Adrenaline made me bold and probably a little stupid. In the span of a few seconds, I’d pegged this guy as every devil I fought against.

This was my house. My neighborhood. And there he was, all leather, swirling ink, and menace smashing his fist through my wall. He didn’t think I saw him reach for his sidearm. Later, I’d probably curl up in a shivering ball and let in the fear that should have made me run. For now, I was just damn pissed.

“Whoa,” he said, thinking the better of reaching for his gun. He put his hands up in surrender and a tiny smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. Oh, I knew this guy all right. Knew how he made his way through life. The cut he wore told me everything. The Dark Saints M.C. were bad news through and through. I’d heard the stories my whole life. The guy was solid muscle. Colorful bands of ink covered his massive biceps. It was a rose or something with blood-red thorns.

“Take it easy, baby,” he said. My heart tripped. His voice was deep and dark. Cutter. His name was Cutter. I read it on the patch above his left breast. Below that, it said “Tail Gunner,” whatever that meant.

“Get the fuck out of here,” I said, stunned I could even form words. I held the sledgehammer in a vise grip. Would I use it on him? A startling thought flashed in my mind. It would be a shame. This man was beautiful and brutal all at once. His stone-gray eyes flicked over me, taking everything in about me. He studied me in the span of a few seconds just like I did him. He kept his broad hands out, palms up. They were rough, a working man’s hands. He was tall. Lord, my eyes went up and up as he straightened his back. He chanced a look over his shoulder, then just as quick brought his eyes back to mine. His blond hair swung over his shoulder. He brought one hand up then, rubbing it over the rough, golden stubble on his jaw.

“Calm down,” he said. “I just came to have one last look around. Didn’t know anyone else was doing the same.”

My grip loosened a bit on the handle of the sledgehammer. The thing was getting too heavy to hold up like this. But when he took a step toward me, I choked up on it again.

He held his hand out, to shake mine. “I come in peace,” he said. There was that sultry smirk again. A guy like this, looking the way he did and with the patch he wore, was probably used to Port Azrael girls melting for him. Well, I was a different kind of Port Azrael girl. If he took one more step, he was about to find out why.

“Name’s Chase,” he said. “Chase Cutter.”

“I can read,” I said, nodding my chin toward his leather vest. “You’re a little out of your territory, Cutter.”

His eyes went hard but the smile didn’t leave his face. “This is Port Azrael. You new in town?”

“No.” I gripped the sledgehammer so hard my hands started to go numb. “Lived here my whole life. And this is my house you’re trespassing in.”

That seemed to shock him. Those gray eyes widened and he finally dropped the smile. “Your house? You mean you bought this shithole?”

I let the head of the hammer rest against my shoulder. “That’s right. Closed this morning. So you can tell your crackhead friends this place is closed for business. I won’t bother calling the cops, I know you own them. But you can bet your ass I know how to keep your kind clear of this place.”

He barked out a laugh and put his hands up in surrender again. “My kind? Baby, you must be new in town.”

“And I told you, I’ve lived here my whole life,” I said.

Chase arched one blond brow. “And here I thought I knew everyone. I’ve never seen you before. What’s your name? I told you mine.”

“Look, you’ve taken your little peek. Now clear out.”

Chase took another step toward me. Heat raced up my spine, settling between my shoulder blades. I kept my grip on the hammer but my eyes went up and up as he stood no more than a foot away from me.

“Like I said, I was just here to take one last look. I used to live in this house a long time ago. That’s all.”

Something changed about his expression. A shadow came into his eyes. For a split second, he seemed vulnerable as if chasing away a painful memory. I loosened my grip on the hammer, but kept my back straight.

“Fair enough,” I said. “But it’s mine now. You can’t just barge in here and start smashing things.”

Chase leaned a shoulder against the wall and crossed one booted foot over the other. “What’d you pay for it?”

I took a step back, not expecting the question. “Ten thousand,” I answered.

Chase let out a low whistle. Keeping his casual posture against the wall, he did a quick look around the kitchen. “You overpaid.”

“I’m going to sell it,” I said. “It’s what I do.”

“You think this is worth a flip?” Chase asked, incredulous. “You get some kind of magic beans with that hammer?”

I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my business card. When Chase took it from me, his fingers brushed against mine. The heat between my shoulder blades settled in my core.

“Gatling Brothers, Ariel Gatling,” he read. “Which brother are you?”

“No brothers,” I answered. “Just me. One Chick with a Sledgehammer seemed overly long to put on a business card.”

Chase’s genuine, deep-throated laugh echoed through me, starting my heart again. I tightened my grip on the hammer, using it to ground me. This guy had my head spinning. He was rough and dangerous, all the things I wanted to drive out of the north side of Port Azrael. And I was, even if it was one rundown house at a time.

Still, there was raw honesty in his eyes when he said he’d come back here for one last look around. If he had grown up here, it meant he’d been through some shit. Hutchins Street was bad now, but it was mostly abandoned. The worst trouble we had were squatters and crack dens. That was changing, in large part thanks to me. Hutchins Street twenty or thirty years ago had been a downright war zone. I’d be damned if he’d get me feeling sorry for him. He was still trespassing. He’d put a fist through my wall. It didn’t matter that I planned on smashing that same wall down to give this floor an open concept.

“It’s not a bad marketing strategy,” he said. “People around here expect a certain thing in the construction business. Give ’em what they think they want. Then just get the damn job done. You any good at it?”

Chase’s eyes flicked over me again, making me feel exposed. I finally rested the hammer’s head on the floor with a thunk. “Yeah,” I answered, leveling my stare right back at him. “I’m the best there is.”

It was true. I’d carved out a niche for myself in this town. In the last year, I’d flipped a dozen houses just like this one. I’d done well enough to hire a second crew last month that I hoped would double my income along with it. I took old houses and turned them into gems. Little by little, the north side was becoming gentrified. People like Chase Cutter and the Dark Saints could change all of that.

“Good,” Chase said, giving me a solid nod. “This neighborhood could use something different.” He finally pushed himself off the wall and stepped around me. I thought he would head for the back bedrooms. For a moment, he hesitated, looking that way. But he turned and walked back into the living room.

“Sorry about the wall,” he said as he reached for the front door. “You’ve got your work cut out for you here, though. Change isn’t easy for some people to accept.”

“You’d be surprised.”

Chase raised that blond brow again, arching it to the ceiling. “You need any backup in that area?”

I set the hammer against the wall and crossed my arms as I took a step toward him. The hair on the back of my neck went up. “And just what are you offering?”

Chase fingered the doorknob. He seemed caught between the decision to stay or go. “I mean, this is still a rough neighborhood. I’d hate to see bad shit happen to your business.”

I turned to stone inside. There it was. “Oh yeah? Is that a threat?”

Chase jerked his head back. His eyes went wide. “Fuck. No. Not a threat, Ariel.” He hesitated over my name, as though he were deciding whether he liked the sound of it. He said something else that sounded like an apology but my fuse was already lit. I picked my sledgehammer up, slapping the handle between my hands.

“Right. I know exactly how your club works, Mr. Cutter. I told you, I was born and raised in Port Azrael. Is that why you’re really here? You see these houses getting turned around and made into something better. So you think you can come down here and shake me down? I pay you, you make sure my shit doesn’t get messed with? I don’t pay you, you’re the one doing the messing?”

Chase put his hands up in surrender. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Well, here’s what I’m talking about. Keep clear of Hutchins Street. Keep clear of my businesses. I know how to take care of myself.”

Chase opened the door letting sunlight flood the dim foyer. It was the first thing I wanted to get rid of. I wanted to bring the light into this place and drive away the shadows.

“You know,” Chase said, turning to me. “I bet you do, Ariel.”

He startled me then. Chase let go of the door and made a quick hop up the steps so we stood eye to eye from my position on the upper landing. He stood so close his hot breath touched my cheek. Butterfly wings battered inside my chest. I had twin urges to touch his cheek and run my fingers over the rough stubble. But I also wanted to use the hammer handle as a battering ram and knock him back on his ass. As his eyes darted over me, his face split into a rakish smile. I swear it was as if he could tell exactly what I was thinking.

“I didn’t come here to shake you down,” Chase said. “You can believe me or not. Your choice. But I meant what I said, Ariel. Be careful. Some things about this town can’t be changed, baby.”

He bit his bottom lip as he looked me up and down. I narrowed my eyes at him. His body heat warmed me. Chase cocked his head to the side, then finally backed down the stairs. He left me clutching my sledgehammer as he turned and walked out the door.