for months, and they’ve hurt you twice. They almost killed you. Now I’m going to give them what they deserve.”
“Not if they fucking kill you first,” I said, low. “Call the enforcers and let’s do this right.”
Ryder spit on the glass of the front window. “You fucking ruined my life,” he said. “Fucking disloyal club. You’re the vice president—you should’ve had our backs! Now we’ve got nowhere to go, no one will have us, and it’s your fucking fault.”
Dante glared at Ryder like he could burn a hole through him with his eyes, but didn’t make a move toward the door again.
I pulled my phone out. “I’m texting Gunnar.”
Then an ear-splitting shatter rocked the room.
Glass exploded into the front room. I shrieked at the sudden sound and leaped sideways toward the wall. Dante automatically turned his back to the glass, shielding me with his body. An enormous thunk followed the sound as a brick landed on the kitchen floor and skidded to a stop.
“You okay?” Dante asked immediately.
I nodded, shaken but unhurt. He turned around to survey the damage and, presumably, rain hell down on Ryder and his lackeys, no matter how I tried to stop him.
“Now, now, now!” Ryder yelled. “Throw it and go!”
Time seemed to slow down. I saw it before Dante did.
Orange flame like a star arced through the window. I recognized it immediately—my brothers had made these for fun and set them off in the backyard when they were teenagers. A small glass bottle, rubbing alcohol, and a rag stuffed into the neck and ignited. And I knew what would happen when it landed.
The bottle sailed over the front counter and into the open kitchen. It exploded on the floor and the flames from the wick leaped to the rubbing alcohol, across the kitchen floor, and onto the immense wooden bench table in the center of the room.
Dante turned around, nearly pinning me to the wall. “Get out of here,” he shouted. “I’ll deal with this.”
“How?” I asked desperately. The bench table was engulfed and the flames were starting to lick across the ceiling and floor. The heat began to itch at my eyes, the smoke catching in my throat.
“The extinguisher—it’s in the back,” he said, and moved to go get it.
A sudden realization ran down my spine like ice.
I grabbed his arm.
“The flour,” I said.
“What?”
“The flour!” Panic coursed through me as I pulled him toward the door. “Move! Now! Come on!”
Dante was still visibly confused, and resistance flickered across his face, and for a moment I thought he was going to pull away and go for the extinguisher. But something in my face must’ve convinced him not to, because he followed me; we bypassed the locked door and barreled straight through the busted window, scratches be damned.
The fucking flour. That’s why the flames were spreading so fast—it was flammable, and it was everywhere from a day of baking. It was on the floor, the bench table, hanging in the air like mist. And once the flames got to the bags of it stacked near the freezer—
I dragged him across the street. As far away as I could get him to move with him stumbling and looking back over his shoulder at the bakery.
Then.
An explosion.
It wasn’t loud, but it was horrible.
Flames suddenly engulfed the building, filling the front room with an awful orange glow. Smoke poured from the shattered window, dark and thick and reeking of plastic.
Sirens wailed in the distance, coming closer. But the Crew arrived first—Tru and Mal on their bikes. I assumed the rest of the club would be arriving soon.
Then with a horrible crunch, the roof of the building caved in.
It was chaos after that—Tru and Mal shouting as they pulled up on their bikes, then two fire trucks pulling up with police and ambulances rapidly behind them. I took Dante’s wrist in my hand before they could descend on us like I knew they would.
“Hey,” I said gently.
“Don’t,” Dante said, and tugged his wrist out of my grasp. “Just don’t.”
He was watching the firefighters start to manage the fire, but it was too late. The building was clearly beyond saving. Dante’s expression was closed off, shuttered to me like I’d never seen it before.
Tru and Mal stepped in and began talking to Dante in a low voice. Something in his shoulders relaxed the barest amount.
Oh. So I wasn’t the support he needed right now.
That was… that sucked. Because if I couldn’t support him the way he’d supported me—when he needed support