Renzo Vega knew he wasn’t alone the instant he stepped into his darkened office. No sound, except for the definite click of the door shutting behind him. Still, a disturbance clung to air.

Thick.

He froze, hair on his nape at attention, calling the warning. This was a first. He dropped his hand slowly, reaching for the gun at his waist. No one had developed balls big enough to come at him at his club.

First for everything though, right?

“I’m hoping we can do without the gun play.”

Before he could put a name to the familiar voice, the lamp atop his desk blinked on. The only reason his knees didn’t hit the floor was because of training.

Reflex.

That was the only thing keeping him upright as he met serious purple eyes. The man seated at his desk leaned back, a small smile curving his mouth.

“Hello…Renzo, is it now?” His eyebrows lifted, fingers drumming on his knee as he waited.

Didn’t matter the amount of time that passed. That gaze still packed the most gut-wrenching punch. He swallowed once. Then twice, because for some reason his mouth was the driest it had ever been. “Syren, right?” He refused to budge from in front the door. “That’s the name you go by nowadays?”

They’d gone by different names, way back when. They also weren’t the same men they’d been back then either. But somehow, Syren still had the same effect. And he looked at Renzo the way he did the last they’d been this close.

With sadness and guilt.

“How did you get in?” He kept security at all entrance and exits to his club. And it didn’t matter that the club was closed tonight. Somebody was for sure getting fired.

“Your guard at the door stepped away.” Syren smiled. “Figured it was an open invitation.”

Yeah, he would figure that. Nothing stopped Syren when he wanted something. “What do you want?” He regretted asking that question. It put him at a disadvantage, and with Syren Rua that was a weakness Renzo couldn’t afford.

Not again.

“What makes you think I want something?” Syren asked.

Renzo scoffed. “Of course you want something, otherwise, why would you step out from the shadows to meet face to face?” He leaned back against the door and crossed his ankles, trying for casual so Syren wouldn’t see how much his presence rattled. “I thought you preferred watching me from the shadows?”

“Does that mean you’re not happy to see me?” Syren rose, challenging Renzo with his gaze as he trailed a finger over the edge of the desk. “Because I’m happy to see you.”

“I was happy when you stayed far away,” Renzo told him. “I don’t need you looking out for me.”

“What do you need?”

“Don’t fucking do that,” Renzo snarled. “We’re not them anymore.”

“What are we then?”

Renzo didn’t know the answer to that, but he knew for damn sure they wouldn’t find the answers staring at each other from across his office. He couldn’t describe what it felt like, being so close to Syren after all this time.

The things they’d been through.

Sadness and guilt seemed the correct words for it. But then he remembered the constant interference in his life.

“Admit it,” Syren said. “You hate me a little, don’t you, Renzo?”

Hate. Strong word to describe strong emotion. “I don’t hate you. I want you to stop fucking orchestrating my life.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“What the hell is it then?” Renzo pushed away from the door, took two strides toward him then stopped himself. Because he couldn’t. Damn it, he couldn’t. “Does your husband know I’m the reason you’re always in Atlanta?”

Syren didn’t blink. He didn’t answer either.

“Am I your dirty secret, Syren?” Renzo went to him then, letting all that emotion, untapped for so long, color his words. “Does your man know the lengths you’ll go to in order to keep me in your life? Maybe I should enlighten him.”

“This is about me making Dutch give you this job, isn’t it?” It was as if he hadn’t heard anything Renzo said at all. All of five feet nothing, with purple eyes and white-blond hair, Syren was the most beautiful person Renzo ever laid eyes on.

Most stubborn, too.

When they’d known each other, back when they’d meant something to each other, he’d been the deadliest. That part hadn’t changed. Syren remained a master strategist.

Renzo used to love that.

“You didn’t need to come here,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t want you here. I don’t want you in my life.”

“That’s too bad.” Syren touched him, his jaw.

Renzo shuddered.

“I am in your life. I will remain in your life. The choice is no longer yours.” Syren’s hand went away. “When you’re ready to claim what’s always been yours…”

Renzo opened his eyes just in time to catch Syren’s smile.

“I’ll be here.”