Page 6 of Chasing the Flame (The Sacred Flames Of Ruin #1)

The following Monday, I return to Carson Plantation. The sky is beautiful, and the waves are calm in the background. It’s a typical late summer day in Michigan, and I’m ready to work.

Luke, the prick , requested that we start with the outdoor renovations before moving inside this fall and winter. Scowling, I grab my bag of tools and wait by my truck for a few minutes while doom-scrolling on my phone.

Matt and Tony will be here soon, so it's no use getting anything started until they arrive. My white Ford pickup truck is parked toward the edge of the property, easily visible from the house. I’m not sure why I parked so far away. Perhaps, it’s because a certain redhead is clouding my thoughts.

I haven’t been able to get Averie Blackthorne out of my head. It’s not like we’ve spent much time interacting with one another. If anything, I’ve strictly worked with Luke via phone call over the last week to ensure I don’t get too close.

It hasn’t helped a single bit.

Add in her husband’s actions that make me want to punch a hole in the wall, and you have a recipe for disaster. There’s something about Averie that won’t let me go .

The way her eyes—sage green and sharp with pain—hide a fire that’s still burning, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

She’s got curves that make a man lose his damn mind, yeah, but it’s more than that.

It’s the quiet strength in her voice when she’s masking hurt with polite smiles.

The way she gets excited talking about her gothic visions for the house.

I haven’t known her for more than a week. I shouldn’t even be thinking about her. Not like this.

But I can’t stop.

Ever since I left this house, all I can think about is her.

Jasmine, rose, and a hint of citrus seeped into my clothes, lingering long after I left.

I don’t even know how, but it did. It’s only added to the raging thoughts in my mind.

I can’t stop wondering how she’s getting on.

I know what my cousin is capable of. I shouldn’t be, but here I am wondering all the same.

Maybe it’s my brain. I haven’t been right for a long time now.

At thirty-five years old, I’ve seen and done more than most can say. I served our nation’s navy, completing three successful tours. Well, successful by the government’s standards. I wouldn’t call my PTSD or nightmares successful.

No, I’d wager that it’s the least successful part of my tours.

I hate it so much. If you haven’t ever experienced PTSD, you won’t understand the way it wreaks havoc on your body.

Part of my job entailed high-stakes situations that would make most civilians wish they’d kept their ass on American soil.

Those situations often trigger the night terrors, followed by a day where my mind slows, like a fog that creeps in after a downpour.

I wake up feeling like something heavy is on my chest. It’s alarming that I can’t distinguish between dream and reality. The cold sweats, the way my heart pounds relentlessly in my chest—all of it feels like way too much.

I take out a pack of my favorite cigarettes, lighting up one and savoring the nicotine as it swirls in my lungs. Fingering the dog tag around my neck, memories flit across my mind. All of them, from my past. It wasn’t an easy process to assimilate back into society.

After three tours and a broken man returned home, I was discharged. Shoved back into civilian life and expected to be able to keep a job without losing my ever-loving shit.

It turns out that I don’t do well working in mainstream anything. I couldn’t handle a corporate job, much less retail. The last job I held was disastrous.

So, naturally, the only thing that made sense was to open up my own business. I wanted to work for myself and knew I was great at carpentry. My dad, Elliot, always says I have a natural talent for it.

Five years ago, I returned home and started a construction company specializing in large custom designs, all the way down to small pieces of furniture.

It’s been a bit of a road to get where I am today, not without a few problem clients.

I think that’s par for the course, though, when you’re a new business owner still learning the nuances of managing.

Somehow, I always find a way. It doesn’t matter to me that I spend many nights working unpaid overtime or covering shifts when people quit or return to the plant.

Noxwood Construction and Design was born through blood, sweat, and tears.

I’m proud of all the hard work I’ve done to get here.

I blame the recent setbacks on the economy and fight tooth and nail to stay afloat.

Even if that means dealing with a family member I’d sooner let burn alive than piss on to put the flames out.

It’s no secret that money has been tight for the company lately.

A fact, I’m sure that Luke is gloating about even if he hasn’t said. Fucker .

Sighing, I take another drag of my cigarette and force myself back to the present.

Sure enough, by the time I finish and put my cigarette out on the tire of my truck, their van comes rushing down the long driveway leading up to Carson Plantation.

The white van reminds me of one of those vans you hear about on the news—the type where they steal people and send them into a sex trafficking ring.

Yeah, that kind. Yeah, I know it’s weird. Matt and Tony wouldn’t dream of something like that, though. They’re stand up guys.

I don’t know why the thought hit me. Morbid thoughts always seem to pop up at the worst fucking times. I shake my head, crack my neck and shoulders, and move to my truck bed. It’s time to get started.

I’m genuinely excited about the renovations that Luke agreed to, even if I had to undermine his demeaning comment to accomplish them.

He doesn’t fucking deserve Averie. I remember the way her face lit up when I had her back. Those beautiful eyes, so light green they’re almost blue, stayed with me the entire drive home.

The sounds of a car door slamming fill the air, instantly killing the thoughts in my head. I shift uncomfortably before grabbing the black siding in my truck bed. “Hey, man!” Matt calls just as Tony comes to a stop beside me, almost causing me to drop the damn siding on top of him.

“Goddamnit, Tony! How many fucking times do I have to tell you! Stop sneaking up on me like that, or one of these days, man, I’m gonna end up hurting you.” The words leave my lips in a savage snarl, sending a tremor through my body as my heart pounds.

“Sorry, Jett. I thought you heard me.” Tony says, his face crimson and his hands held up in surrender .

I sigh, rubbing a rough hand down my face, stroking my beard and dog tag to calm myself.

“It’s alright. I was lost deep in thought, and didn’t hear you.

I’m sorry I snapped,” I say finally, turning back to the siding.

I wait until Tony is lined up in the appropriate spot, then shift and we carry the siding to the front of the house.

I already knew we would have to run and make several trips, so I called last Monday to have my favorite small business order in bulk.

Of course, Roger’s Carpentry could get them quickly, at no extra cost, provided the business I give him.

I shake my head again, grunting as my footing slips on the newly laid gravel path to the house. My eyes scan the structure, in awe of its timeless beauty.

Carson Plantation, historically has deep roots in the community. It was built in eighteen sixty-one, during the antebellum period when the style was popular. Though, local historians argue whether or not it was ever an actual working plantation.

The building is traditional with white columns on a big concrete wrap-around porch. Around three thousand five hundred square feet and sits on nearly five acres. It’s one of the most significant pieces of property surrounding Lake Superior and one of the last homes of a founding member to sell.

The wind’s blowing and gently swaying boughs of the willow trees surrounding the home. Arrowwood viburnum and flowering dogwood litter the property in random spots, with rose bushes lining the front edge of the porch. It’s a picturesque look, but I feel a foreboding coil in my gut.

It’s a silent warning, a plea for what I’m unsure. The feeling makes my skin crawl the closer I get to the porch. I look up to the second floor, my gaze taking in the white, billowy curtains that line every room and the worn red shutters that show obvious age .

A flap of a curtain in the top right window catches my attention. I blink, thinking my eyes are playing tricks on me. No, definitely not. A shadow moves so inhumanly fast that I’m confident I didn’t imagine it. I shiver, jerking a little as I turn my attention back to why I’m here.

Before I can speak, the door wrenches open, and an annoyed-looking Luke storms onto the porch. “I thought you weren’t arriving until this afternoon?”

Don’t fucking do it.

The words ring in my head, reminding me to hold my tongue.

Business has been slow for the last few months, and I need this project.

I stare at my cousin, words hanging at the edge of my lips.

He’s always been the pretty boy type. His black slacks are pressed, and his polo is neatly tucked in with a flashy belt.

The Rolex on his wrist glints in the sunlight, a solid reminder of Luke’s status and wealth.

His icy gray-blue eyes narrow, and I realize he’s still awaiting a response.

I suck in a deep breath and say, “It’s noon, and we still have to run by Roger’s to pick up the siding he ordered for me.

I figured we would drop this off first and let Tony get started while I take Matt back into town for the rest.”

He rolls his eyes but nods. “Yes, that’s fine. Make sure you call next time. I don’t want anyone here without one of us present. I’d prefer you keep the crew to a minimum, as I’m sure you can understand why I don’t want strange men around my wife.”