I say hesitantly.
“Be outside, in that parking lot next door. I don’t feel like being questioned by your firefighter crew.”
“That’s the point, though!” He has to know I am about to drill him with a hundred questions when he gets here.
“I’ll see you soon. Be waiting.” Ash’s voice seems more like a threat.
Even over the sound of the road
s, I can feel the darkness behind it, that edge I’m about to jump off of. I run over towards my bookbag and pull out a bag full of clothes I just bought the day before. There’s nothing that really screams “I’m about to go out with the guy who saved me who probably also tried to kill me, too,” but I settle on a red mini-dress I bought on a whim. It’s not really my style. I’m more of a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl, but I love the way it hugs my curves and cuts a deep V along my neckline.
I slip it over my head before pulling out my bra and changing my pants and underwear to something much lighter than the workout boyshorts I still have on. I change into a pair of black flats and quietly slide out the door and into the darkened hallway. I make my way past the men’s dorms, where a mix of snoring and guttural grunts fills the air. As I pass by the common room, I hear the TV blasting some movie I’ve never seen before, with one of those action stars who seems exactly like all the other ones. I practically tiptoe past, and I spot Jamie in the background lounging on one of the leather recliners. The last thing I want right now is for him to get me involved in one of his hour-long information sessions.
