Page 23 of Penance (Rising From the Ashes #2)

“New rule—rookie cooks every meal,” I say, not meaning it.

We are a team at the firehouse, and everyone has their assigned duties.

No one is above anyone else, and we all chip in.

It’s the most basic part of building camaraderie.

When we step into a fire, we have to know the other guys will have our backs, and if we can’t trust them to do something as simple as vacuum the floors, how can we trust them with our lives?

Not everyone understands that, especially those who have never been or had spouses who are firemen, but my guys get it—and I’d never mess with that process .

Zane slaps me on the back, and I grit my teeth. “You’re funny, Chief.”

Sighing, I give in. “Fine. What will it be?”

“I’m thinking steak,” Zane says as we walk through the door. “Rib-eyes, maybe?”

He looks at me from the corner of his eye with a sheepish grin, and I give him a look that says dream on.

“Fine,” he says dejectedly, “I guess burgers work, too.”

I slap him on the shoulder like he had me moments before. “Good choice. You grab some stuff for sides, and I’ll grab the meat.”

He salutes me and takes off toward the opposite side of the store. With him gone, I head toward the meat coolers, only to run into someone.

“Hey,” a voice calls, “watch where you’re going.”

I grunt and step back to apologize to whoever I’ve run over, only to find myself face to face with one of my baseball players.

“Hey, Morgan. Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to bowl you over. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Obviously,” he grumbles, shoving something into his pocket before I can get a good look, but I’ve been around long enough to know what a vape looks like.

“What’s in your pocket, Morgan?” I ask, my brows snapping down.

His jaw tightens, but he avoids my gaze. “Nothing. Mind your business, man.”

“Kid, you’re one of my players. You are my business, especially if you’re abusing any substances—including nicotine. Tell me you’re not, kid. Please tell me you’re not.”

Waves of tension radiate off his shoulders, and his eyes dart around as if searching for someone.

“I’m not on anything. Now, will you move?” he asks, his gaze landing on something behind me and going wide.

Turning my head, I look over my shoulder and tense when I see who’s walking toward us.

Zeb saunters toward us, pure evil lurking in his eyes, and when I turn back to Morgan, his face has gone pale.

“Morgan, are you okay?” I ask, but I should have known I wouldn’t get an answer. I haven’t given the kid a reason to trust me yet.

My mind goes to Tanner. I haven’t given him a reason to trust me either.

“Listen to me,” I whisper urgently, knowing my time is limited. “If you need help, I can help you. Just say the word.”

He still ignores me, and a solid hand lands on my shoulder. I jerk away from its weight and turn toward the newcomer, my face a mask of indifference.

“Look who it is—the hot shot,” Zeb says, the menace in his eyes growing as his attention turns from me to his son and back again. “I wasn’t aware you knew my kid.”

There’s a threat in his voice that I don’t like, especially when Morgan flinches.

“He plays baseball for me,” I say, but I immediately know it’s the wrong thing.

Fear flashes through Morgan’s eyes before he covers it with a scowl, but it was there, no matter how brief. A different kind of rage burns through my veins because when I look at Morgan, it’s Tanner I see standing there—and I can’t imagine allowing anyone to put that kind of fear in my kid’s eyes.

“I wasn’t aware he was playing baseball, but good for you, hotshot. I’ll be sure to stop and watch a game.” Zeb’s voice is condescending as he stares me down, waiting for me to back down, but I refuse to blink. I’ve played this game with plenty of men like him and won every time.

Zeb’s eyes narrow, and I prepare myself for the swing when Zane rushes out of a nearby aisle.

“Chief,” he says, his voice more serious than when we split. “There’s been another fire. We better go.”

I’m still watching Zeb when Zane announces the news, and I don’t miss the smirk on his mouth when Zane mentions the fire.

A bad feeling settles into my gut, and I’ve learned that that feeling is rarely wrong.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that fire, would you, Zeb?” I ask, keeping my voice casual enough that I can’t be blamed for false accusations but demanding enough that he knows I’m not playing games.

Despite what Eric said at the board meeting, the community building hasn’t been ruled as arson yet because we haven’t found any concrete proof, but as more fires crop up, I can’t help but see the coincidences.

The man’s smirk grows wider. “Not a thing, hotshot.” He turns his attention to Morgan and barks, “Come on. It’s time for us to go.”

Everything in me warns me to stop them—that when Morgan walks out of here, he won’t be safe—but I have no proof of that, and without evidence, there’s nothing I can do to stop them.

So I watch them walk away until they disappear outside, and then I turn to Zane. “Let’s go.”