Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Ayen

Finally being able to breathe in the fresh air after being crammed inside of a SAC funded bus had me relaxing almost instantly.

Trees surrounded the training camp in a wide arch, acting as a barrier between us and the rest of the outside world. Not even the cars passing by from the freeway, just a quarter mile from where we'd gotten dropped off, could be heard through the treeline.

After the past two years, this all felt like complete paradise.

"All right, gentlemen! Listen up now," Barlow, one of the four COs that had come with us today, called out. "You're going to be taken into the back of the facility for a safety training course. After that, you're going to be fitted for gear. Do not make me have to cuff you and put you back on the bus. Let's be on our best behavior today."

Next to me, another inmate, Tyson, snickered quietly. "Looks like our Newjack is feeling a little twitchy today."

As much as I hated to admit it, I found the comment funny even as I actively fought my smile.

There weren't many COs that came through our unit that didn't feel like they had something to prove—especially the newbie ones that many of the other inmates, including Tyson, liked to call ‘newjacks' for some reason.

A lot of insider slang typically went over my head, and back when I'd first gotten sentenced, I'd questioned practically everything, wanting to learn as much as I could about my new home for the next half decade. I'd learned pretty quickly, though, that asking questions got your ass kicked and soon stopped opening my mouth as much.

Officer Barlow was a lot different, though, in the sense that unlike most newbie COs, he had a tendency to baby us. I understood why, but I had a hunch that since all of us—in this program in particular—were the least violent offenders currently in California State Prison, Sacramento aka SAC, and that his preternatural ‘mama bird' instincts tended to kick in.

Today, though, Tyson was right. Barlow seemed unnaturally twitchy and more harsh than usual.

But honestly, I didn't really care. I was just happy to be outside of those fifty-foot barbed wired walls for once.

We were ushered to the back of the property, behind the large main cabin where I assumed our COs and the firefighters for this program would be staying. We had our own cabins, quadruple bunked, right across from that—all of which faced directly toward the mess hall.

I never intended on coming with Tyson, my cellmate, on one of those work release programs. But the minute I'd heard it was for six weeks and we'd be out in the fresh air and not stuck inside of some factory, manufacturing license plates or something, I was all on board.

Six firefighters were standing in a half-circle, waiting for us when we finally got to the training site. All of them were dressed in various forms of their turnout gear, with most of them in the typical navy t-shirt and trousers clipped up over their shoulders with suspenders.

I shifted a little in my spot.

Since getting shipped off to prison over two years ago, it'd been a long time since I'd felt any kind of desire. That had been long-since beaten out of me, not just by the harsh prison system but by the person that'd actually gotten me sentenced in the first place.

But damn, did those guys look good in their uniforms. I did have eyes, after all.

"Welcome, gentlemen." A man, tall with broad shoulders, a built chest and an easy smile, nodded to us as a group. "The name's Jackson. I'm going to be your trainer for the next six weeks. We're going to start on the basics for the next few days and see how you all do. Once you've made it past that, then we'll graduate into actual search and rescue drill training. Sound good?"

He didn't wait for the murmur of ‘yessir's from our group to begin moving to one of the small training stations. None of us moved, even as he gestured for us all to come closer with a wave of his hand.

We knew better than that. One step out of line and it was back to SAC.

It seemed to have amused our trainer however, because he soon let out a soft chuckle before turning to Barlow. "You mind?"

Barlow quickly cleared his throat and waved his hand at us. "You heard the man. Go."

Tyson nudged my shoulder, "Come on, roomie," and nodded his head to me as he brushed his way to the front of the pack.

I wasn't so much of a fan of being front and center in a crowd, especially since this jumpsuit already made us all stick out like sore thumbs. But I was also not about to be abandoned by Tyson's overeagerness to get his front row tickets to whatever demonstration we were about to watch.

He was kind of the only friend I had at the moment.

"Like I said…" Jackson squatted down, his long legs spreading apart to accommodate the thick tree stump in front of him. On top of it were a few tools, a frayed rope, some kind of rock-looking thing, and a dozen smooth pebbles. "We'll be starting with the basics: how to make a fire. To understand how to fight forest fires, you're going to need to know how they get started and how easy it is for them to spread."

Up close like this, I could see the salt and pepper strands in Jackson's dark hair, with patches of grey accumulated at both temples, along with the slight lines in his face that expressed his age. He was probably twice my age, which historically speaking had always been my type, and was handsome enough to be distracting.

While talking, he rested both of his forearms on top of his thick thighs, which immediately had my gaze darting away from him. Of all times to be attracted to a man the second I laid eyes on them, it just had to be now while I was trying to not fuck this up.

Sometimes life felt like one cruel and twisted joke.

I barely recalled any of the information as Jackson ran through the basics on using a flint (the rock-looking thing) on a dried out fiber (the rope) and then stopping the spread of it with an immovable and inflammable object (the pebbles). It wasn't until I was being tugged away by Tyson over to another station close-by that I realized I'd kind of fucking screwed myself over by letting my mind get distracted.

"Can't believe they're letting us play with fire on the first day. They're nuts," Tyson was saying while grabbing at the flint.

I shook my head. "We're low-risk. That's why."

"So says you," he shot back at me.

"I'll just let you take the reins on this one," I said, glancing back over my shoulder to the rest of our sixteen-person brigade.

Most of them were already getting busy with trying to start and stoke their fires, while the other firefighters were walking about and observing. Our COs hung back but had watchful eyes for any of us screwing around.

Belatedly, I caught sight of Jackson turning toward Tyson and I, and slowly rising to his feet, an interested arch to his brow.

I quickly turned back around again, my cheeks burning. I really hoped he wasn't coming over here to observe us.

That's the last thing I needed—an up close and personal distraction.

"Okay, so he said to strike this on this thing…" Tyson had the flint pressing up against the starter, flicking it a few times. "And then to put it on the rope."

Sparks flew as he struck the starter, but nothing caught. Leaning over the stump, I squinted at what we had on it. "I think you have to press it against the rope while you're striking it."

"Yeah, but that guy didn't do that."

I tried to think back to the display Jackson had out for us and to no one's surprise, my mind was completely blank. All I could remember was how the veins in his arms had flexed when he'd been moving his hands together to strike the flint and catch the rope on fire.

Fuck me… we're so going to fail.

"Maybe use the ends of the rope?" I suggested. Logically, it made sense… right? Less densely packed material for the fire to burn through.

"Oh, you're a fucking genius, pumpkins."

I rolled my eyes at the nickname.

"How we doing over here?" I tensed up at the familiar voice. "Get your flint working yet?"

Jackson hovered behind me, his large body not only imposing but hard to miss.

"Yeah, look at this." Tyson struck the flint once more over the frayed edges of the rope, immediately lighting it on fire. However, it died just as quickly as it'd started, leaving the edges of the rope singed and slightly smoking. "Aw, what the fuck?"

Jackson moved around me and lowered himself to get closer to the stump; one of his knees dug down into the dirt while the other leg was propped up to allow his elbow to rest on it.

"Try again, but this time, make sure you cup your hand around the flame until you can get it to catch properly. The wind out here will blow a flame out quicker than it can catch it. You've got to let yours get enough oxygen first before it can spread up the rope."

As fascinating as the information was, all I could focus on was how deeply blue his eyes were. They lingered on me for a moment before quickly darting over to my companion as he struck the flint once more.

Tyson quickly let go of it in order to cup both of his hands around the small embers forming on the rope. He blew on it softly, letting it smolder just as we'd been instructed, and soon, the rope had a healthy flame eating away at it.

"Very nice," Jackson praised. He leaned forward and quickly huffed the flame out, grabbing the flint and starter. "Why don't we have your partner try it this time."

"Oh…" I held my hands up, shaking them. "No, I'm good. I got the gist of it."

"It helps doing it yourself. Practicing the motions is a lot different than watching."

The way he said that last sentence, for some reason, immediately shot straight down to my groin. I cleared my throat, needing to rid myself of the weirdly dirty thoughts. "Yeah, I'm good."

Ignoring me, he set both of the tools in my hand. "Go on. I'll be right here."

The sub in me wanted to desperately let out a whimper.

I'd clearly been celibate for way too long. Maybe it was biting me in the ass not to have taken Tyson up on his numerous offers of getting off with him after lights out. But the potential for a ticket had never seemed worth it, especially since I'd been determined to have a clean wrap sheet for when I finally got out of SAC.

The felony on my records was already going to make my life hard the second I stepped outside of those doors three years from now. Adding onto it just seemed stupid.

Until now, apparently.

Slowly lowering myself to my knees, I gripped onto the flint and starter tightly. My hands shook slightly when I held it out toward the rope that was shoved my way by Tyson, whose overly eager smile was more than a little foreboding.

He may have confidence in me but I certainly didn't.

"Remember," Jackson said. "Strike it and then stoke it."

"Right…" I mumbled.

Feeling both sets of eyes on me, I fought the urge to make up another excuse and instead, struck the flint against the starter harder than I meant to. Sparks flew everywhere, causing both men to lean back quickly to avoid getting hit.

"Oh! You got one!" Tyson pointed to the rope.

I dropped the tools in my hand quickly and cupped both of my hands around the ember, watching as it glowed a deep red.

"Now blow on it," Jackson's voice was nearer to me this time, practically in my ear.

A shiver raced up my spin.

I did as I was told, though, leaning over to blow gently on the ember until it grew brighter. It took a few more tries but soon, it was beginning to smoke, catching the frays that Tyson had burned up with it.

"That's it," came Jackson's voice again, lower this time. "You're doing so good."

I took in one last deep inhale and let it out, encouraging the flame to live. It seemed to do the job a little too well, because I soon had a healthy flame that hungrily began to eat up the rest of the frayed edges of the rope, expanding out far enough to burn right against my hand.

With a yelp, I jerked myself back from it.

Jackson acted quickly, taking out some kind of thick towel from the back pocket of his trousers and patting it against the flame, snuffing it out almost instantly. He then full-body turned to me, reaching out with both of his hands.

"Let me see."

He pried my hurt palm away from my body, holding it out into the sunlight where he could see a little better.

The skin was bright pink and already starting to shift into an ugly red where the flame had touched.

It didn't look so bad now, but fuck did it hurt.

"We're going to need to patch this up before it gets too deep," he said, his eyes growing serious.

"Um, what—" I didn't even get the chance to finish my sentence before he was tugging me up onto my feet again, still tenderly holding onto my wrist and hand.

With a whistle, he caught the attention of a nearby firefighter, nodding over to Tyson. "Watch him for me? I've got to take this one to medical."