They hit the edge of town, and the sky was wrong—glowing orange, the light pulsing like an open wound.
Dan’s heart stopped.
He knew that street.Knew the exact cinder-block building with the hand-painted iron roses curling around the windows.They rounded the corner, and he saw the matte-black bike that was supposed to be safe in his garage was parked right next to the front of the building, flames licking up its tank like it was made of tissue paper.
Riley’s arms tightened around his waist so hard he felt ribs shift.“That’s my bike—”
He didn’t hear the rest.The throttle twisted to nothing as he slid the rear wheel sideways into the gravel lot across the street, and his boots hit asphalt running as soon as the kickstand was down.
Heat slapped at him like a physical fist.The entire front of Ink & Iron was an inferno with windows blown out in jagged black holes.The roof had already started sagging, with bright licks of flame crawling up the mural Riley had finished last week.She’d picked a phoenix rising from shattered glass and ink.Seemed a cruel joke now.Smoke poured thick and black, carrying the smell of melting vinyl and burning paper and something sweeter, sickening, like turpentine, maybe, or paint thinner.
Fire.
This was his worst nightmare made flesh.
“RILEY!”
The roar that ripped out of him wasn’t human.
He ran straight at the front door.Hands grabbed him from behind.Mad Dawg’s grip was on one arm, with Rocker on the other, two prospects piling on too.He couldn’t understand why his brothers were trying to stop him.Dan threw an elbow, connected with someone’s jaw evoking a grunt of pain, and kept going.Flames kissed his forearms, singed his beard, and set the edge of his cut smoldering.
“Dan, she’s not in there!”Mad Dawg was shouting over the roar.“Brother, wait!She’s not inside!”
He didn’t stop.Couldn’t.The image in his head was too clear of Riley trapped behind the counter, red hair on fire, beautiful eyes wide as the ceiling came down.
Something detonated inside—paint cans, aerosol cans, the chemicals she used for shading, there was no telling the source, but the explosion was big.A wave of pressure punched him backward.He hit the gravel hard, air driven from his lungs, ears ringing.
That was when he saw her.
Riley, feet in her combat boots, clad in his oversized flannel, hair wild, sprinting across the street like a missile.Ella’s tiny car screeched to a halt behind her, and the door flung open.Riley launched herself at Dan, tackled him flat to the ground, knees on either side of his chest, hands framing his soot-streaked face.
“I’m here, I’m here, I’m right fucking here, Dan.Look at me.”
He couldn’t breathe.Couldn’t think past the loop in his head of her burning, her gone, the agony of her ashes sifting through his fingers.
She kissed him hard, her mouth tasting of salty tears and terror.“I rode here with you, remember?I’m okay.I’m okay.”
Sirens wailed closer.Firefighters shouted orders.The roof collapsed with a sound like the world cracking in half, sending a fresh bloom of sparks into the night sky.
Dan wrapped his arms around her and sobbed into her neck.A lifetime of pain, those big, ugly, broken sounds, tore out of him in waves.Riley held him tighter, rocking him on the gravel, whispering nonsense against his temple.Brothers stood in a loose circle around them, giving him space while still protecting them.To a man they stood there, eyes wet, jaws locked.No one spoke.No one needed to.
Denver’s voice cut through the chaos, phone pressed to his ear.“Got a live detonator signal.Cell tower ping just went active again—ten miles west, old grain silo off the interstate.”
Dan lifted his head.The tears on his face dried immediately in the heat.
He stared at Tinder.
Tinder looked back, stone-cold.
“Mount up,” Tinder said quietly.
Dan set Riley aside with a soft kiss, touching his forehead to hers.“Stay.I need to know you’re safe.”
She nodded, and he left her.
Every bike in the lot fired to life at once, a low, angry chorus of vengeance.
***