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**king 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 pu**y tease,” I told him. His eyes widened. I dropped my hand lower and gripped his c**k 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**king 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**king 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**ked her from behind. She moaned dramatically with each stroke. Her disgusting,  p**n o-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 ass**le 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**k 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 ass**le 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**king 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: Fuck that ass**le. 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**king 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.

CHAPTER TWO

THREE WEEKS LATER

SPOKANE, WASHINGTON

I fluffed up my boobs, studying my cle**age carefully in the bar’s bathroom mirror. I’d worn a black halter corset, which I was now second-guessing.

“I look like a slut,” I moaned.

“Walking the line between hot and slutty is tricky,” Kimber said, leaning forward to put on more lipstick. She smacked her lips carefully, then ran her tongue over her teeth. “But you’re firmly on the hot side tonight. I still think you should be wearing more makeup, though.”

I glanced at her, wondering if she was right. I’d only met Kimber a week ago, but she seemed to have her shit together. Sophie called her a sexual bloodhound. Of course, I’d only known her a week, too, but she was the mother of Ruger’s nephew, so she came with references.

“You look fantastic,” Soph said, from the stall behind us. “I wouldn’t have let you out of the hotel room if you didn’t. How much time before the mysterious and magnificent Liam arrives?”

I glanced down at my phone.

“Looks like I’ve got maybe half an hour?” I said. “If he’s on time.”

“I cannot wait to check him out,” Kimber declared. “If he’s hot, can I grab his ass? I need to know if those pictures were real. If they are, you’re just lucky I’m married.”

“Behave,” Sophie said, opening the stall door. She joined us to wash her hands. “I think we need a picture together.”

She pulled out her phone and held it up.

“Okay, strike a pose,” she said. “I want to see sexy, I want to see passion! This is not a game, ladies.”

I started giggling as Kimber crouched, pointing her fingers like a gun at the mirror. Sophie clicked the pic and we all looked at it.

Wow, I did look sort of hot.

“Text that to me?” I asked.

“Me, too,” Kimber chimed in. Sophie fiddled with her phone, then mine buzzed in my pocket.

“Serious talk now,” I said, looking at them in the mirror. “I know I said I wanted to have sex with Liam, but only if it feels right. Don’t be disappointed in me if it doesn’t happen.”

Sophie wrapped her arm around me.

“Hon, you shouldn’t do anything that doesn’t feel right.”

“Exactly,” Kimber said. “Just because he’s hot doesn’t mean he brushes his teeth. There’s all kind of potential deal breakers here. Just remember, if he isn’t what you want, there’s always another guy. You just need to stay away from the club and you’ll start meeting them.”

“I still feel weird being here without my dad knowing,” I said. “There’s been lots of trouble this past year . . . For a long time we were all on lockdown. They almost got Marie, you know. The Devil’s Jacks?”

Kimber’s eyebrows rose.

“Really? Is that a story I want to hear?”

I frowned.

“I don’t know all the details—what I do know is that I didn’t get to go anywhere without protection for a long time,” I answered. “The Jacks and the Reapers have always fought with each other.”

“But you’re not on lockdown now,” Sophie said firmly. “And you haven’t been for a while, right? Ruger is crazy controlling about safety for me and Noah, and he didn’t say anything about needing protection. We’re fine. It’s just a night out—no drama, unless getting well and truly f**ked counts as drama. Fingers crossed for you on that one, babe.”

I thought about Liam’s picture and felt a delicious shiver run through me. Fingers crossed for sure . . . I wanted to lick him all over. There were six condoms in my purse, just ready and waiting. Not that I thought we’d need six, but a girl could hope, right?

“I want to dance,” Kimber said. “You up for it, ladies?”

“Yeah,” Sophie said, but I shook my head.

“I want to grab another drink first,” I told them. “It’s silly, but I feel really nervous about this.”

“Drink up,” Kimber said. “But not too much. Don’t want to make an ass of yourself and turn him off.”