Page 3 of Flint’s Strike

Felton turns his cap over in his hands. I barely catch the motion in my periphery. “He was a good firefighter.”

“He was twenty-fucking-two.” The tube catches when I swallow, one more reminder how fucking helpless I am. “Some idjit handyman wires a ceiling fan ass-backwards and we get called to the scene. Next thing I know, he’s standin’ on the street, holdin’ his baby sister, askin’ how hard it is to become a firefighter.”

The words—more than I’ve spoken in days—leave me out of breath and in so much pain, I’d kill for another dose of morphine. But they keep me on a strict schedule. Too easy to get addicted to that shit.

“He chose this life,” Felton says. “We all did. Gotta be a bubble or two off plumb to do it, and Zack was as batshit as the rest of⁠—”

“Leave,” I snap.

“Flint—”

“I. Said. Leave.”

“I’m your goddamn captain⁠—”

“With respect. Sir.” I turn my head enough to look at him. “Leave. Or I press this button here and get security to remove you.”

Flipping my palm up to show him the call button pulls at the burns across my chest, but I don’t care. I can’t take another fuckin’ minute of Felton trying to convince me Zack’s death was anything less than my fault.

The chair scrapes over the tiles, and Felton pushes to his feet. His gaze holds enough guilt for half of Texas, but I don’t care. I’m the one who sent Zack to the south side of the building.

I’m the reason he was there in the first place.

And I’m the reason his mother never got to say goodbye.

Three Months Ago

Parker

My hands itch under the bandages. Dr. Morris wasn’t thrilled I waited three days to come in. Even less thrilled when I wouldn’t tell her what happened.

What was I supposed to say?

“I was kidnapped by a cult—along with Grace, one of my closest friends—locked in a shed the deranged leader thought would break me down to nothing, and had to bust my way out with a rusty metal bar while my partner, Nate, along with Grace’s husband AJ, his twin brother Jasper, and Connor—a friend with more connections than God—broke a whole mess of laws to find us. After I escaped, I set the cult leader on fire and then drove a flaming torch into his eye before AJ put a bullet through his heart to save Grace’s life. Oh, and then we had to skedaddle right quick before two rival cartels tried to kill each other on the cult’s lands.”

Morris would’ve had me committed on the spot.

So I made up a bullshit excuse about taking down a suspect with a baseball bat studded with rusty nails. She knew I was lying. But she treated me anyway.

Now, the streetlights blur outside the window of Nate’s Chevy Impala. The car’s old enough to collect a retirement check, yet still smells like he drove it off the lot yesterday.

“You’re doing it again,” he says as we stop to let a train rumble by. “You keep trying to scratch through those bandages and I’m gonna make a detour for a pair of boxing gloves. Then spend the next hour learning the most complicated knots on the planet.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Gotta live up to my nickname.” Nate smirks as he eases off the clutch.

Even at the pitifully low speed he takes them, the train tracks jostle my brain hard enough, nausea slams into me. I force slow, deep breaths until the sensation passes, then try for a glare. If Nate’s eyes weren’t glued to the road, he might have been impressed.

“You’re my partner. Not my mother or my doctor. And as we’re both on leave pending an investigation into”—I gesture vaguely with my left hand—“well, everything, Lieutenant Last Nerve is off duty until AJ can work some magic with the chief.”

“We’ll see about that.” He doesn’t say another word until he pulls into the lot of my apartment building.

I should call 911 and report the lack of sarcasm.

I’m out of the car before he shifts into park. If I’m lucky, he’ll get the hint and go home.

His door slams, boots scuffing the pavement as he sidles up next to me. “You forgot your meds. And your bag.”