I had several offices across San Antonio, but the one I enjoyed working at the most was the smallest one. The one with the least staff—it was always quiet on a Saturday, which afforded me time to myself, without the chatter of people in the background.

As harsh as that sounded, I’d never been a big people person.

I sat behind my desk in the glass cube that was my office, pouring over an independent developer’s proposition for a new app. He was a promising mind, and a creative too, with an idea that might make all the difference to the company.

An app that would help women keep track of their weight gain during pregnancy, as well as track their periods, their ovulation times, and it would be able to connect to a device they could wear on their arms, which would measure their heartbeats, their temperatures, and provide them with more health information than ever.

It was something I really wanted a woman’s opinion on.

I turned the page in the file, reading over the email I’d printed out and struggling to keep my mind free of Riley.

She’d been adorable this morning. Fumbling over everything but trying to be sure of herself. Strong as usual, kind to Carly, funny and sweet.

All the trappings of the perfect woman for me, if I’d allowed such a thing to exist in my mind. I wouldn’t.

“Fuck it,” I muttered and closed the file. I pressed my fists to my eyes and inhaled, allowed myself a minute of peace without her front and center in my mind. Who the hell was I kidding here? She’d been front and center ever since yesterday.

At least, over the app, I could apportion my time with her. The energy I spent on thinking about her, body, mind, and soul. With her at my house, waiting for me to get home, everything had changed.

I rose from my seat and walked around the desk, set on a fresh cup of coffee.

Movement in the reception area stalled me, instantly.

A man waved from the glass front door. He pressed the buzzer next to it then looked left and right, up and down the street. Fucker was… ratty-looking. Worse. He was familiar.

I knew that son of a bitch from what felt like a lifetime ago. In truth, it had only been four years.

What the fuck does he want?

Anger chased through me, and I growled under my breath. Swiftly, I made my way out of the office, past the empty reception desk and to the front door. The longer I left him out there, the higher the chance was someone would associate my company with his ilk.

I unlocked the glass door with the click of a button then grabbed the skinny asshole by the front of his shirt and dragged him inside.

“Whoa, there, Roman, whoa,” he said, lifting his clammy hands on those skinny arms. He shot me a foul grin, yellow-toothed and beady-eyed. “I’m not looking for any trouble.”

“Clearly, that’s not true,” I replied, evenly, and slammed the door shut. “Or you wouldn’t be here.” I released my hold on the living, breathing ball of mucus and stared him down. “What the fuck are you doing here, Johnny?”

Johnny, ‘the Ripper’ in some circles, ran his dirty finger over his bottom lip and considered his answer. It couldn’t possibly be a difficult task for him, given that he only had two brain cells to rub together. “I just wanna talk, Roman,” he said, “you know, we haven’t talked in years.”

“There’s a good reason for that, dickwad,” I replied.

I hadn’t let him past the first few feet of the reception area and didn’t plan to. Johnny was poison. Everything about him and the people he associated with was poison. I couldn’t let that infect who I was now.

“Aw, don’t tell me you didn’t miss me even a little? That’s cold, man.”

“Don’t play games with me, you little shit.” I raised a finger and hovered it beneath the skinny asshole’s nose. “You know I won’t play along.”

“Won’t you?” Johnny sneered. He was the living embodiment of what I’d feared becoming. Skinny, weak, sneaky, dirty, his clothes hanging from his frame, his white-blonde hair standing on end, greased and grimed up. He lifted a shaking hand and ran it beneath his nose. “I didn’t come here to cause any trouble, Roman. Just to talk.”

“About what?” I asked, glancing past him to the door. The only reason I hadn’t thrown him out yet was to avoid causing a scene, tarnishing the company.

In truth, I’d known this day would come. Just hoped it wouldn’t. Fuck it.

“About what you owe?”

I raised an eyebrow. “What I owe? You on drugs again?”

“What you owe,” he repeated. “You didn’t really think you could leave the Crimson Riders without paying your debt. You know the rules. Death or money. Given that you’re a rich bitch, now, I’m assuming you’ll opt for the cash.” He drew of the “sh” at the end of the word, spittle sluicing over his bottom lip.

“I squared my debt away with Griphon long ago, idiot.” I nodded to the door. “Giving you one chance to walk out of here before I throw you through that glass window. Call it a courtesy. One-time offer. Take it or leave it.” My muscles banded.

“Griphon’s dead,” Johnny replied, and that snarl of a smile twisted his features again. “And the new boss has rescinded all of Griphon's old pardons. Meaning that your debt has been reinstated, and I’m here to collect.”

A bubbling of laughter rose in my throat. It spilled over my lips and burst outward. I could barely fucking breathe it was so funny.

Johnny’s false bravado wavered. He licked his lips and looked left and right again, bobbling on the spot like a dashboard figurine.

Finally, the mirth faded, but only a little. “Hold up,” I said, raising hand. “Let me get this straight. There’s some new hotshot in charge of the Riders, right?”

“Right. Marcus.” Johnny said the name and became positively rapturous about it. Apparently, the Ripper was in love with his new boss.

“And this, uh, Marcus guy, he wants to reinstate old debts?”

“Yeah, old debts,” Johnny echoed.

“And, OK, now this is the fucking killer,” I said, on the verge of busting my guts laughing again. “He sent you? You, Johnny, to collect from me?”

“Well, yeah.”

I burst out laughing again, practically roaring again.

Johnny scratched above his eyebrow. “What’s so funny?”

“This, motherfucker,” I said and grabbed him by the shirt again. I lifted him above my head and held him there like he was a fucking princess figure skater. “You really think I’m going to pay anything to the likes of you? You can go back and tell this Marcus shithead that if he sends a little asswipe like you to see me again, he’ll get a personal visit from me.”

Johnny’s jaw dropped.

“Fuggit, if he comes near me again, if he so much as thinks of sending any more of his no-brain goons near me or my home, I will send the remains of that goon back in a body bag.” The old me was out and roaring. The new me tried pumping the brakes. “Worse, I’ll call the damn cops.”

“Marcus owns the cops.” Johnny finally found his voice.

Now, that was a problem. Either Johnny actually believed that Marcus owned the cops or there was something to that. The Crimson Riders had been on the decline in San Antonio, on the brink of becoming defunct. If they were on the rise again, that was a bigger problem than I liked to consider.

Freeing myself of them had been a trick in itself. I had too much to lose now.

“I don’t give a fuck what you think he owns or what you think you’re doing here. You will leave now, or I’ll throw you out.” I dropped him, and he crashed to the floor in a jumble of tattooed skinny arms and legs. “Got it?”

Johnny scrambled to his feet, hissing like a cat, and rushed for the door. He paused at it, grabbing hold of the silver bar at its center. “You’ll regret this, Roman. You’re making a big mistake.”

“Kiss my ass, dipshit.”

Johnny slipped out into the street like the slimy eel he was and disappeared, casting backward glances all the way, as if he was afraid I’d follow him. I checked the door was properly shut and locked, then stormed back through to my office, lifted the phone from its cradle and dialed one of my contacts in the cops.

Clint picked up on the third ring. “Bryan? Haven’t heard from you in a while,” he said. “What’s up?”

“Clint, how are you?” I asked, my mind fuming at what had just happened. “You good?”

“All good, man. What’s up?”

“I just had a visit from some little shit from the Crimson Riders. Johnny.”

“The Ripper?” Clint asked. “Interesting. That’s interesting. We’ve been noticing some increased activity from them of late. A lot the guys are dismissing it as the death throes of the gang. What he say to you?”

“He said there’s a new boss,” I replied, standing beside my desk rather than sitting. “Marcus. You heard of this guy?”

“No, actually, I haven’t,” he said, muttering under his breath as he did. “That’s intriguing. Hmm, man, look, let me check this out. I’ll call you back if I have any extra info. Did this guy tell you what he wanted?”

“Money. Old debts, as he put it.” Another wave of anger screeched through me. Fuck, I’d been so close to tearing his head off. To being the dick I’d been before I’d left the gang. Before I’d realized what path I’d chosen, how dangerous it was, how much I stood to lose.

“OK, I’ll check this out for you, Bry. Get back to you. Stay safe.”

“You too.” I hung up and sat down in my chair, wheeling it back slightly, turning it so I could look out at the view of the street behind the building. It was the same view I had every day, nothing unusual, nothing to concern myself with, but I was already on edge.

Carly and Riley were at home. What if these motherfuckers decided to take things to the next level?

The sun had already started dipping toward the horizon. I couldn’t sit here another second and worry about this shit. I was a man of action, not of words. And the further I was from home, the worse the itch in my center would get.

I grabbed my jacket off the back of the chair and started for home.