Ryder:
Last night left a crack in my armor, the flaw in my otherwise bulletproof system. No matter how many times I told myself I had it under control, her name still hit like a bullet straight through the ribcage.
I sat at the sleek wooden desk in the my top floor office, eyes scanning over reports that didn’t need my attention but got it anyway. Club logistics. Routes. Watchlists. Budget numbers. Men. Movement. Territory.
It kept me sharp.
Kept me away from her.
The elevator let out a clean metallic ding. I didn’t look up. Didn’t have to.
I knew that strut. Confident. Purposeful. Fire in every step. Mom.
“Son,” mom said, voice cool, but her energy crackled like a storm cloud entering the room.
“Yes, Mom,” I replied, not looking up.
I heard her boots cross the floor, then stop on
