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Weston, Garrison, Zane, and Sawyer all stand and wait expectantly while I try to decide how I’m going to explain a past I wanted to completely forget. I know that if I truly wanted to, I could tell them I have zero interest in sharing, and they’d let me walk away without another word.

But I want to explain because these are men I trust with my life.

Brothers in everything but blood.

“Presley is eight years younger than me. We grew up in a small town in South Texas,” I tell them. “There wasn’t much to do there, so we’d occasionally get into some trouble, but it was never anything serious. And then I met Angie.” I take a deep breath. “She was beautiful, smart, and made me feel—alive.”

“You loved her.”

“I thought I did,” I reply to Garrison. “She asked me if I minded dropping off a package with her uncle, and since I would have done anything for her, I agreed without even thinking about it. But after I dropped it off with this guy, I had this feeling in the pit of my stomach. This understanding that things weren’t what they seemed. I confronted her about it, and she started crying. Told me that she didn’t know why I couldn’t just trust her.”

“So naturally, you felt terrible and apologized?” Weston asks.

“Pretty much.”

I cross my arms. “That night, Presley told me some guys came by the house, looking for me. He said they looked like trouble, but I told him it was fine. Our mom worked crazy hours and pretty much checked out when our dad left, so it was really just him and me. He trusted me. And I lied to him. The next week, Angie cornered me again. She asked that I deliver one more package. I told her I didn’t want to, that it felt wrong, but she insisted, promising me that it was just something for a cousin’s birthday. So, I did it. Again.” I shift my stance. “When I got there, they beat me half to death. I’ll spare you the details, but they told me they owned me. That I’d misplaced a package and I would keep running for them until they decided my debt was paid.”

“Drugs?” Zane asks.

“Among other things, but drugs were the main.”

“How long did this go on for?” Garrison asks.

“Nearly a year. All the while, Angie would bat her eyes at me and convince me it was okay. She’d manipulated me, using my feelings for her as a carrot on the end of a stick. The day after I turned eighteen, they sent me on a run. When I was at the drop-off, I got jumped. My brother had been following me, and he jumped in to help. They nearly killed him.” I uncross my arms and clench both hands into fists. “Someone called the cops, and that’s the only reason either one of us walked away. The guys who jumped us went to prison, and I turned everyone else in—except Angie. A few days later, she showed up on my doorstep, begging for help. Said she was sorry and wouldn’t ever do it again. I invited her inside, then she pulled a knife on me and tried to stab me in the heart. My brother came out and grabbed her, then dragged her back. He saved my life. Then she pulled a gun out and shot my brother. He was ten, and I had to apply pressure to a gunshot wound in his stomach because I let a drug dealer into the house.”

I take a deep breath and re-center myself as I recall a night of sitting in the hospital beside my mother, all while she gave me dirty looks and reminded me that I was the one who let Angie into the room. That if he died—it was my fault.

“Angie died in prison three years later, and my mom died about five years after that.”

“We know your brother survived, but what’s the bad blood about? Is it that you let her in?” Weston questions.

“No. He told me it wasn’t my fault. But the guilt was too much for me. So as soon as I knew he was going to be okay, I joined the Navy and never looked back. The bad blood came into play when he showed up to tell me our mom was sick. She’d made it clear she blamed me for what happened to him, and the last thing I wanted to do was show up, only to have her tell me that on her deathbed, so I refused to go home. That was the last time I saw my brother. We’ve had words on occasion since then, but never kind ones.”

“That’s rough,” Sawyer says.

“Look, Angie showed me just how dangerous attraction can be in a situation when you need to have your wits about you.”

“Which is why you initially didn’t want to help Dahlia,” Zane says. “Because of the drugs.”

“Not entirely. The drugs were a part of it, but I can’t trust myself to make logical decisions when feelings are involved. And there’s something about Dahlia—” I don’t even try to hide the fact that I’m attracted to her because chances are every single person here has noticed the way I look at her.

“Dahlia’s not Angie,” Garrison says.

“She’s a client,” I reply. “And I’m not out here to debate my past. I just felt like you were owed an explanation after my brother showed up.”

“That why you never invited us out here?” Sawyer asks. “Come on, man, we all knew you had one foot out the door.”

“I didn’t want to risk my past catching up to me and any of you being caught in the crossfire.”

“But your brother offered you safety. He’s not trying to hurt you.”

“It’s not him you’re worried about,” Zane says.

“The guys I put away are going to get out someday, and they promised me they’d be coming for me when they do.”

“It’s been a long time, Ryker. Do you really think that could happen?”

“Maybe. I have no clue. But I didn’t want to take that chance.”