The call came just after midnight, Bishop's voice crackling urgent over the compound's radio system loud enough that I heard it from two rooms away.
"Fire at Blackwood Garage. Multiple units responding. Vera's shop is fully engulfed."
I was moving before the words had fully registered, Ronan catching up to me before I'd made it halfway down the hallway, expression already grim with the particular fury I'd started recognizing as his response to anything threatening the people under his protection.
"You're not going alone," he said.
"I wasn't planning to."
We made the drive in record time, Jax and Bishop following on separate bikes, and the sight that greeted us at the edge of town stole what little breath I had left — flames consuming the building I'd spent three years building into so
