I will never, ever let my mind wander to her again.

I will never, ever wish for what I can never have.

The car behind me blares its horn for me to move, rousing me from my thoughts and brain-banging.

“Alright, alright…” I mutter into the rearview mirror, gunning the gas and wiping my hand across my bloody forehead. Everyone is so fucking impatient nowadays.

My mood today could not be more perfect for the task at hand. Tanner and our buddy Sled don’t say a word as we drive to the address given to us by an anonymous tipper. I barely have to look at the address to know where the house is. Nine times out of ten, they’re in the same neighborhood, and this one’s no exception. It’s a seedy part of a nearby town, home to drug dealers, addicts, and assorted derelicts. There was a time when I spent way too much time in this part of town, fighting underground and engaging in other activities I’m not proud of. Watching my brothers follow me down that same destructive path forced me to get out, and I convinced them to get out of it too before one of us ended up in prison or dead.

So now, we build custom bikes, and we rescue lost and abused pets. And on some days, like today, we might just get the chance to fight and give some asshole a well-deserved ass kicking. That’s always a bonus, especially when I’m in a bad mood.

I park the truck across the street from the house in question and we take a quick inventory of our surroundings as we make our way to the front door. A large garage in the back has the tell-tale boarded up windows. Several rusty dog cages are stacked next to the garage, partially hidden in the bushes. We’ve been doing this for years with a decent success rate, but there’s always the chance we could get shot or stabbed by someone strung out on drugs or just unwilling to comply with our demands. All of us are trained fighters and know how to disarm someone, but that doesn’t make the risk any less real. We’re not cops, and these guys don’t have to go along with our plan, even though we’re giving them the easy way out, they don’t always see it that way.

Knocking on the door is my preference over the doorbell, and after three knocks the door opens and a guy with no shirt and sweatpants on squints at us.

“Sup?” He says.

Most of these guys aren’t too nervous when they see us at the door because we don’t look like law enforcement. When three guys show up at the door covered in tats, wearing leather vests and dark sunglasses, two with long hair and one with a half- shaved, tattooed head, they usually think we’re here to buy drugs or get in on their action.

“Can we come inside?” I ask.

He swings the door open. “Okay, bro. You lookin’ for something special?”

I’ve already noticed the white lines on the coffee table, the pill bottles, and the drug paraphernalia littering the house. A fawn pit bull is sitting beside the ratty mustard yellow couch, watching our every move. She has no visible scars, so she’s most likely a pet or a guard dog.

“We heard you have fighting dogs.” Tanner says, moving to my right.

The guy nods, and his suspicious expression shows he’s not quite sure how he wants to react to us. “I might. You lookin’ to buy or to bet? Shit goes down on Friday and Saturday.”

My teeth clench. “Does that all happen here?”

His eyes shift from me to my boys and it’s evident he’s not sure he can trust us. “Mostly, yeah.”

“How much you asking for a fighter?” Tanner asks, lighting up a cigar.

“Depends on the dog. We got puppies you can train yourself or we got experienced dogs that will fight to the death and win every ring. They’re fucking gnarly terrors, man, and they go for a few grand if you’re serious.”

“Oh we’re very serious,” I say calmly. “We’re with Devils’ Wolves dog rescue.”

“What the fuck is that?”

“We rescue abused dogs,” I answer. “Dog fighting is illegal.”

“You the fuckin’ cops?” He steps back, almost tripping over one of the several beer bottles on the stained carpet.

“No, but we work with them and could have them here in about ten minutes if you don’t cooperate,” Tanner says. “And it looks to me like you might not want the cops here. Unless you’re snorting baby powder over there.”

His nostrils flare at us. “Fuck you guys. Get out of my house.”

I shake my head. “Not without the dogs.”

His eyes shift over to the dog. “Achtung!” He commands, and the dog jumps to its feet, its eyes riveted on me.

“Sitz!” I meet the dog’s brown eyes, unwavering, and she obeys my command and sits. “Bleib!” I tell the dog to stay and turn my hard gaze to its owner after I’m convinced the dog will stay put. “You think I don’t know fuckin’ German?”