"We need him in custody first." Shaw's phone buzzes. He reads the message, expression shifting. "Cole's callingfor Church. There's an emergency meeting in an hour. The Brotherhood needs to know Sullivan's targeting you directly and escalating fast."
Church. The formal gathering where the Iron Brotherhood makes decisions that affect the entire club. I’m not expecting to be allowed anywhere near it—the inner sanctum where brothers discuss threats and strategy without outside presence.
"I should—" Start to offer to stay home, to wait while Shaw handles business, to maintain the boundary between investigator and club family.
"You're coming." Shaw cuts off my retreat before I finish forming it. "Sullivan's targeting you because of this investigation. That makes you Brotherhood business. Will needs to hear what you know, and the brothers need to understand what we're dealing with. And I'm not leaving you alone here while we handle business."
Relief loosens the knot between my ribs. Maybe I'm not just a temporary partner in Shaw's investigation but someone the Brotherhood considers worth protecting, worth including, worth trusting with their internal business.
"Okay." One word, carrying weight. "Let's go."
Driving to the Ironside Bar doesn't take long through quiet streets. Shaw's truck rumbles steadily while my mind races through what's about to happen—walking into the Brotherhood's inner sanctum, being judged by men who've spent decades building something I barely understand. Shaw's hand finds mine across the console, grounding me without words.
The Ironside Bar looks different at night with the main room empty and quiet.
Shaw leads me through the familiar space toward the back. Past the place where we had that first real conversation about control and trust. Past the kitchen. The main room has beenset up differently than usual—chairs arranged in a loose circle, brothers already gathering. Will stands near the bar, arms crossed, watching us approach.
"Mira." Will's voice carries absolute authority. "Sullivan attacked you tonight. Before we go into Church to discuss this, I need to hear the full situation from you directly."
I glance at Shaw, who nods his encouragement. This isn't Church—not yet. This is the preliminary briefing, the information gathering that happens before the brothers make their decisions behind closed doors.
Every brother present turns their attention to me. Assessing. Weighing. Measuring the threat and my response to it.
"Sullivan grabbed me from behind while I was going to my car at Cascade Shopping Center," I say, keeping my voice steady. "Back corner near the dumpsters, around nine PM. I used a knee strike and pepper spray, then kicked his knee hard enough to damage ligaments. I left him on the ground and drove straight to Shaw's house without calling the police."
"Why no police?" Cole asks.
"Calling them meant waiting there while they responded. It meant giving Sullivan more information about where I'm staying, who I'm with. I made the tactical decision that getting to safety was more important than documentation in the moment."
Will nods slowly. "Smart call. What about the investigation? Where are we with identifying Sullivan's connections and building a case?"
I pull my laptop from my bag and open the financial analysis I've been building. "Richard Sullivan owns Cascade Services. Every business that burned recently had rejected proposals from his company. He's been making large cash withdrawals six days before each fire—a clear pattern of funding the arsons. The amounts are escalating with each incident, suggesting either increasing desperation or rising costs."
"So he's the arsonist?" Tate leans forward.
"He's funding them, definitely. Whether he's personally setting the fires or hiring someone else, I don’t have definite proof yet. But the financial trail is ironclad. My company can testify to the fraud patterns, Shaw's fire investigation provides the physical evidence, and Fire Marshal Davis has documentation linking all the scenes."
I pull up the additional research on my screen. " Pete's storage facility turned down Sullivan's bid for security systems. Mike's restaurant rejected his offer to supply kitchen equipment. Each owner turned down an offer. It's not random selection—Sullivan's specifically targeting businesses that told him no."
"Revenge arsons," Shaw says from beside me. "Professional enough to avoid immediate detection, but motivated by personal grudges rather than financial gain."
I show them the threatening text messages on my phone, screenshots of both. "He sent these after the parking lot attack. The first one came while I was analyzing data at Shaw's place. We received a second one in a similar vein an hour ago."
Will reads both messages, his jaw tightening. "He's escalating. Direct assault, threatening texts, bigger fires with more accelerant. This puts him at the top of the suspect list, and it means he's not just setting fires anymore—he's targeting you specifically because you're getting close."
"That's our assessment," Shaw confirms.
"Alright." Will straightens. "Mira, thank you for the briefing. We need to take this into Church now. Wait here—we'll come get you when we're ready to coordinate next steps."
I get it now. This is where I get excluded. Where the brothers go behind that heavy wooden door with the Iron Brotherhood logo carved into it and make their decisions without outside presence. Even Shaw heads back with them, because this isn'tjust about me—it's Brotherhood business that requires formal process.
"I'll be here," I say.
The brothers file toward the back hallway, disappearing one by one through that carved door. Shaw glances back once before it closes, his expression unreadable but his presence still reassuring somehow.
Then it's just me, sitting in the empty bar, waiting while a group of men I barely know discuss what to do next.
Minutes stretch. I occupy myself reviewing the financial data again, looking for any pattern I might have missed, any connection that could make the case against Sullivan even stronger. My phone stays silent—no more texts from Sullivan, at least not yet. The bar's silence presses against my ears. Someone's coffee maker gurgles in the kitchen, the only sound besides my laptop keys clicking.
