Los Angeles
Los Angeles felt like a world away from Portland, Oregon.
Tiger had a decision to make, and he needed time away from the family to make it.
By family, he meant the Tuff family.
He had been with them for the last twelve years, carving out a name for himself the hard way. His loyalty, grit, and relentless work ethic had earned him a seat at the table with Logan and Stone in just five years’ time.
Not many could say that.
Now, he was being asked to head up a new “business” venture in the ever-busy hub of Seattle, Washington.
On paper, it sounded like a promotion. His own territory. His own operation. His own piece of the Tuff empire.
But the question lingered in the back of his mind.
Was he ready for that?
Logan and Frankie had told him he’d been chosen over everyone else for one simple reason: he possessed a trait the others didn’t.
Tiger never believed anyone’s first response. He never trusted the easy answer, never took things at face value, and rarely allowed himself to see a situation through rose-colored glasses.
Paranoia kept people alive. Caution kept empires standing.
Hell, even Stone had thanked him more than once for that skeptical mind of his.
But there was a difference between being part of a well-oiled machine and building one from scratch.
Tiger didn’t doubt his ability to run the next hub of the Tuff family’s operations.
What bothered him wasn’t the responsibility. It was the timeline.
Three months to recruit dedicated men and women didn’t feel like a challenge. It felt impossible.
Where would he find the time to vet recruits while also securing a central location, establishing connections, and laying the groundwork for an entirely new branch of the organization?
There had to be an easier way to approach it. He just couldn’t see it yet. And that irritated him more than anything else.
It had been two years since he’d been back home.
His father had worked for the underground Hollywood mafia for as long as Tiger could remember. So long, in fact, that there had never been a time in his childhood when someone from the Hollywood elite wasn’t lingering around their house.
Producers. Actors. Fixers. Men in expensive suits with quiet voices and dirtier secrets.
They had been as common as furniture.
Growing up surrounded by fame and false smiles, Tiger couldn’t wait to get away and carve out his own path in life.
The only downside had been leaving his twin sister behind.
That was the one choice he still regretted.
Tabitha had never been as strong as he was. Anyone who met her could see it immediately. She was too trusting. Too easily swayed. Too soft for the kind of world they’d been born into.
Tabitha needed someone firm. Someone steady. A man with a heavy hand and the patience of a saint to keep her grounded.
Their father had never been interested in taking on that role.
Stepping off the Tuff family’s private jet and into the quiet hangar at LAX, Tiger found himself oddly grateful for how well the airport catered to the rich and famous.
The place barely resembled a public airport at all.
Recently, they’d completed a private addition—a secluded hangar reserved strictly for movie stars, politicians, and anyone wealthy enough to avoid the common terminals. No crowds. No lines. No questions.
Convenience disguised as “security.”
Tiger couldn’t help but chuckle.
The struggling public had no idea it was their hard-earned tax dollars funding luxuries like this.
Luxuries built for men exactly like him.
“Welcome, Mr. Richter,” the beautiful blonde behind the small counter greeted him. “There’s an envelope here for you.”
Tiger glanced briefly at her name tag before accepting the small manila envelope from her hand.
“Thank you, Michelle,” he said. “How’s the forecast looking for the next couple of weeks?”
He didn’t actually care about the weather.
But he also didn’t want to come across as another ungrateful, entitled Hollywood elite. He had grown up around people like that—men and women who treated staff like furniture.
The last thing he wanted was for anyone to look at him the way he looked at them.
Michelle brightened immediately.
Flipping her long ponytail over one shoulder, she smiled, cheeks tinting pink beneath his attention.
“Oh, it’s going to be beautiful,” she said. “Mid to high seventies for the foreseeable future. Is there anything I can help you arrange while you’re here?”
Tiger returned her smile and gave a polite shake of his head.
He knew what she was offering. And he knew she hoped he’d say yes. But that wasn’t why he had come back.
“Not this time, Michelle,” he said gently. “I’m here more for family than recreation. If that changes, though, I know where to find you.”
“Yes, sir, you do.”
She gave him a small wink before turning back to the computer in front of her, fingers already moving across the keyboard.
Stepping out into the Los Angeles sun, Tiger slid his sunglasses down from the top of his head and paused to empty the contents of the envelope into his palm.
A single key fob. A small piece of paper looped through the ring.
Parking Lot B, Spot 31.
Thankful for his connections, he grabbed his small luggage case and headed toward his temporary vehicle.
Jewel Motors was a luxury car company the Tuff family frequently used to transport their products around the globe. Tiger had been the one to make first contact with them. After months of research—and a little well-placed charm aimed at the owner’s daughter—the deal had gone through.
It had also catapulted his rise within the Tuff family. Sometimes brains worked better than bullets.
“Well, thank you very much,” he muttered to himself as he approached a brand-new 2025 McLaren Spider.
The sleek black body gleamed beneath the sunlight like polished obsidian.
After tossing his luggage into the passenger seat, Tiger pressed the button and waited as the convertible top folded neatly away. The mechanical whir sounded smooth and expensive.
Cruising around Beverly Hills with the top down was exactly what he needed.
Taking his time, Tiger drove without direction for a while before heading home. Some of his old favorite spots had disappeared over the years, replaced by newer, flashier storefronts. Others had somehow survived, stubborn and unchanged.
Stopping at Tommy’s Burgers, he leaned against the side of the car and took a slow bite, savoring a taste he hadn’t had in years. Greasy. Messy. Perfect.
The phone ringing in his pocket pulled his attention away from the chili burger that was barely holding itself together.
Glancing down at the screen, Tiger saw his boss’s name flashing back at him.
He answered with a smirk.
“Hey, Boss. What’s up?”
“Tired of L.A. yet?” Logan asked. “Ready to come back home and start your new life?”
Tiger laughed, shaking his head even though Logan couldn’t see him.
“Nah. Figured I’d stick around a while. Make sure our contacts are happy with us.”
A quiet huff came through the line.
Tiger knew that sound.
Logan wasn’t annoyed. He was teasing.
“Not a bad idea,” Logan said, “but not really what you’re there for either. Hey, I didn’t want to bug you. I just wanted you to know… no matter what you decide, you’ve got my support. I don’t want you doing something that makes you miserable.”
“Aw, shucks,” Tiger replied dryly. “You care about me that much?”
He kept his tone light, joking to ease the sudden sincerity, but the words still landed.
Logan didn’t laugh this time.
“I mean it, Tiger. You’re that important to us. If you don’t want the job, I trust it’s not because you can’t handle it. And I know you’ve been thinking about starting a family of your own.” He paused. “The girls talk, you know.”
Tiger smiled to himself.
The wives. Reagan included.
Nothing stayed secret around them for long.
“Thanks, man,” he said. “But I’m good. You know how it is. Sometimes you just need space to think and sort things out. I promise I’ll stay in touch while I’m gone.”
“Well, if you don’t,” Logan said, his voice turning playful again, “I’m giving Rocker your dad’s address so he can come kidnap you. Taking over your contacts while you’re gone is not his idea of a family bonding experience.”
Tiger barked out a laugh.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t send the rookie after me. I’ll behave.”
They exchanged a few more jokes before Tiger ended the call, still smiling.
Finishing his meal, Tiger tossed the trash into a nearby waste can before easing back into L.A. traffic.
His eyes stayed alert, scanning the streets out of habit.
The city disappointed him.
Drug addicts slumped in doorways. Sex workers lingered on corners. Mental illness walked openly down sidewalks with no one stepping in to help. Block after block looked tired, forgotten, and worn thin.
It hadn’t been like this when he left. Or maybe it had. Maybe he just hadn’t known enough back then to notice.
Taking a left, he steered the McLaren toward Beverly Hills.
His family home sat tucked behind one of the wealthiest gated communities in the entire state. The kind of place where the law politely looked the other way and problems simply… disappeared.
Hell, his father had practically written the handbook on how to skirt the rules the so-called lower class had to follow. The man could acquire anything the rich dreamed up—no questions asked.
Tiger had learned early that morality was often just a price tag.
Pulling up to the immaculate iron gates, he slid his sunglasses down his nose and flashed a grin toward the guard shack.
“Well, hello, Barney,” he called out. “You’re still here after all these years.”
The elderly man pushed open the door to the small shelter and shuffled toward the car, recognition lighting up his face.
“Mr. Richter! It’s been a while!”
“Yes, it has,” Tiger said with a nod. “Tell me the truth… my old man still got young movie stars coming through here for ‘favors’?”
Chuckling at the implication, the old man nodded.
“Nothing’s changed… except you,” Barney said warmly. “Every time you come to visit, I still see that little boy who used to run over here after school to show me his artwork. Now look at you. All grown up. Handsome and kind.”
Tiger laughed. “I don’t know about the handsome and kind part, but I’ll back up the grown man claim.”
Barney reached into the guard shack and pressed the button mounted to the wall. The heavy iron gates groaned to life, slowly rolling open.
Tiger gave him one last wave before easing the Spider forward. The engine purred, then roared as he pressed the gas.
He took his time driving through the neighborhood, passing one multimillion-dollar estate after another.
Glass. Stone. Steel. Perfection. Every house screamed wealth. But he already knew where he was headed. The one at the very top of the hill. The only property without another home anywhere near it.
His father had made sure of that.
Ezra Richter had purchased every surrounding lot years ago, just so no one could ever build close enough to peek over the fence.
Privacy wasn’t a luxury in Hollywood. It was survival. At least, that’s what his father always told him.
The people his father worked for needed to trust him. If they ever believed someone might see them indulging in their darker appetites, their careers—and sometimes their lives—would be finished.
So Ezra built them a sanctuary. A place far from cameras, neighbors, and curious eyes. A safe haven for secrets.
Another set of iron gates greeted Tiger.
This time, he leaned out of the rolled-down window and punched in the access code. The mechanism buzzed, then groaned as the gates slowly parted.
He drove through and followed the winding path up toward the house.
Somewhere along the curve of the drive, a quiet realization settled in his chest.
This didn’t feel like home anymore.
Sure, he knew every inch of this place. Every hiding spot. Every blind corner. Every secret these grounds had swallowed over the years.
But familiarity wasn’t the same thing as belonging. It felt known. Recognizable. Nothing more.
If that was the only thread of connection he could find, then it would have to be enough.
From the gate to the house, the drive took two minutes.
When he was a kid, those two minutes had stretched into twenty whenever he was in trouble. Other times, they’d vanished in seconds when he couldn’t wait to get inside.
Today, it passed exactly as it should. Too fast to think. Too slow to ignore.
Pulling into the garage on the far right side of the house, Tiger parked the car, grabbed his bag, and headed toward the servants’ entrance that led into the kitchen.
The door opened with a familiar creak.
Inside, the house was silent.
No voices. No footsteps. Not even the faint hum of conversation. Not unusual. In fact, it was exactly how he remembered it.
Growing up here had often felt like living in a museum—beautiful, expensive, and empty.
If nothing had changed, then his father would be in the study, probably hunched over his computer, making calls and moving pieces around a chessboard only he could see.
And Old Mary—his father’s housekeeper and the closest thing Tiger had ever known to a grandmother—was likely upstairs cleaning or outside bothering the groundskeepers into doing things properly.
Taking a moment to open the refrigerator, Tiger grabbed a bottle of chocolate Yoo-hoo and twisted off the cap.
Tabitha’s favorite.
If it was still stocked in the fridge, that meant she was home.
Just as he pushed the door shut, a foot slammed into the swinging kitchen door, sending it flying open to crash against the wall.
Most people would have jumped. Maybe even screamed.
Tiger didn’t. He knew exactly who it was.
“Big brother!”
“Tabby!”
He set the bottle down on the marble countertop and braced himself.
This had been their ritual for as long as he could remember.
A running start. A full-body tackle. Zero warning.
Thankfully, his twin weighed next to nothing. She was forever chasing the latest Hollywood trend, and apparently starving yourself never went out of style.
Her long blonde hair streamed behind her as she sprinted across the kitchen and launched herself straight into his arms.
Tiger caught her easily but let out an exaggerated groan.
“Jesus, Tabs. What are you eating these days—bricks?”
Her bottom lip pushed out in an immediate pout.
Laughing, he kissed her cheek, then the other, before hauling her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing at all.
One quick swat to her backside earned him an overly dramatic shriek.
“You’re the worst!” she squealed, squirming as if he’d mortally wounded her.
Tiger just grinned.
Some things really never did change.
“Oh, shut up, brat,” Tiger said with a grin. “That’s what you get for being so damn bony.”
“I am not!” Tabitha shot back, still pouting.
“Really? How much do you weigh now? Are you even in the triple digits yet?”
She crossed her arms, shooting him a sour look. “Sometimes. You know I’m petite.”
“Petite?” he scoffed. “Is that what we’re calling Ozempic now? The ‘petite’ drug?”
“Hey!”
Once he set her back on her feet, Tabitha smacked his arm.
“You are still such a pest,” she scolded. Then her expression shifted instantly, excitement lighting her eyes. “Oh! Guess what?”
Tiger rolled his eyes and reached for his Yoo-hoo again, taking a long drink.
“Do I have to?”
“Nope. I’m telling you anyway,” she sang, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
He couldn’t help smiling.
Tabitha had always been like this—pure, chaotic energy. Being around her had a way of dragging him backward in time, making him feel like a kid again instead of the man the world expected him to be.
“Well,” he said, humoring her, “it must be good.”
“Tonight,” she whispered dramatically, wiggling her eyebrows, “there’s a party.”
“What kind of party?” he asked, mimicking her exaggerated tone.
“A Master’s party,” she replied, still sing-song.
Tiger had attended a few Masters’ parties over the years.
They were exclusive events—private playgrounds for the rich and powerful to indulge their wildest BDSM fantasies without fear of exposure. Everyone dressed in black from head to toe, faces hidden behind matching masks. Anonymity was everything.
The secrecy ran so deep that the invitation never even included an address.
That came later.
A coded text, sent exactly one hour before the party began.
No leaks. No paper trail. No witnesses.
“And you’re going?” Tiger asked, unable to keep the edge of disapproval from his voice.
“Oh, knock it off,” Tabitha said with a scoff. “I’m not a child anymore. I’ve been to plenty of these.”
He didn’t like that answer.
“Besides,” she added, crossing her arms, “I’m not going alone.”
Tiger raised a brow and leaned back against the counter. “You bringing a special friend?”
“I am,” she said with a sly smile, dragging her finger lazily along the marble.
“Oh… hell no.” He shook his head immediately. “I just got into town. It’s not in my plans to go chaperone you at some party tonight.”
“Man!” she groaned. “Since when did you get so serious all the time?”
Her whining tone hit him square in the chest like it always did.
Damn it.
She was still the only woman in his life who could twist him around her finger without even trying.
Finishing the last of his chocolate milk, Tiger tossed the empty glass bottle into the recycling bin and grabbed his bag.
“Fine,” he said. “But if we go together, we leave together. I’m not putting up with any of your bullshit tonight.”
He headed out of the kitchen and into the main part of the house.
Behind him, Tabitha let out a victorious squeal, clapping her hands like she’d just won the lottery.
Tiger shook his head.
Who was he trying to fool?
There wasn’t a chance she’d actually leave with him at the end of the party. It was more likely he wouldn’t even see her after they stepped through the entrance.
Still… it made him feel better pretending he had some control over the situation.
Bypassing the closed office door, he climbed the stairs and headed for his old bedroom.
The handle felt the same in his hand. When he pushed the door open, the years peeled away in an instant.
He was a teenager again.
This room had been his sanctuary. His hiding place. The spot where he’d spent countless hours trying to figure out who he was supposed to become.
Back then, he’d watched the way women were treated at his father’s parties and known, even at sixteen, that he didn’t want any part of that life.
He’d seen too much. Too many people treated like disposable toys. That had never sat right with him.
He was too possessive for that. Too loyal.
If he ever had a woman, she would be his—cherished, protected, loved.
All the porn on the internet taught him was that once he had a girl, he needed to make sure she felt good before he did. He laid right in this king-sized bed and absorbed everything he could about what a girl wanted, how to make her feel special, and where her erotic zones were.
Yep, this is the space he used to learn about himself and what kind of man he wanted to be.
Dropping his luggage onto the old mattress, Tiger crossed the room and stopped at the window overlooking the backyard.
The rose gardens were as beautiful as ever, trimmed and perfectly arranged. The large pool shone a crisp, inviting blue beneath the sun. Farther out, rows and rows of grapevines stretched across the property, heavy with fruit. A few gardeners moved slowly between them, tending the plants with quiet precision.
Everything looked untouched by time, unchanged. Like the world beyond these gates didn’t exist.
Tiger exhaled softly. Nope. Nothing much had changed here. It was the one thing in his life he could always count on. The house. The land. The illusion of stability.
But it didn’t feel like his anymore.
His mind drifted west to Washington. Could he build something there? Not just an operation. Not just business, but a home.
He loved his place in Portland, even if it was smaller than this estate by a mile. It felt warmer. Lived in. Real.
When he pictured his future, it didn’t involve empty rooms and quiet hallways. It involved a wife and kids. Something worth coming home to.
But if he accepted the opportunity being handed to him, the life he wanted—the family he’d quietly been craving—would be pushed even further down the road.
Maybe years.
Tiger rested his forearm against the window frame, jaw tightening slightly.
Was that a sacrifice he was willing to make?
