"The Forge," I continue, not giving her time to deflect, "is where people who need intensity and structure find it in safe, consensual ways. Where dominance and submission get explored without judgment. Where control gets exchangedwillingly between people who understand what that means." I pause. "Where needs like yours get met by people who know what they're doing."
Heat creeps up her neck, but she holds my gaze. "And you think I have needs like that."
"I know you do. Question is whether you're ready to admit it."
The air between us goes thick with everything neither of us has said out loud. Mira looks away first, turning back to the bike frame, and I let her have the space to process.
"Tell me about earning your patch," she says after a moment, voice steadier than expected. Deflecting, but I'll allow it. For now.
I move to the wall where my original vest hangs, pull it down, and hand it to her. "What’s to tell? A Brotherhood patch isn’t given. It’s earned in sweat and blood. Founders included."
A brief grin flashes over Mira’s face before she examines the patches with careful attention, fingers tracing worn leather. "How do others earn them?"
"They start by hanging around without a commitment on either side. If members think you might fit, you get invited to prospect. That's when the real work begins." I watch her study the center patch. "Proving you're reliable. That you'll show up when needed, support your brothers, put the Brotherhood before convenience."
"How long is an average prospect?"
"About a year." I tap the full patch. "When the vote comes at that point it’s usually unanimous."
"And what is Sergeant-at-Arms?" She traces that patch now.
“Sergeant-at-Arms handles security, intelligence, enforcement of club rules." I take the vest back and hang it carefully. "Will thought I was the right person for it."
"Will trusts you."
"Will trusts me to protect the family we built. To keep the Brotherhood safe from external threats and internal problems. To do whatever needs doing when the situation requires it." I meet her eyes. "Even when it's not pretty."
My phone buzzes before she can respond. Fire department dispatch. My stomach tightens as I answer, already moving toward gear.
"Riley." I listen, committing details to memory. "On my way. Ten minutes."
I end the call and look at Mira. "Commercial fire, active scene. Harbor district near fish processing plants. Structure fully involved."
She's already heading for the door. "Let's go."
"Need to get you back to your car at Ironside Bar." I'm moving fast, but she keeps pace. "Harbor district, near Pacific Fisheries. You'll see the smoke."
Every second counts when a structure's fully involved. Every second means more damage, more evidence destroyed, more risk to anyone who might still be inside. We don't have time for careful navigation or scenic routes.
The ride back to Ironside is fast. Mira climbs off and heads for her hatchback while I wait, engine idling. When she pulls up beside me, I give her cross streets and tell her to stay behind the fire line.
Harbor district is less than ten minutes away. A column of black smoke is visible from blocks out. Mira's hatchback stays close through the turns, and we both pull up to the scene perimeter within seconds. Structure fully involved, flames through the roof, thick black smoke rolling toward the harbor.
I grab my turnout coat and approach the command post. The fire captain waves me over while I'm still buckling the coat. Mira stays at perimeter, camera out, documenting everything.
Captain briefs me between radio calls. "Started in back storage, moved forward fast. Building's empty—closed for renovations. Owner was supposed to meet us but hasn't shown."
The building was empty. Fire spread fast. Pattern recognition kicks in, and I scan the crowd beyond the perimeter. Looking for anyone too calm, too prepared, too quick to leave once trucks arrived.
"Owner's name?" I ask.
The captain checks notes. "Sullivan. Same guy whose warehouse just burned recently."
Everything stops. Sullivan has one fire, and now a second property burns. This isn't escalation. This is targeting.
Mira is still documenting from perimeter, methodical and focused. Doesn't know yet this is Sullivan's property. I'll brief her once we're clear.
By the time the scene is clear for investigation, the sun is setting and Mira has documented everything from three angles. I walk the perimeter of the building first, looking for entry points. Back door shows jimmied lock mechanisms—crude but effective. Inside, what's left of storage shows same accelerant pour patterns as previous fires, but more extensive. Whoever set this wanted it hot and fast.
