Chapter ONE
FIVE MONTHS AGO
COEUR D’ALENE, IDAHO
HUNTER
“Who the f*ck gets a pedicure in February?” Skid asked. “Won’t her feet freeze?”
“You don’t know any women at all, do you?” I asked, cracking open a Mountain Dew. We’d driven all night to get here from Portland. What I really wanted was sleep, but Burke’s orders were clear. Scope out Reese “Picnic” Hayes’s daughter and figure out a plan of action. With all the drama that’d happened between our clubs, Burke insisted now was the perfect time to make a move, maybe even rewrite the future for the Devil’s Jacks.
Leverage with the Reapers would be critical—maybe even make the difference between a successful takeover of our club or a shallow grave if we failed. Leverage this little bitch was supposed to provide us, apparently. I wasn’t entirely sure what the old bastard had planned, but I’d do my part. I always did.
I glanced down at the picture of her taped to the truck’s console, then looked at the storefront again. Pretty girl. According to her Facebook page, she was meeting a friend here this morning. I’d spotted her car as soon as we pulled in. Now we waited. I wanted to study her, maybe trail her a little. Get a sense of who she was before making my move. There were so many different ways to play a woman—I found it never paid to make assumptions.
“I know your sister,” Skid announced out of nowhere.
I gave him a blank look.
“You asked if I know any women. Does she count? ’Cause her toes are cute as hell, but I don’t see her walkin’ around in flip-flops in the snow.”
“Why the f*ck are you lookin’ at my sister’s toes, cocksucker?”
“I look at a lot more than her toes.”
“Don’t make me kill you, bro.”
He snorted and shrugged. “You could try.”
I adjusted my sunglasses, deciding to ignore him. The truck windows were tinted, but I’d still taken a few basic precautions to change my appearance. Hipster beanie, which matched the full beard I’d grown for my last job. Long-sleeved shirt that covered my ink. Even if she saw me, all I needed was a quick shave and change to turn into a different man.
The shop door opened and I sat up as two girls stepped out. There she was.
Emmy Lou Hayes.
“That’s our girl,” I said, with a jerk of my chin. She was studying her phone and, sure as shit, she wore flip-flops. Bright pink foam thingies threaded through her toes, separating them, and I wondered how the hell she could even walk. F*ckin’ crazy. At least the sidewalk was mostly clear of snow. Her brown hair sat on top of her head in one of those messy topknot things girls always seem to have, and she wore tight little jeans and a black leather jacket.
Damn, Em was cute. Way cuter than her sister.
Something fell out of her pocket, and she turned away, leaning down to grab it.
“Nice ass,” Skid said. “Very sweet. If you have to f*ck her, at least you’ll be able to keep your eyes open, unlike that last bitch you did for the club.”
I snorted, but he raised a good point. F*cking Em had just jumped up a couple notches on my list of possible ways to manipulate her into helping the Jacks. She glanced down at her phone again, waving good-bye to her friend absently.
Then she walked right off the curb and almost fell on her ass.
Her phone flew across the ground and under a car, like something out of a TV show. Em staggered to one side and then the other, somehow managing to stay on her feet, arms flailing. Skid choked back a laugh, but I just watched, mesmerized, as she finally caught herself. That’s when Em looked up and across the parking lot, right into my face. Her expression was startled but f*cking gorgeous. She broke into a brilliant smile, offering me a goofy wave.
My cock stiffened and a burst of adrenaline hit me like a punch to the gut. Sticking my dick inside Emmy Hayes had suddenly become a very high priority. It took everything I had not to throw open the truck door and toss the girl over my shoulder before hauling her back home for a long, hard f*ck. Instead I sat back and watched.
There’s a reason the club calls me Hunter.
She lifted one leg slightly, pointing at her toes and giving a triumphant thumbs-up in my direction before turning away to search for her phone.
“Christ, there’s something wrong with that chick,” Skid muttered, but I ignored him. Instead I grabbed my phone and dialed Burke, my mind made up.
“Burke, I’m lookin’ at her right now.”
“You got a plan for me?”
“Gettin’ there,” I told him. “But whatever direction we take, Emmy Hayes stays my target. Nobody f*cks with her but me.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“Make it work for the club, son, and I could give a f*ck. But no matter how much you want the bitch, don’t forget where your loyalties lie. Jacks first. Forever.”
“Jacks first,” I agreed, watching as she dug her phone out of the snow.
This was gonna be fun.
PRESENT DAY
COEUR D’ALENE, IDAHO
EM
“If you don’t make a move on Painter tonight, I will personally charter a plane, fly up there, and kick your ass.”
“Easy for you to say,” I muttered into the phone at my sister. “But you don’t get a vote. I’m still pissed at you for not coming home this summer.”
“Riiight,” she drawled. “Let me see—internship in San Francisco or yet another summer of Dad growling at me . . . Sooo tempting. If you had half a brain, your ass would be down here with me.”
I rolled my eyes.
“It’s not that easy, Kit.”
“Yes,” she replied, her voice sharp. “It is that easy. Let me walk you through the conversation. ‘Dad, I’ve decided I want a life. Deal with it.’ Then get in your car and drive south.”
I sighed.
“It’s not that easy for me,” I said, looking over at the Reapers clubhouse. The big, isolated former National Guard Armory was fully lit, a beacon in the summer twilight. The trees surrounding it felt familiar, like old friends. I’d played in them as child—hide-and-seek, pixies . . . oh, and motorcycle clubs. We’d played MC a lot.
Pisser about that—now the boys got to play Reapers for real and I still couldn’t land a f*cking date.
“I don’t like that disappointed look in Dad’s eyes,” I said, fully aware my voice held a hint of whine. “You know, how they get cold and icy right before he starts punching walls?”
“Jesus, it’s like you’re still in high school,” Kit replied. “So what if he gets pissed off? That’s what he does—he gets pissed, he yells, it’s over. Yell back, for Chrissake.”
“Easy for you to say,” I replied. “You’re the baby. You can get away with anything. He has all these expectations of me.”
“Enough,” she snapped. “I’m not going to listen to you feeling all sorry for yourself all night. I’m the youngest, but you’re the f*cking baby. Either shit or get off the pot.”
“That’s kind of mean,” I said, frowning.
“No, that’s reality. You’re twenty-two years old and still bitching about Daddy not letting you out to play. You want to be his little-girl doll the rest of your life? Fine. That’s your choice. But if you do, you don’t get to complain about him. Grow a f*cking pair already.”
Then she hung up on me.
I sat in the car, stunned. Kit never hung up on me. We talked, we fought, we laughed . . . but she always had my back.
Shit.
A loud knock on the window nearly gave me a heart attack. I looked up to see my friend Marie standing outside, arms crossed, face expectant. Must be almost time. I climbed out of the car and she caught me up in a hug.
“You excited?” she asked, eyes shining. “Because you don’t look excited. You look like someone stole your last M&M. You know, one of the red ones? I always keep those for the end. They taste best.”
I stared at her.
“You’re weird, you realize that, right?”
She laughed and shrugged.
“I’m okay with it. You didn’t answer the question.”
“I guess I’m excited,” I said, although my little chat with Kit had put a damper on things. “I mean, it’s great that Painter’s getting his patch . . .”
Marie widened her eyes at me and smirked.
“Don’t give me that,” she said. “You’ve got a thing for him. I know you’ve got a thing for him, because you tell me all about it whenever you get drunk.”
I shrugged, a smile catching me off guard.
“Okay, so I have a thing for him,” I admitted.
“And he definitely has a thing for you,” Marie replied. “He’s like a puppy whenever he sees you.”
I grunted, my smile fading.
By some miracle, I hadn’t spilled the story of when I’d cornered Painter last month and made him an offer no red-blooded man should’ve been able to refuse . . . An offer he’d shot down without a second thought. In fact, I’d tried to seduce him several times over the past year. A year I’d spent watching him, lusting after him, and thinking about what things might be like between us.
I didn’t get why he wouldn’t sleep with me. I knew the attraction was mutual. Everyone saw it. His eyes followed me around the clubhouse, and when I went out, he menaced anyone who hit on me. Dad wasn’t too hot on the thought of me with any guy, but he’d told me that someday he’d like to see me settled with a Reaper.
“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” I asked, grabbing my bag. “Sorry I couldn’t come out to help set up. I had a late appointment and really wanted to get her in. I already canceled on her once, so her nails were way overdue for a fill.”
“No worries,” Marie said, tucking her arm through mine. We started toward the gate to the courtyard, and despite my concerns her mood was contagious. Tonight was a happy night—after more than a year of prospecting, Painter would become the newest full member of the club.
In fact, he probably was already.
I’d just gotten here, but I’d seen this happen my whole life. First the guys would drag him off with some story about this shitty job he needed to do, or tell him he’d f*cked up something important. They’d scare the crap out of him, and then when he was just about ready to die from a heart attack, they’d surprise him with the new patches for his cut.
Those patches marked him as a Reaper, now and forever.
As for us ladies? It was our job to put together the party, and I was sorry to have missed out on that . . . It might be work, but it was laughter and drinking and joking, too. Made me think of my mom—five years ago we’d buried her, and I never missed her more than on nights like tonight. One of my earliest memories was of playing under the tables in our backyard while she set up for a club party. This was a celebration for Painter, but it was also a gathering of my family. They weren’t exactly typical . . . They were mine, though, and I loved them.
Tonight that family was getting bigger.
“I really wish Mom was here,” I said. Marie smiled at me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and hugging me tight. Then she dragged me past Banks, the unfortunate prospect left behind to watch the clubhouse, and we walked into the courtyard.
? ? ?
The guys were late.
It’d been about forty-five minutes—just enough time for me to drink two beers and exchange texts with my friend Liam. I’d never actually met him except online . . . But I knew he wasn’t a total serial killer because he was a regular at my friend Cookie’s coffee shop in Portland. He posted on her Facebook page all the time.
That’s how we’d first started talking, a few months back. He’d comment on one of my posts, then I’d comment on one of his, and then one day he sent me a private message and things took off from there. Now we texted each other all the time. He was funny and interesting and he actually listened to me. Total opposite of Painter, now that I thought of it. It was nice to have a friend who wasn’t all tied up in club life—Liam was nice and normal and safe.
ME: Painter isn’t here yet. Fingers crossed for me!!!
LIAM: I don’t get why you’re bothering with this douche. A real man doesn’t sit around waiting when he meets the right woman. He makes a plan to claim her ass
ME: Little Neanderthal, ya think? Someone’s grumpy tonight
LIAM: Call it like I see it. I’ll bet you a hundred bucks he bails on you. Not because you aren’t gorgeous, Em, but because he’s a f*cking p-ssy. Don’t you see what’s going on here? He wants to make your dad happy, not you
ME: Whose side are you on?
LIAM: Yours
I frowned down at the phone. I wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. Liam didn’t like Painter, and he could be kind of a jerk about it. He’d even made a joke once about Dad selling me off for six goats and some aftermarket Harley parts. It hit a little too close to home . . .
That didn’t mean he was right about Painter, though.
ME: You don’t know everything.
LIAM: Never pretended to. But I do know you deserve better than a guy who ignores you for a year.
ME: He doesn’t ignore me. It’s complicated. You should see him when we all go out. He’s always watching out for me
LIAM: No, he guards you. There’s a difference
I frowned. It was complicated. Painter had been prospecting, which meant he wasn’t exactly free. But Liam didn’t know that—I hadn’t told him about the club for some reason, although he knew Dad was a biker. I guess I liked having one person in my life who didn’t see me as the president’s daughter. Hell, in some ways Liam was the only person I could really be myself with. Tonight, though . . .
Tonight he was pissing me off.
Enough.
ME: I have to go
I muted my phone, then shoved it in my pocket. Then I grabbed another beer and wandered toward Marie and the other girls, who were laughing over some story she was telling about her old man, Horse. Good music was playing, and as the alcohol warmed me from the inside out, I felt optimistic, despite Liam. What did he know, anyway?
I fully intended to end the night in Painter’s bed.
Or on his bike.
Maybe under a tree?
Hell, I didn’t care. Not so long as he finally punched my V card and I got my prize, along with a lovely “thank you” for playing. And yeah, I know it’s f*cking ridiculous I still had a V card to punch. But Dad wasn’t exactly friendly toward my boyfriends. One of his favorite things to do was show them his guns and talk about the types of damage different bullets could do to the human body.
Oh, and then there was that hunting accident. Oops.
For some reason, the men of Coeur d’Alene started avoiding me after that one. Now the closest I got to flirting was chatting with Liam, which was pretty pathetic when you considered he lived nearly four hundred miles away.
Tonight, I told myself. Tonight everything changes.
? ? ?
The men still weren’t back after another half hour, but I didn’t just stand around waiting for Painter. Hanging out with my friends kicked ass. Most of them were old ladies, meaning they were attached in some way to one of the guys in the club. Some were like me, though . . . adrift. Maggs, for one. Her man was in prison, so she was on her own.
There weren’t any kids at the Armory because things would probably get crazy fast. I could already see a few women clumped on the other side of the courtyard just waiting for the wild times to start. Hangaround types, club sluts, sweetbutts. Some were strippers from The Line, the club’s titty bar (and yes, that’s what they called it, so don’t blame me!), and others were girls who just weren’t into settling down. They all had one thing in common, though—they were disposable. I’d grown up with them in the background, and in the past few years I’d woken up to find more than one in our kitchen making breakfast.
Dad was kind of a slut himself these days.
Their group didn’t usually mix with ours and we liked it that way. I knew my dad never cheated on my mom, and I knew some of the guys—Marie’s man, Horse, for example—could keep it in their pants. But others slept around. We all saw it. I never quite understood why a woman would put up with that, but I figured that other people’s relationships weren’t really my business.
Now we heard the thunder of bikes pulling up outside and the brothers started coming in. Dad was first, and I saw him glancing around until his eyes found me. His hard face broke into a smile, the same ice-blue eyes I’d inherited from him flashing with pride. The rest of the guys followed him, and then hoots and whistles rang out as Painter walked in, grinning like crazy.
God, he was cute. Short, spiky blond hair, sharp cheekbones . . . His body was lean but strong, and at six feet tall he had a good five inches on me. Didn’t hurt that he’d taken off his shirt, wearing his cut over his bare chest.
Yum.
I’d had my arms wrapped tight around that chest more than once when he’d given me a ride home, although it never went past that. It’s a matter of respect for my dad, I reminded myself. He was the president of the club and Painter knew better than to mess around with me if he wasn’t serious. To be fair, prospects didn’t really have the time to be serious about anyone.
At least that’s what I’d been telling myself.
Prospects were too busy running errands, guarding bikes, and whatever other nasty or degrading jobs the members could think of. All that had changed now. This party was for Painter—he’d earned some fun, and the guys would make sure he got it. I had my own special congratulations to offer, although it might take a few hours to get him alone. I would, though. I was determined.
Tonight was our night.
“How goes it, Emmy Lou?” asked Duck, coming up and pulling me in for a hug. I crinkled my nose. I hated that old nickname, but it was damned hard to get rid of one once it stuck.
“Good,” I said. “You got a beer yet? Want me to grab you one?”
“Sure, sweetheart,” he muttered, looking across the yard. I saw his eye catch on one of the girls. “Who’s that? She with your dad, or just here to party?”
He nodded toward a blonde who’d wrapped herself around my father. My eyes widened. Holy shit, I’d gone to high school with that bitch. In fact, she’d been a f*cking freshman when I was a senior. Disgusting. I shrugged, feeling a sense of inevitability about the situation.
“Hell if I know,” I muttered. “I stopped keeping track of his whores.”
My tone came out uglier than I’d intended, and Duck gave me a sharp look.
“Sounding a little bitter there, Emmy Lou,” Duck said. “You aren’t in the mood to have fun, maybe you should go home. This isn’t a family party and Picnic’s free to screw whoever he wants. Not your job to judge.”
I sighed, knowing he was right. Dad was definitely free—to the best of my knowledge, he hadn’t even had a steady hookup since Mom died. I wasn’t in charge of his social life and if I was going to be uptight about sex, I was in the wrong place. I looked over to see two blondes with long legs, short shorts, and cutoff tops wrapping themselves around Painter, taking turns giving him congratulatory kisses.
Oh hell no.
I wasn’t leaving him alone with those hos. Tonight was do or die—he’d be mine or I’d be done with him. If I stayed, I might end up in Painter’s bed. I might not. But if I left? One of them would be sleeping there for sure.
“What he does is up to him,” I muttered. I left Duck to grab a couple of cups, filling one for each of us. I brought it back to him and then stood and watched the crowd.
Everywhere I looked there were couples.
Marie and Horse, Bam Bam and Dancer . . . Ruger and his random skank of the week.
“Holy shit,” I burst out, almost spewing my beer.
“What?” Duck asked.
“That’s my teacher from cosmetology school over there with Ruger,” I muttered. “Oh, she is such a cunt. She failed me three times in a row just because Dad didn’t call her back after he f*cked her.”
Duck snorted out a laugh.
“Good thing you’re all graduated, because Ruger won’t be calling her back, either.”
And just like that, my good mood was back. Go Ruger!
“I’m gonna congratulate Painter,” I said.
“Have at it,” Duck said. “But remember—this is his time to cut loose.”
“I know,” I replied. “Maybe I can help him celebrate.”
Duck’s expression clouded.
“Emmy Lou, tonight isn’t the night.”
“It’s never the night,” I said, shrugging. Then I chugged my beer. “Don’t worry, Duck. You’ve always taken good care of me, but I’ve got it covered. I’m an adult.”
“Yeah, I know,” Duck replied. “I guess when I look at you, I still see you with pigtails and a doll.”
I rolled my eyes. Then I tossed my cup in the garbage and headed over to the newest Reaper.
? ? ?
Painter stood next to the bonfire, the two girls still hanging off him. I ignored them completely, because they were just club sluts and I was the president’s daughter. They didn’t rank compared to me and we all knew it. Painter gave me a slow smile as I walked up, and from the glassy look in his eyes I knew he was already well on his way to shitfaced.
“Hey, Em,” he said, reaching out and pulling me into his arms for a hug. Oh, he smelled good. Kind of woodsy and smoky, with an underlying scent of motor oil from the shop. His arms were hard and roped with muscle around me, and his body was hard, too.
Hellfire.
Painter’s dick was hard. I thought it was my imagination at first. Then he pulled me closer and I felt it again—bigger. Yeah, I know. V card. Little Miss Innocent. But just because I’d never done the deed all the way didn’t mean I was ignorant. I knew damned well when a guy’s cock was poking my stomach.
Then he let me go and I stepped back, thankful that the sun had set because I knew my face had to be flushed. Painter looked down at me, and something almost magical hung between us. He stared at me like I was the most beautiful girl on earth, the woman he planned to claim as his own.
My dad walked up and slapped his back.
“Congratulations, son,” he said. “Proud of you.”
Just like that, Painter dropped his arms and turned away, apparently oblivious to our magic. Dad was well and truly cock-blocking me, and it was bullshit.
Wait, did it count as a cock-block if you didn’t have a cock?
“You have fun tonight,” Dad was telling him. “Tomorrow you rest and recover, because after that we’ve got work for you.”
Painter nodded, running a hand through his hair. One of the blondes who’d been hanging off him attached herself to my dad, and the other oozed back up to Painter right in front of me. I wanted him to tell her to f*ck off. Maybe rip out some of that bleached hair. Instead he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in for a hard kiss.
Damn it.
Dad’s eyes flicked toward me, assessing.
I turned and walked away.
F*ck that shit. I had my pride.
? ? ?
Two hours later I was well and truly drunk.
Maggs and I sat in the old tree house that attached to the children’s play structure with a rope bridge. I’d barely made it over the swaying net and wasn’t entirely sure I’d be able to get back down without help.
“Life is short,” Maggs said suddenly. Her face was sad.
“You thinking about Bolt?” I asked. She nodded.
“Yup,” she said. “I think about him every day, but particularly at parties like this. I’m tired of watching everyone else have fun with nothing at home for me but my magic bullet.”
I snorted out a little laugh, then forced it down because it wasn’t exactly appropriate. I couldn’t help it, though.
“Buzzzzzzzz . . .” I hummed with drunken precision. “You go through a lot of batteries? I know I do. Can you make it walk across a table if you turn it on high enough?”
Maggs started giggling, her momentary sadness gone, and then we were both laughing. In fact, we laughed so hard that Maggs rolled off the edge of the platform, falling to the ground with a thud.
“Maggs!” I yelled, jumping up so fast I almost went over myself. “Maggs, are you okay?”
She moaned and turned over, looking up at me with a startled expression on her face. Then she started giggling again. Ruger and Bam Bam had been sitting near the fire, and Ruger jumped up so fast he dumped the chick on his lap off into the dirt.
I couldn’t help it. I burst out cackling so hard my stomach hurt. It wasn’t appropriate, I knew that. Maggs could’ve broken her neck. But the look on her face and the sight of Ruger’s ’ho—my former teacher—on the ground were just too funny.
“Okay,” I heard a deep voice say, and looked down to see my dad. “Looks like someone needs to head home.”
He reached up for me and I jumped down into his arms, just like I had when I was a little girl. Dad caught me easily, still as strong now as he’d been ten years ago. Of course, he was only forty-two, way younger than most of my friends’ parents.
“Emmy Lou, you’re drunk off your ass,” he told me.
“No shit,” I replied brightly. “I’m having fun.”
“Yeah, but it’s about time for you to go home.”
“Are you serious?” I asked. “Dad, I think it’s great that you’re always watching out for me, but I’m not a little kid. There’s nothing wrong with me sticking around.”
His face softened.
“Sweetheart, this is Painter’s night,” he said. “His time to celebrate and be free. You shouldn’t be here.”
“You’re talking about him f*cking whores, right?” I asked. Dad stiffened.
“It’s none of your business, Em,” he replied. “He doesn’t owe you anything.”
“I’m aware,” I said grimly.
Dad sighed.
“Banks will give you a ride,” he said. “You don’t have to leave right this minute, but I want you to stop drinking now and start saying your good-byes. Got me?”
“Yes,” I said, and thought about Kit. “You know, I don’t have to do everything you say.”
That caught him off guard—I saw it in his eyes.
“No, you don’t,” he admitted, shocking me. “But you have to do what the club president says on club property. Painter’s a Reaper now. You’re my daughter, but he’s my brother—and tonight is about the brothers.”
I wanted to flip him off. Instead I nodded and quietly pulled away from him. He knew I wasn’t happy but didn’t push. I looked around, finding Maggs still sitting under the tree. Ruger was crouched down next to her, showing her something on his phone. I wandered over to join them.
“This is him,” Ruger was saying, flashing a picture. I looked down to see a shot of Ruger, a little boy, and a pretty woman I didn’t recognize.
“Your nephew?” I asked. “He’s cute.”
“F*ckin’ adorable,” Ruger replied. “That’s Sophie—his mom—next to him. They’re in Seattle, I need to get over there and check out their new place soon. I saw them earlier this summer but I didn’t get much time.”
Something in his tone caught me—Ruger sounded almost . . . wistful? No, that wasn’t right. Ruger was many things, but never sweet or longing. He’d always taken what he wanted because he could. I leaned over for a closer look and nearly fell on my ass.
Dad was right—I really was pretty drunk.
“Maggs, I’m heading home,” I said. “You okay here? Wanna take in a movie or something?”
“I think I’ll stick around,” she replied. “It’s good people-watching. Dancer’s got a sitter for the night and she’s lit up like a firecracker, so things could get fun.”
I laughed. Dancer lit up was something worth seeing, no question. I waved at them vaguely, then wandered around saying good-bye to a few key people.
The one person I didn’t see was Painter.
I grabbed my stuff and ducked into the building for a quick pee before leaving. Painter was there in the hallway, leaning against the wall and looking at his phone. This time there weren’t any skanks or parents to get in the way. Perfect. I walked over to him and put my hand on his bare chest.
“Hey,” I said, looking up at him. His eyes flared, and I saw desire in his face. He wanted me.
“Hey,” he said back.
I dragged a finger down the center of his chest slowly, all the way to his stomach. Then I spread my fingers out, brushing the top of his jeans. His breath hissed.
“So are we doing this or not?” I asked him bluntly. “Because I’m tired of waiting.”
His eyes darkened and he leaned forward, kissing me very softly on the forehead. A sweet kiss. The kind of kiss you give a little girl at bedtime. Something inside me broke. I’d have said it was my heart, but I didn’t feel sad.
Nope. I was f*cking pissed.
Painter had been following me around without making a move for a year. I’d go out dancing and he’d scare off guys who tried to buy me a drink. I’d pick up groceries for the club and he’d insist on following me and unloading them. I even caught him checking my tire pressure once. He’d given me rides home more times than I could count.
“You’re a p-ssy tease,” I told him. His eyes widened. I dropped my hand lower and gripped his cock firmly through the front of his jeans. Hard as a rock, and good-sized, too. Total waste, so far as I was concerned. “This wants me. But either you’re too f*cking chicken or you want more time to play around. So sorry, but you lose. Eat shit and die, Painter.”
I turned and walked back outside, feeling a rush of something . . . almost wild?
It was liberating.
I felt empowered, and looking around the party I realized that no matter how much I loved these people, I needed to branch out. I was more than Picnic’s daughter, but none of them seemed to get that. I’d show them. I’d show all of them, and Painter could spend the rest of his life screwing his whores. Sooner or later he’d figure out they were shit compared to me, but it’d be too goddamned late.
I was almost out the gate when I discovered the fatal flaw in my big exit.
My purse still sat on the bathroom counter. I groaned, wondering if I could risk leaving it. Nope. No f*cking way it’d be safe at a party like this. Nobody from the club would mess with it, but I didn’t trust these random bitches for a minute. I turned and headed back inside, hoping Painter had taken himself off somewhere. I didn’t want to look at him right now. No matter how empowered a girl got, there’s only so much you can expect of yourself.
No sign of him in the hallway. That was good news. I sighed in relief as I pushed into the bathroom, then froze.
Painter had some slut pushed down across the counter, ass pumping as he f*cked her from behind. She moaned dramatically with each stroke. Her disgusting, porno-red lips could’ve kissed my handbag sitting next to her on the counter, her face was so close to it. Neither of them seemed to notice me.
I wanted to run and hide.
Instead I walked calmly over to the counter and reached for my bag. Painter stopped suddenly, looking down at me with horrified eyes not a foot away from my face. I let my eyes trail slowly along the length of his body, from his sculpted chest to the faded jeans he hadn’t even bothered to push down, with pointed disgust. Then I turned and walked out the door. I heard him yell my name and the girl squawked in outrage.
I didn’t slow down or look back.
? ? ?
I held it together for the ride home. I’d be damned if I’d give that a*shole one more ounce of my energy. He didn’t even deserve my thoughts.
Damn it.
Why had I left my purse there? I’d wanted to be done with Painter, but it didn’t need to be so humiliating. I decided that if anyone showed me even one tiny drop of pity, I’d shoot them.
Dad wasn’t the only one with a gun.
Banks dropped me off at the house and I stumbled in, still slightly drunk and pissy as hell. Story of my life—things were starting to get good, so naturally something happened to f*ck it up. And that “something” was always connected to the Reapers. To be fair, everything in my life was connected to the Reapers, but still . . . I grabbed a pop out of the fridge and climbed the stairs to my room. I pulled off my clothes and then clambered into bed with the TV remote.
My phone dinged with a text message. I considered ignoring it, but habit won out.
LIAM: How’s the party? Hey, I wasn’t trying to be an a*shole earlier. I just want you to be happy. You deserve good things, Em
I smiled, immediately feeling a little better. Unlike some people, Liam had better things to do on a Saturday night than sticking his dick in random skanks—texting me, for one. Of course, I’d never actually met him in person, so maybe he was f*cking skanks? If so, at least he didn’t rub it in my face.
ME: Tonight was a bust . . . Worst party ever
LIAM: I take it things didn’t work out with Painter?
ME: Nope. He’s screwing some slut as we speak, while I settle in for another night alone. Long story
LIAM: F*ck that a*shole. You’re better than him—way too good to settle for some pissant who won’t fight for you
I almost started crying. Liam always knew what to say.
ME: Thanks ((hugs))
LIAM: You got my full support, babe, but I draw the line at texting hugs. It’s a guy thing. I start doing that shit, the other guys’ll confiscate my dick. Can’t risk it
I giggled.
ME: Well, I wouldn’t want you to lose your favorite toy over a text message.
LIAM: Oh, it’s not a toy . . .
ME: I’ll take your word on that. What are you up to tonight?
LIAM: Not much. Just hanging out, watching some TV. Thinking about you
ME: :)
LIAM: So please tell me you’re ready to ditch his ass now? Permanently?
ME: Definitely. Even if he came after me at this point, I’d be crazy to give him a shot. Hate to admit it, but you were right
LIAM: I’m always right . . . So how about me?
ME: ?
LIAM: How about giving me a shot?
I froze.
I liked Liam. I liked him a lot—I’d even fantasized about him a little, especially when Painter was being a jerk. But that’s all it was—a fantasy. Liam was far away, safe. Still, I knew he was hot because Cookie told me. I’d also seen a few pictures online, although his profile was pretty sparse.
ME: You serious?
LIAM: Yeah. I want to meet you
ME: Um . . .
LIAM: No pressure. Think about it. I just wanted you to know I’m interested. I think about you a lot. You’re f*cking beautiful, Em, and I’m not just saying that to make you feel good. It’s a fact. Funny too
Shit.
Wow. I felt myself flushing and felt all warm. Liam was cute, but I’d never really let myself think of him that way. Not really. Still, it seemed like I could talk to him about anything. He always had time for me and he didn’t try to tell me what to do. Of course, it helped that in some ways he wasn’t quite real to me.
But this was very real.
ME: Are you sure you’re not a sixty-year-old ax murderer?
LIAM: Give me a minute
I waited, feeling a strange sense of excitement. Then my phone pinged again, and a picture came through. Like I said, I’d seen Liam’s photos before. There was his profile pic, and a couple of snaps of him at a park.
This was something else, though.
He’d taken it with his phone in what was clearly his bathroom, and holy hotness . . . Liam wore ratty jeans that hung low on his hips, the top button loose and the second in clear danger. No shirt, and his dark brown hair had that sloppy, messy thing going for it. His face was beautiful, almost pretty. Hell, if he didn’t have all those tattoos running across his shoulder and down his arm, he could’ve been in a boy band.
Except nobody in a boy band ever had muscles like those.
He needed a shave, I decided. My eyes dropped back down to his jeans, and I couldn’t help but notice a pretty good bulge down there.
Shit, is he . . . ?
No, I decided. Must just be how the jeans folded. I had a dirty mind.
LIAM: Not an old man . . .
ME: Um
LIAM: Call me
This was a huge step. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. Sure, we’d talked on Facebook and texted each other. A phone call, though . . .
Couldn’t hurt, right?
I took a deep breath and a wave of dizziness washed through me. Booze or excitement? Maybe my judgment was off. I wanted to call him, though. I wanted to call him a lot. I scrolled through my contact list and found Liam’s phone number. I pressed the green button and listened as the phone rang.