LEIGH
The fire was finally out by dawn.
Smoke still curled lazily from the remains of the garage, drifting across the compound in thin gray ribbons that clung stubbornly to everything they touched. The smell lingered too, buried deep inside the wood and brick of Iron Hollow, a bitter reminder that home could disappear in a single night if the wrong people decided they wanted it gone badly enough.
Some of the brothers hadn't slept.
Others had, but only because exhaustion had won the argument.
Men who looked capable of tearing down buildings now lay sprawled across couches, pool tables, and mismatched recliners with boots still on their feet. One Prospect had somehow fallen asleep against a wall with a wrench still clutched in his hand.
For the first time since I'd arrived, Iron Hollow
