Speaking of employees who needed help…

"Come in."

The door opened. The man in the doorway was in his early sixties, stocky and balding, and worked a ball cap nervously between his fingers.

"Hiya, Mr. Fury."

"Eddie, I've told you a hundred times to call me Dante."

The man nodded. "Yes, Mr. Fury."

With a shake of my head, I circled my desk and sat in my chair.

"Take a seat."

Eddie dropped into a leather armchair on the visitor side of my desk. "It's Tommy again." He pinched his nose, worry on his broad, weathered face.

Tommy was Eddie's teenage son. He had one more year of high school left, and a scholarship lined up for college.

Unfortunately, a few of his friends were mixed up with a local gang called the Big Gs.

"He's been hanging with his gang friends again?"

"Yes." Eddie's face creased with panic. "They've dragged him into a mess. There's a girl."

I nodded. "Ah."

"She was scared, tried to get out." Eddie smoothed a hand over his head.

"She called Tommy and he went over there to get her. The gang, they'd broken into some shop.

Someone took a video of Tommy. They said if he doesn't commit to the gang, they'll share the video with the police.

His scholarship…" Eddie made a sound. "I want better for my boy."

Eddie was the kind of father that had been lacking in my life.

Anger ignited. I hated people who preyed on others, especially the gangs. They promised a family, a sense of belonging, but it was all just to use people. They ruled with fear and violence. Growing up in foster care, I'd seen it too many fucking times.

"Who in the gang threatened Tommy?"

Eddie swallowed. "A banger called Evan Curtis, goes by Easy-C."

I nodded. "I'll deal with it."

Relief crossed the man's face. "Mr. Fury?—"

I arched a brow.

"Dante…" Eddie's voice was a little shaky. "Thank you."

I rose and pressed a hand to Eddie's beefy shoulder. "You're a hard worker, a good employee, and a good man. Tommy is lucky to have you. He will go to college, I promise."

Eddie rose. "Thank you so much. I can never repay you."

"I don't expect payment. Now, get home to your wife. I'll deal with this tomorrow, and let you know when it's done."

Eddie nodded in relief and shuffled out.

I needed more of my drink now. Sipping, I stared at the paintings on the wall behind my desk—wild swirls of ink in black and gold. I needed to make some calls, and talk to my brother, Reath. He kept his finger on the pulse of the local gangs, and he would know this Easy-C.

Lifting my glass, I turned to the window. The last of the customers were leaving. Soon, I could get out of here and find my bed.

But first, I had a few whiskies to try, and an interesting woman to try them with.

Suddenly, the door to my office burst open. There were only four people in the world who would dare barge in without knocking.

Sure enough, it was two of my four brothers.

Colton had an arm around Reath, helping him inside. Reath's gray shirt sleeve was soaked with blood.

"What trouble did you find?" I asked.

"I was minding my own fucking business," Reath muttered.

I snorted. Reath never minded his own business. He was a former CIA…something. He'd been black ops, and that was shit he never talked about.

I was glad when he'd gotten out. We all were. Now, he ran his own small security company—Phoenix Security Services. He did security for all our businesses, and a few select customers. He was damn good at it. He also kept the local players from interfering with Fury businesses.

Reath dropped heavily into a chair.

"Don't get blood on my furniture," I said.

"It's leather," Colton said. "It'll clean."

With a sigh, I set my glass down, then went over and opened the cabinet. I pulled out a huge first aid kit.

"Shirt off," I ordered.

Reath slipped off his ruined gray shirt, exposing brown skin stretched over hard muscles.

Black ink covered Reath's back—the intricate image of a rising phoenix.

Colt and Reath couldn't look more different.

Colt was six-foot-three and packed with lean muscle.

He had a neat beard, a near-permanent scowl, and tattoos on his forearms.

He was a bounty hunter. A good one. Years spent in foster homes and on the street had made him good at sneaking around, and tracking things—namely people—down.

Reath was a few inches shorter than Colt—same height as me—but more muscular.

He didn't know who his biological parents were, but he had some African American ancestry.

He had brown skin, black hair he kept cut ruthlessly short, and a face that always caught women's attention.

We'd teased him for being so pretty his entire life.

He also had this easy, liquid way of moving that made him seem relaxed. He wasn't. He could move faster and fight dirtier than anyone I knew.

Right now, he also had a knife gash on his muscled bicep.

"It doesn't look too deep." I pulled out an antiseptic wipe and started cleaning it.

Reath grunted.

"What happened?" I asked.

"I was checking out a few leads. I got jumped by a junkie with a knife who wanted my wallet."

The junkie had picked the wrong guy.

"Is he still breathing?" I pulled out the glue.

"Yes," Reath muttered unhappily.

"Through his broken jaw," Colt added as he poured himself a drink.

I glued up the cut. Reath's dark skin had a collection of scars—knife wounds, a couple of puckered gunshot scars, old burns.

I blew out a breath. We'd all worked out our demons in our own way, and Reath had done it working for Uncle Sam. At least he wasn't flying around the world to God-knew-where, to take on the bad guys anymore.

"I need your help with something," I said. "A banger called Easy-C is trying to jack up Eddie's kid, Tommy."

Reath's dark eyes flashed. "He's part of the Big Gs. Yeah, I can deal with him. You coming with me?"

I smiled. "Fuck, yeah."

My brother nodded. "I'll find him and let you know."

No questions asked. The Fury brothers took care of their own, and I always knew my brothers had my back.

They were the only people I could count on.

A pair of clear gray eyes, swimming in secrets, filled my head.

Who could Mila count on?

"You're closing up now?" Colt asked.

"Soon."

"Want to come to mine for a drink?"

"I'm in," Reath said.

I packed up the first aid kit. "I have a few things to finish up here."

Colt glanced at Reath.

Reath raised his brows. "Those things include a cozy drink and chat with your newest bartender?"

I forced my face to stay expressionless. "I often check in with whoever is closing."

"Mmm." Colt flashed a rare smile. "Nothing to do with the curves and the pretty face."

The thought of my brother noticing Mila's curves and face had me stiffening.

"I think it's those turbulent gray eyes." Reath pulled his ruined shirt back on. "You've had a few cozy drinks with her."

Damn security guards had big mouths. "We talk, that's it."

Reath snorted. "Not like you to lie to yourself, Dante."

"Fuck you two. You know I don't dabble with my employees."

My brothers shared another annoying look.

"You don't dabble with anyone," Colt said.

"Oh, and you do?" I stood. "Get out of here. Before I kick your asses."

They were both grinning as they left. Assholes .

If Mila needed help, I'd help her, but that was it.

I didn't get involved with women, especially not ones who worked for me. End of story.