Chapter 9
MIRA
Days of convincing myself I made the right choice.
Days working the investigation alone—reviewing vendor records, building financial profiles, interviewing business owners without Shaw as backup. Professional focus. Clean boundaries. Exactly what I needed.
Except it doesn't feel right.
Every interview where I could use Shaw's insight into Brotherhood connections. Every financial pattern that would make sense if I could ask him about club business structures. Every moment I work alone when I should be working with a partner who sees what I miss.
I'm not protecting myself by avoiding him. I'm sabotaging the investigation and my own progress.
The realization hits hardest at the last fire scene where we both showed up and barely spoke.
Where Shaw told me maybe I'm not ready, where I watched him turn back to his evidence collection with the kind of controlled distance that felt worse than anger.
Where I stood there like a coward and let him walk away because I didn't know how to tell him he was right—I am running, and I don't know how to stop.
That's what I tell myself when I finally answer one of his texts.
Shaw: We need to coordinate on the vendor analysis. Coffee tomorrow?
Me: Okay. Where?
Shaw: Ironside Bar. 10 AM. Come hungry.
Simple. Professional. Exactly zero acknowledgment of the personal shit hanging between us.
Maybe that's better. Keep it about the case, figure out who's setting fires, solve the problem without additional complications.
The morning drive to Ironside gives me too much time to second-guess myself. By the time I pull into the parking lot, my palms are sweating against the steering wheel. I force myself to breathe—in for four counts, out for four counts—before I step out of the car.
I arrive at Ironside at exactly 10 AM.
Shaw's already there, sitting in a back booth with files spread across the table and two cups of coffee steaming beside stacks of vendor contracts. Shadows under his eyes that weren't there a week ago. Tension in his shoulders that suggests he hasn't been sleeping well.
Guilt twists in my chest. I did that. My avoidance, my silence, my inability to process one difficult conversation without disappearing for a week.
"Morning." I slide into the booth across from him.
"Morning." He pushes one of the coffee cups toward me. "Black, two sugars. The way you take it."
He remembers. Warmth spreads through my chest.
"Thank you."
"We've got a problem." Straight to business, pointing at spreadsheets covered in highlighted sections. "I've been tracking vendor proposals across all Brotherhood-connected businesses for the past two years. The pattern's bigger than we thought."
I lean forward, studying the data. Dozens of businesses. Hundreds of vendor approaches. Same three companies appearing repeatedly in rejected proposals.
"Hartley Industrial, Cascade Services, Coastal Investment Partners." I trace the pattern with my finger. "But we already knew they were suspects."
"We knew they bid on the businesses that burned. We didn't know they've been approaching every Brotherhood business systematically for the past eighteen months." Shaw pulls out another document. "This isn't random targeting. This is a coordinated campaign."
"To do what? Force partnerships?"
"Or punish rejections." He spreads out more files. "Look at the timeline. The first fire happened three months after these companies started getting rejected consistently. Each subsequent fire followed a rejection by two to six weeks."
Direct correlation between rejected proposals and arsons. "So they're retaliating. Burning businesses that won't work with them."
"Or setting up a protection racket. Accept our partnership or your business might have an unfortunate accident."
I pull the files closer, cross-referencing dates and businesses. Shaw's right. "We need to present this to law enforcement. This proves motive and opportunity."
"Agreed. But we need more. Financial records showing which company had means and access to accelerants. Travel records proving they were in town during the fires. Something that narrows it from three suspects to one."
We work in comfortable silence for the next hour. Partnership clicks despite the personal tension. Shaw sees connections I miss. I spot financial irregularities he overlooks. Together we build a case that's stronger than either of us could manage alone.
His knee brushes mine under the table when he leans over to point at something on my laptop. Contact sends electricity up my spine. Neither of us acknowledges it, but neither of us pulls away either.
"Your company still covering the costs for these investigations?" Shaw asks during a break.
"They're motivated. These fires represent millions in potential payouts. Proving arson saves them money."
"Must be nice having resources."
"Must be nice having community backing." I gesture toward the bar where Will's setting up for lunch service. "Your brothers showed up without question when you needed them. No cost-benefit analysis, no approval process. Just support."
Shaw's quiet for a moment. "That's what family does."
Family. Word sits heavy between us.
"Shaw." I force myself to meet his eyes. "About the Forge—"
"We don't have to talk about it."
"Yes, we do. I owe you an apology. And an explanation."
He leans back, crossing his arms. Defensive body language that tells me he's expecting more excuses, more avoidance.
"I panicked. I hit that trigger and spiraled into old patterns. I convinced myself that everything I felt was conditioning rather than authentic response. That you were manipulating me the same way Todd did."
"I know."
"But you're not. And what I felt before the trigger was real." Admission costs something. "I wanted to surrender. I wanted to give you control. I wanted to explore what submission could mean with someone who actually knows how to handle it properly."
His expression doesn't change. "But?"
"But I'm terrified. Of wanting the wrong things. Of falling back into dysfunction. Of trusting my judgment when my judgment failed me so catastrophically with Todd."
"So you ran."
"So I ran. And that was wrong. I should have stayed. I should have talked to you. I should have let you help me process instead of disappearing for a week to overthink everything alone."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because staying meant being vulnerable. Admitting I don't have all the answers. Trusting you to help me figure out the difference between authentic desire and trained behavior." I trace patterns on the table with my finger. "That's harder than running."
Shaw's quiet for a long moment, studying me with those assessing eyes that see too much. "What changed?"
"Working alone. Realizing that avoiding you doesn't actually protect me.
It just makes everything harder." I meet his gaze.
"And recognizing that if I can't trust myself to explore this with you—someone who stopped immediately when I yellowed, who respects boundaries, who handled everything exactly right—then I can't trust myself at all.
And I refuse to let Todd have that much power over my future. "
Something shifts in Shaw's expression. Not forgiveness, exactly. More like reassessment. He's calculating whether I'm serious or if this is just another temporary commitment before I run again.
"What do you want, Mira?"
Simple question. Complex answer.
"I want to try again. With better communication. With me actually staying and processing instead of disappearing." I take a breath. "I want to figure out if what we started at the Forge can work. If I can learn to trust my own responses. If submission can be healthy when it's done right."
"That's a lot of wanting."
"I know."
"And if you trigger again?"
"Then I communicate. I use my safeword. I trust you to handle it properly instead of assuming the worst and running."
Shaw studies me for another long moment. Then he nods once. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"We try again. But with conditions." He leans forward. "No more disappearing. If something feels wrong, you tell me. Immediately. Not days later after you've convinced yourself I'm a predator."
"Agreed."
"And we take it slower. We build trust before we dive back into scene work. Let you see that I'm consistent, that my actions match my words, that you can trust me and yourself."
Relief floods through me. "That sounds perfect."
"Good." He picks up his coffee. "Now we finish reviewing these financial records. We've got a case to close before we can focus on anything personal."
We return to work, but the tension between us has shifted. Still present, still complicated, but workable now. A partnership that might develop into something more if we're both brave enough to let it.
Shaw's hand finds mine across the table when I'm mid-sentence explaining a financial discrepancy. He just holds it there, his thumb brushing across my knuckles while I lose my train of thought completely.
"Keep going," he says, voice dropping to that register that makes my pulse kick up. "I'm listening."
I try. I stumble through the rest of the explanation while his thumb traces patterns on my palm. When I finish, he lifts my hand and presses a kiss to my knuckles before releasing it and returning to the spreadsheets like nothing happened.
My heart hammers against my ribs.
I pull up another file, trying to focus on numbers instead of the warmth still lingering where his lips touched my skin. Cascade Services' financial records fill my screen—quarterly reports, tax filings, bank statements obtained through my company's legal channels.
"Look at this." I turn my laptop so Shaw can see. "Cascade Services has been hemorrhaging money for eighteen months. Started right around when Brotherhood businesses stopped accepting their bids."
Shaw leans closer, scanning the numbers. "Revenue dropped forty percent in one year."