Page 4 of Blaze

“Holy crap, I can’t believe that worked,” I breathed as I yanked the scissors out of the lock, closing it before tucking it back in my pocket, along with my phone.

Quickly opening the door, I crept inside and slammed it shut behind me. The huge place was eerily silent, but I shook off my unease and took several steps forward. There were lots of tall metal shelves with bins and boxes, but nothing that looked out of the ordinary. As I swept the beam of light in a circle, I spotted an office about a hundred feet to my right.

I raced in that direction, only stopping as I passed a door that had a maintenance sign on it. Some instinct told me to peek inside, and Arlen had taught me to always listen to my gut. Looking inside, I found a bunch of cleaning supplies. But more importantly, there was an electrical panel.

I wasn’t sure what kind of alarm system the Hounds of Hellfire had on this warehouse, but turning off the power sounded like a good idea.

Once that was done, I went to the office, relieved to find this door unlocked. Letting myself inside, I gaped at the long row of filing cabinets lining one of the walls.

“Darn it,” I groaned.

This would take longer than I thought, but leaving now wasn’t an option. Propping my flashlight in my armpit, I got to work on going through the files and searching for Sabrina’s name on any of the paperwork. I was about halfway through them when my flashlight suddenly turned off.

I shook it a few times, but nothing happened. “You have to be kidding me.”

I didn’t think to bring extra batteries, so I tucked the useless thing into my back pocket and stalked toward the nearest window. Yanking open the blinds, I glanced back at the filing cabinet to see if there was enough moonlight for me to see what I was doing. Unfortunately, there wasn’t.

It was also too dark for me to make it back to the door I used to get into the warehouse, so I opened the window since it was the closest way out of the building. Then I remembered having the lighter Arlen told me to always carry. My brother never would’ve guessed his instructions would come in handy while I was breaking and entering, and I hoped to never need to tell him.

Determined to find a way out of this predicament, I lit the flame and continued searching. The improvisation slowed my pace, but it worked…until I moved the lighter too close to the stack of papers I was reading and one of them caught on fire. Before I could put it out, the flame quickly jumped to the nearest row of folders.

“Crap, crap, crap,” I chanted, frantically searching the office for a fire extinguisher.

I had passed a couple as I crept through the warehouse in search of the office, but I hadn’t expected to need them, so I hadn’t paid much attention to their location.

Instead of finding something to help get me out of a bad situation, I’d only made matters worse, literally setting my life on fire.

3

BLAZE

“Blaze.”

I halted in my tracks and looked back over my shoulder to see King, the president of my motorcycle club, The Hounds of Hellfire, walking toward me.

“You going by the warehouse on the south side today?” he asked, a scowl on his face. Pretty much his natural expression unless he was looking at his old lady, Stella. They were a little nauseating with their happiness and palpable sexual tension. But as much as I enjoyed giving them shit about it, I couldn’t help being just a little jealous.

“Yeah. Smoke detectors need the batteries changed, and I want to check on the new dry chemical fire suppression system I just installed.”

I’d inspected it a couple of days ago, so it was probably overkill, but I could be a bit fanatical when it came to fire safety. This particular warehouse was mostly storage for documents, so I’d replaced our old wet pipe system to avoid water damage to the structure and hopefully, all the paperwork.

“Ace dropped these by my office earlier,” he told me, holding out a manila folder. “Backup employee tax documents for The Open Road. Need them filed while you’re there.”

Ace was our treasurer and financial guru. Lately, he’d been holed up in his office working on the taxes for our legal businesses, including the bar we owned in our little town of Riverstone, Georgia.

I took the file and waved it. “No problem.”

Before I could turn away, he spoke again. “By the way, the Georgia DNR called.”

I sighed. “Again?”

This was the third time they’d called me in as many months. They wanted help with another controlled burn. It was something I assisted with from time to time. Usually when they were in areas that had not been burned in a long time because special attention was required when reintroducing fire. Which was why they called me.

After high school, I went into the military and eventually earned a PhD in combustion science. I became a pyrologist and worked as an arson investigator, but I was also a demolitions expert. It was how I got the road name “Blaze” when I patched with the Hounds. That and the many fires I’d set as a delinquent kid.

Those talents came in very handy with my other activities for the Hounds. But those tasks were being interrupted by calls from the Department of Natural Resources. For some reason, they’d chosen to tackle some of the most neglected areas this season.

I hated to turn them down, but the MC came first, and I had a fucking job to do.

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