“He got carried away, and my warehouse went up in flames before we even got the answers we needed.” Nox shook his head. “Real estate market is a bitch right now. Can’t have him incinerating my properties when there’s a shortage just ’cause the crazy bastard gets off on it.”

I grimaced.

It was no secret that Beck was a fire expert. He could commit arson in a way that no investigator would ever catch.

When Judge killed a lackey for breaking into O’s apartment, Beck had destroyed the evidence with the help of some carefully lit flames.

And he’d done it happily.

Too happily.

I didn’t judge, but I also didn’t wanna know the specifics.

“If Beck is out…” I jerked my head toward the guy in the chair. “You gonna need help with cleanup?”

The man whimpered and rushed out some bullshit bargaining offers, but Nox ignored him as he passed me an envelope of cash. All the humor and happiness dropped from his expression as he pulled on his mask of viciousness.

No.

As he pulled off the forced mask of civility.

“Nah. Got a pig farm.”

I didn’t envy what was to come.

Leaving him to his fun, I raised my chin at Matt as I left. I swung by the clubhouse to get my cat, my hunger growing when there were no waffles or leftovers to steal.

Dammit.

I could’ve stuck around. Fridays at the clubhouse meant music, drinks, women, and whatever fun came from the combination of the three.

But I was beat. I wanted to get home, order pizza, and then crash.

That was what I told myself, at least.

Had nothing at all to do with checking in on my neighbor.

Not.

A.

Damn.

Thing.

* * *

What the fuck is that smell?

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Beck was nearby, burning nipples.

When I climbed out of my car, the scent of smoke and burning garbage hit my nostrils worse than a right hook to the nose. I checked the hood of my car for signs of damage before walking around to see if I’d hit something and dragged it home.

Like a decaying skunk.

Coming up empty, I grabbed Dumpster and put her inside before searching for a fire. I followed the smell toward my backyard before stopping outside the gate.

Light smoke billowed out of Mac’s back window.

I ran around to the front, not bothering to knock as I threw the door open.

Pure terror filled Mac’s face as she dropped the baking sheet she carried and screamed.

“It’s me.” As if that meant anything. As if I had the right to be in there. I moved past her to check the kitchen, expecting flames or toxic chemicals or something to explain the nauseating smell.

There was nothing.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Mac hissed, her hand to her chest.