Page 32 of Fire and Smoke (Nothing Special #9)

Wesley (Wes) Drake

Wes wanted to torch the breakroom.

Not a full-on incineration, just a slow, righteous burn. Watch as the tile melted through the floor and bubble up like boils on flesh. Let the thin-ass counters warp and scream beneath the heat, and the overhead fluorescent lights pop and explode in protest.

He stood motionless in front of the microwave, fists clenched in the pockets of his bomber jacket, his breath uneven from the suppressed rage.

It had taken everything —every ounce of discipline in him—not to start flinging chairs or ripping the damn vending machines away from the walls and lighting them up with one of his thermite strips.

Instead, he stood there. Simmering. Barely containing the inferno clawing under his skin.

He needed to let all this shit out.

Maybe load up on some fireworks, flares, magnesium strips, anything that would ignite, flare, and give light to the dark places in his head.

That was the only thing that would settle him now. Not talking. Not food and definitely not another damn training simulation.

He should eat, though. His stomach had been hollow for hours, and the acid burn from too much adrenaline and not enough hydration was chewing at his gut.

He went to the sandwich vending machine and punched at the buttons as if they’d offended him.

He chose a bacon and egg croissant and an orange juice.

He yanked the microwave door open, tossed his shitty breakfast inside, slapped it closed, and hit a couple random numbers until the machine hummed to life.

Wes leaned on the counter, staring at nothing while the seconds dragged by.

His thoughts drifted back to last night.

Law’s body curled into his, trembling after that breakdown. The weight of him. The heat of his breath on his shoulder as he thrust deep inside him.

The repeated “I love you . ”

Wes exhaled through his nose.

That time, he hadn’t said it back, and he still didn’t know why.

Maybe because everything between them was hovering around ifs, maybes, and dammit, what next?

The microwave beeped. Wes didn’t move.

Ten minutes later, he sat down at the table with the lukewarm croissant in front of him and the orange juice sweating beside it.

He braced his elbows on the table, staring down at the food as if he could mentally ingest it.

Why do you do this to me, Law? Why are you literally risking your life?

He wanted them to take some low-level pyro gigs in the Atlanta scene. Work some music videos, haunted houses, maybe even stage productions at the Fox Theater. Just enough to float them until they could claw their way back to LA.

No, it wasn’t glamorous. But it’d be quiet, a decent paycheck, and most of all, safe.

Something his best friend didn’t seem to understand.

Law didn’t do patience well. He wanted everything now. Every opportunity, every win, every damn chance to say, “I told you I could do it.” Even if it meant his life going up in smoke.

Wes’s jaw ticced as he clenched it so hard his molars screamed.

The door opened behind him, and the moment Vasquez walked in, the temperature shifted.

A frozen spike pierced the fire blazing inside him.

Vasquez stopped mid-step, clocking him before he detoured to the coffee machine. His stroll was extra casual and fake as hell.

Wes glared so hard he hoped it’d sear the sleazy grin right off the fucker’s face.

Vasquez shifted under his stare while he poured his coffee, glancing Wes’s way every few seconds.

“Hey,” Vasquez said with a half-smile. “I hope I didn’t spook you guys last night. I was just ribbing you, man. A little police hazing. All rookies get it.”

Wes didn’t respond.

Vasquez cleared his throat. “I heard what happened at the raid. Sorry to hear it went south. But hey, that’s kinda par for the course when you run with Godfrey.”

Wes curled his fist around the edge of the table.

“But I’ve been hearing talk, y’know?” Vasquez continued, smooth and cunning as a snake in the grass. “Word is IA’s sniffing around, looking for a leak. I’m gonna keep my ear to the ground for you guys.”

He took a step closer to the table, “so um… Does God have any leads on who it was?”

The door to the breakroom banged open behind him.

“Get the fuck out.”

The command was calm. Measured and dead serious.

Wes stared.

Free stood in the doorway, lunch bag in one hand, tablet in the other, eyes locked on Vasquez with the kind of glower that could make a man second-guess his next move.

Vasquez’s nostrils flared.

“I said out !” Free snapped, his slight British lilt making the command sound twice as menacing. “Before I reroute your paychecks to Day’s Pornhub account.”

Wes’s eyes widened because he had a feeling Free could really do that.

Vasquez’s face twisted with something ugly, his scowl venomous. Wes could tell he wanted to pounce. Vasquez was twice Free’s size, with big arms and a solid chest.

He stood because he wasn’t about to let Free fight this guy by himself.

Vasquez glared. “Y’know, before you rudely interrupted, I was having a cordial conversation with your new recruit. I was about to ask him—”

“If your fat bottom lip was touching the top one, you’d be shutting the fuck up, that’s what you’re about to do,” Free gritted. “Now, this is the last time I’m gonna tell you to get out, you’re contaminating our air.”

A few seconds ticked by before Vasquez headed toward the door, giving Free a wide berth.

“You’ve grown some pretty big balls, Freeman,” Vasquez snarled.

“No shit. Sometimes I’m surprised I can even walk,” Free said dryly.

Vasquez stormed out of the door, slamming it closed behind him.

Wes couldn’t believe what he’d just seen…or heard.

“Bad history,” Free muttered at his confused expression as he sat at the table across from him. “He’s had it in for God’s team for years. Stay away from him, Wes. That’s not a warning. It’s an order. Got it?”

Wes nodded and slumped back in his chair. “Didn’t know you were packin’ heat like that.”

Free opened his bag. “I don’t need a gun when I’ve got the keys to the world’s back doors.”

They sat in silence for a while, Free eating his sandwich and guzzling another energy drink, while he just stared at his food.

Since Wes only had eyes for Law, he hadn’t noticed how handsome Free was until now… Or was it his brilliance that made him so hot?

He wore a blue button-up shirt under a lightweight hoodie with the sleeves pushed to his elbows.

His slim black jeans hugged his legs and a pair of polished loafers grounded his unique style. The sides of his hair were faded clean and his light curls were pulled back in a small bun.

“How are you?” Free interrupted his appraisal.

He didn’t answer.

Free gave him a long look before he continued, “I’ve seen that expression before. Like you’re analyzing everything you’ve ever done and said in your life that somehow led you to this exact moment.”

Bingo.

Still, he stayed quiet.

Free sighed. “Can I ask you something?”

Wes flicked his gaze toward him.

“Why do you let him rule your life?”

He swallowed hard.

“You and Law,” Free said gently. “It’s like… he sets the pace, and you just run after him. Why?”

Wes drug his hand down his face.

“Because that’s how it’s always been,” he murmured. “Since we were kids. At first, we were always running together in the same direction. But once we got famous, then notorious, I began to realize I was following him. Even when he was crashing us into concrete walls.”

Free nodded as if he’d heard this kind of story before.

“It’s as if he never grew up.” Wes pfftd. “But I did. And I’m terrified that I’m outgrowing what we have…what we had . But I don’t wanna leave him behind.”

“That’s real,” Free said after a moment.

“Green was like that with his partner too. Ruxs was always dragging them into something that led to trouble… big trouble. Shit that nearly got them killed or kicked off the force a few times. But love ain’t about taming someone else.

It’s about knowing you and when to step away and grow on your own. ”

He stared at Free, seeing the calm wisdom in his brown eyes.

“I break more rules and laws than I can count,” Free said with a wry grin. “But I do it for my team. For Hart. For the people I love. But I also know when to stop covering their asses and let them fix their own mistakes.”

Wes exhaled some of the pressure that’d begun to crack and release.

“I’m around, Wes,” Free said. “If you ever need to talk, scream, or set something on fire without getting arrested.”

Wes snorted.

They finished eating, and Free stood. “Come on. I wanna show you what I’ve been working on.”

Wes followed him out of the breakroom and back to their department.

When the frosted doors closed behind him, Law’s gaze was the first one he connected with.

He could see the regret hanging heavy on Law’s face, a storm of apologies and doubt swimming in his eyes.

Wes didn’t go to him. Instead, he followed Free toward a narrow door in the back of their office. One Wes hadn’t noticed before.

Free pressed his thumb to a scanner, and the door hissed open.

Wes stepped inside and froze, as he took everything in.

It was a hacker’s playground.

Rows of servers. Hanging screens. Digital maps. Weapons blueprints. And an arsenal of tech and miraculousness.

He’d seen dozens of Hollywood special effects labs, government vaults, even the guts of abandoned munitions factories—but nothing like this.

There was a soul inside it, a personality.

Free waved him over as he sat on a stool and pulled up a set of schematics on a flat-screen monitor with a lazy flick of his wrist.

He gave Wes a knowing grin and asked, “You recognize this?”

Wes frowned. “Can’t say that I do.”

Free popped the latches on a slim chrome case.

Inside, nestled in dark foam, was something Wes couldn’t immediately identify—a sleek, compact gadget, gorgeous in design.

“I’ve been messing with this after hours. I kinda stumbled onto it when I was making a forearm holster for Steele’s throwing blades.”

Wes could only gape at it.

“It’s a wrist-mounted ignition rig with a lightweight pressure sensor.”

Holy fuckin’ shit

“I got your micro gas chamber right and the formula for the flame regulator, but I’m a bit stumped on the spark emitter needed to ignite the flame.”

Wes stepped closer and ran his finger along the smooth edge.

“You made this…for me?”

“I make a lot of things for my team… you’re on the team.” Free smiled, soft and sincere.

Feelings hit him hard in the chest.

An offering that came with no strings. Just a gift built for him out of respect for his craft.

“I figured you’d know how to get the flame lit. And when you do, the fire wouldn’t just flare out. This regulator can shape it, make it coil, fan, swirl, or pulse, all on demand.”

Wes huffed in awe.

“This is the kind of regulator I’ve tried to design for years.” Wes spun the narrow device in his palm. “But I’m not the best with formulas. I’ve come close to shaping the flames, but I’m always a bit off and can’t figure out what needs recalculating.”

Free shrugged. “When you’re back in Hollywood, you’ll be able to do far more than just blow shit up… You’ll be capable of designing the fire.”

Wes would be envied by every pyrotech in his field.

Free gave him a knowing grin. “You take over the building and switches, and I’ll work the formulas.”

“Hell yeah.” Wes smiled brighter than he had in weeks as he shrugged out of his jacket and rolled his sleeves up.

He sat on the stool beside Free, believing he was going to make one hell of a friend.