Jarvis started going to them.
The first time was three nights after the house calls began. She lay in bed until 1:17 a.m., body restless, skin still tingling from Hayes’s teeth on her inner thighs the night before. The house was too quiet. Too empty. She needed the noise—the low rumble of diesel engines, the clank of gear, the rough voices calling orders. She needed them.
She drove to the fire station in nothing but a long black coat and boots. No underwear. No bra. The coat’s hem brushed her thighs with every step; the lining rubbed her n*****s raw by the time she pulled into the lot. The bay doors stood open—orange sodium lights spilling out onto wet asphalt. The truck sat inside, engine still ticking from a recent call, hood warm under the low overhead bulbs. All four were there: Reye
