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Cruise nodded grimly. "Go. We've got this covered. Digger's already pulling security footage from the gas station across the street."
"This is war," I said quietly, unsurprised he hadn't given me the week. "Coombes just burned down a million-dollar business to send a message." It wasn’t just the girls here; we did a brisk illegal gambling business from downstairs.
"And we'll send one back," Cruise promised, his eyes reflecting the flames. "But smart, not hot-headed."
I glanced at the devastation one more time. The Glitter Bomb had been more than just a strip club—it was the livelihood for dozens of people, from dancers to bartenders to security. Rebuilding would take time and money we hadn't planned to spend. I knew there was no way insurance would pay out for arson.
"I'll meet you at the clubhouse tomorrow morning," I said, already heading for my bike. "And have someone check on the other businesses. If Coombes is targeting club assets..."
"Already on it," Cruise assured me. "Digger's got prospects watching The Last Keg and the auto shop."
The ride back to the compound was tense, my mind racing with implications. Coombes was escalating—moving from direct attacks on Matty to economic warfare against the club. He was trying to make protecting Matty too costly, too dangerous.
It wouldn't work.
When I pulled up to the cabin, I saw Tex standing alert, hand resting on his weapon until he recognized me. "All quiet, Bear," he reported. "He hasn't tried to leave."
I nodded my thanks and headed inside, finding Matty pacing the living room, still in his sleep clothes but clearly wide awake. He spun toward the door as I entered, relief washing over his face before being replaced by concern.
"You smell like smoke," he said, crossing to me. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I assured him, locking the door behind me. "The club's destroyed, but everyone got out alive."
Matty's face crumpled. "This is because of me, isn't it? Because you wouldn't take Harold's money?"
"No," I said firmly, pulling him into my arms despite the smoke clinging to my clothes. "This is because your godfather is a sociopath who will destroy anything in his path to get what he wants."
Matty stiffened, then melted against me, his arms wrapping tightly around my waist. "I'm so sorry," he whispered against my chest.
"Don't," I said, pulling back to look him in the eyes. "Don't apologize for his actions. Ever."
Something shifted in Matty's expression—a hardening, a resolve I hadn't seen before. "Should we go to the cops? There must be someone that he isn’t bribing."
I considered his question, stroking his hair back from his face.
"We can try, but honestly, Harold's connections run deep. Without solid proof linking him directly to the attempts on your life or the fire, it would be his word against ours. And he's a respected businessman while I'm..." I gestured to my cut.
Matty nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. "A scary biker," he finished, his lips quirking slightly.
"Exactly. But we'll get him, Matty. We just need to be smart about it." I pressed a kiss to his forehead.
"Maybe I should go see him?" he asked, his voice taking on a slightly higher pitch that made me pay closer attention.
"Absolutely not, little one," I said carefully, noting how he shifted his weight from foot to foot, a gesture I'd seen when his Little side was emerging. "It's late. We should try to get some sleep."
Matty nodded but made no move toward the bedroom. Instead, he bit his lip, eyes downcast. "Is everyone really okay? From the club?"
"They're going to be fine," I assured him, keeping my voice gentle. "The girls are being treated for smoke inhalation, and the security guard has some burns but nothing life-threatening."
"That's good," he murmured, his fingers beginning to fidget with the hem of his t-shirt. "I was scared."
I watched him carefully, recognizing the signs of his headspace shifting. The stress of the night and the guilt he was feeling were pushing him toward the comfort of his Little space.
"Come on," I said softly, holding out my hand. "Let's get you back to bed."
He took my hand without hesitation, his fingers curling trustingly around mine. "You smell like smoke," he repeated, wrinkling his nose.
"I know, little one. I should shower first."