In the dim glow of his private booth at the back of the bar, Cruz sat nursing a beer that had long since gone warm. His thoughts were tangled in the year-long war with Johnny’s crew, a rivalry that had started, like most reckless ones do, over a woman. He hadn’t known she was Johnny’s girl when he took her home. And when he found out? He still didn’t care. If Johnny couldn’t keep her satisfied, that wasn’t Cruz’s problem.

But Johnny made it his. One of Cruz’s men ended up in a hospital bed, barely breathing, an act far more deliberate than Cruz’s supposed offense. Since then, things had spiraled. Fights. Property damage. Lines crossed with no intention of returning.

Lost in thought, Cruz barely registered the footsteps approaching until one of his guys leaned in and said, “Cruz, we’ve got something you need to see.”

He sighed. Probably more bullshit in the back rooms. Still, he followed, weaving past the private suites meant for... discreet business, until they reached the last door. Two of his men stood guard. Inside sat a woman....striking, fierce-eyed, and completely surrounded.

“What the hell is this?” Cruz snapped, his confusion quickly turning to irritation. He hadn’t signed off on whatever this was.

“Her bike broke down outside the bar,” the man explained.

Cruz’s jaw flexed. “And this is how we treat her?”

“Cruz... she’s with the Dawn Crew.” A pause. “This is Johnny’s sister.”

That name hit like a match to gasoline. A thousand outcomes fired through his mind. Most ended badly.

He dragged a chair across the floor, slow and deliberate, placing it in front of her. Dropping into it, he leaned back, letting his eyes roam unhurriedly over her face.

“So... you’re Johnny’s sister, is it?” he asked, voice low and velvet smooth, a dangerous smile tugging at his lips. “Well, sweetheart. You’ve just become the most interesting thing to happen to me all week.”