I take a slow breath. "Why?"
"Because it's fucking gone!"
I grip the phone so hard the edges dig into my palm. "What do you mean, gone?"
"I mean burned to the ground. Everything destroyed, Cal. Millions fucking up in smoke."
"Is it those mother fuckers?" I ask as my mind runs the inventory automatically.
It's these kinds of losses that make people bold, make smaller rivals I have not even thought about come for you when they think you're bleeding from a much larger fish.
"Yeah, those fucking cult pieces of shit."
"Okay," I say, and walk into my closet and start grabbing clothes. "I'm on my way." I hang up.
"FUCK!" The word tears out of me as I get dressed.
I finish and snatch my gun from the drawer, slide it into my side holster, and step out into the hallway, then pause.
Zaria.
She's probably in her room.
I move down the hall toward Zaria's door and push it open without knocking.
The sound of running water greets me.
The bathroom light is on. The door is shut, but I can hear the steady hiss of running water. She's in the shower.
I step inside the room and start toward the bathroom, but stop halfway across the room.
I am too worked up. Too full of violence. Too close to ripping something apart with my hands.
The last thing I need is to snap at her after everything she did last night.
"I'll speak to her when I get back," I say under my breath.
I turn around and pull the door shut behind me.
Downstairs, my driver is waiting near the front door. He straightens when he sees me. I walk past him without slowing. "Let's go. Warehouse 407."
He hurries ahead to open the front door, then jogs to the SUV and pulls the back door open. I slide in, and the door shuts behind me.
The engine roars to life, and we pull out of the driveway.
Every red light we hit feels like a taunt. My leg bounces. My fist curls and uncurls against my thigh. I stare out the window, watching the city blur past, but soon all I see is smoke.
It is a shitty feeling, knowing when you are driving toward a fire, it is your building causing the sky to darken with thick clouds.
We pull up to the scene, and police tape is already stretched across the perimeter. Firefighters swarm the wreckage, their hoses spraying arcs of water into the collapsing structure.
I do not wait for my driver to open the door. I shove it open myself and step out.
The first thing I feel is the heat, radiating off the wreckage.
Then the smoke hits me and stings my throat.
Declan is standing off to the side with Shane and a few of our men. His arms are crossed, his face set in a grim mask.
