PROLOGUE

EIGHT YEARS AGO

COEUR D’ALENE, IDAHO

EM

“For f**k’s sake . . . they’re like weasels in heat. I’m gonna puke.”

I nodded, agreeing with my sister one hundred percent.

Barfing was the only reasonable response to this shit.

We stood in our dining room, which connected to the kitchen through a pair of pocket doors. Dad had Mom up on the counter, legs wrapped around his waist, his tongue so far down her throat it should’ve triggered her gag reflex.

“You do realize we’re watching you, right?” Kit asked loudly. Dad pulled away and turned his head to glare at us. Mom winked, but she didn’t have the grace to blush.

“Take another ten minutes to fix your hair or something,” he said. “Then come back down for breakfast.”

Kit growled next to me. She had Dad’s temper. I wish I did. I always followed the rules, and it kind of sucked. Kit called me a daddy’s girl and maybe she was right. But I just really hated pissing him off.

“It’s the first day of school and I don’t want to be late,” she declared. “You can screw each other any time, but this only happens once a year. I’m hungry.”

Dad stepped slowly away from Mom, turning toward us and crossing his arms. His faded tats told a hundred stories, and most of my friends were a little nervous around him. His black leather cut, emblazoned with Reapers MC colors, didn’t help. Lucky us—we couldn’t have a normal dad who worked at a bank or something.

Nope.

Ours had to be the president of a motorcycle club.

According to my best friend Quinn, Dad was a badass motherfucker, and she was right. I knew no matter what happened, he’d always be there for me. Secretly, I liked the fact that the Reapers would back him up. The sight of Dad’s tats and patches made me feel sort of safe, but I’d never admit it. None of that made finding him and my mom practically doing it in the kitchen any less disgusting. I mean, I made sandwiches on that counter. Now where was I supposed to make them?

“For once,” Kit said, narrowing her eyes, “would you please act like normal parents and just ignore each other during a meal?”

“Sounds boring,” Dad muttered, narrowing his eyes right back. Mom and I locked gazes, and she made a face. I hated this part—Dad and Kit could turn anything into a fight. Mom said they were way too similar, and I agreed. She was the oil that kept our family running smoothly, defusing situations before they got out of hand.

“I don’t like being bored,” he added. “Go do whatever it is girls do in the bathroom for a while, and then you can come back down. My house, my rules.”

I grabbed Kit’s arm, tugging her away before she fired back at him. She was only twelve and I was fourteen, but she always stood her ground. Sometimes that was a good thing . . . But she needed to learn to choose her battles.

“Just come upstairs,” I hissed at her.

“They’re too old to be screwing in the kitchen!”

“We’re not screwing,” Dad said. “But if we were, that wouldn’t be any of your business, either, kiddo.”

I dug my fingers into Kit’s arm, dragging her out of the dining room and up the stairs. I heard Dad laugh in the background, and Mom gave a little squeal.

“They’re so disgusting,” Kit said, flopping down on my bed. We had our own rooms, but she spent a lot of time in here because it was bigger. It also had a tree branch we could use to sneak out . . . Not that we ever did, but Kit had big plans for high school.

“I know,” I replied. “He’s right, though. It’s his house.”

“At least you aren’t stuck in dumbass middle school,” she said, sighing heavily. “I can’t believe you’re going to be gone! It’s not fair.”

“Only one more year and you’ll be there, too,” I said. Figuring I might as well take advantage of the delay, I studied my hair in the mirror on the waterfall vanity Mom had given me when I turned thirteen. It’d been hers growing up. I’d always loved sitting at it as a little girl, putting on her makeup and pretending to be a princess. “And I’m sure it won’t be that great. I mean, freshman year is kind of lame.”

“Beats the hell out of eighth grade,” she said. “But you won’t get to do much anyway. Do you really think Dad’ll let you go to any dances?”

“Of course he will,” I said, even though I had my doubts. Dad could be . . . intense . . . Kit opened her mouth to say something but then snapped it shut as we heard the roar of Harley pipes coming down the drive.

“What the hell?” I asked, going over to the window. Outside, six of the Reapers were pulling up—at seven thirty on a Tuesday . . . Not good. The guys in the club didn’t tend to be morning people.

“Shit,” Kit muttered. “Something must be going on.”

We looked at each other, and I wondered if she had the same sick feeling in the pit of her stomach I did. “Something going on” could mean anything in our world. Dad didn’t generally let club business overlap with family life, but I’d seen enough growing up that I couldn’t just pretend things were fine and dandy when a third of the brothers showed up without warning.

“I’m going downstairs,” Kit said, her voice grim. I shook my head.

“They won’t want us around.”

“Fuck that.”

• • •

We crept down the stairs like junior felons.

I expected to hear hushed voices, to feel the kind of tension in the air that only came when things fell to shit. Instead I heard men laughing and talking in the kitchen. We entered the dining room to find our uncle Duck sitting at the table as my mom brought him a cup of coffee. Dad sat next to him, along with Ruger—the very hot young prospect who’d been with the club about four months. I had to look away before I started babbling or blushing or something.

When I grew up, I was totally marrying Ruger.

This was not something I’d be sharing with my father, no matter how much of a daddy’s girl I might be. Ruger had graduated from high school a year ago, and Quinn had told me she’d caught him screwing her sister, Nicole, in their living room when her parents were out for the night. I’d pretended to be horrified, but I made her share all the gory details . . . and there were a lot of them. Quinn hadn’t run away when she found them. Nope. She stayed hidden and watched the whole thing, which, according to her, wasn’t a quickie.

Not even close.

Quinn also said that Ruger had a pierced dick, and that her sister cried for three nights straight because he never called her back afterward. When I was old enough, he’d be calling me back. I had big plans for us.

“Morning,” Duck said, smiling at me. He wouldn’t tell me why they called him Duck, but I always thought he looked more like an old bear. Big and hairy, which would’ve been intimidating if he hadn’t been giving me airplane rides and sneaking me candy for as long as I could remember. “You look beautiful, Em. You’re gonna do great in high school.”

He glanced over at my dad.

“I still can’t believe our girl is old enough for this.”

Ugh. I hated it when they did this, especially in front of Ruger. Everyone seemed to think I was a baby, but I was fourteen now. In less than two years I’d be driving. Well, driving legally. I’d been driving on the property for years . . .

“Appreciate you coming out,” Dad said to the guys. “Em, grab some breakfast. We’re gonna give you a ride to school this morning. I don’t want to be late.”

My mouth dropped open and I heard Kit make a startled, choking noise.

“We?” I whispered, hoping I’d heard wrong.

“All of us,” Dad said, offering me a broad smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re turning into a young woman. I figured it might not be a bad idea to remind those little pricks at your school who your family is. Go ahead and set things straight from the start.”

I actually felt dizzy.

“Daddy, you can’t be serious!” Kit burst out. “If all of you guys show up, you’ll scare the crap out of the boys! How will Em ever get a date that way?”

Dad’s smile turned feral.

“Any boy who can’t handle Em’s family has no business dating her.”

I swallowed. This couldn’t be happening. My mom ran her fingers through his hair, and he pulled her down into his lap. They were always like that—all over each other. Still, Mom usually stood up to him when he got crazy protective. Unlike Dad, she had a clue what it meant to be a teenage girl.

“Mom, I thought you were giving me a ride?” I managed to squeak out. She shook her head sadly.

“Sorry, baby. Your father is set on this,” she said. “I’m driving Kit and he’s taking you, along with your uncle Duck and the brothers.”

“Those little pricks at your school need to know who they’re dealing with if they f**k you over,” Dad added, his voice dark. “I don’t want to make things hard for you, but I’ve been a teenage boy. They think with their cocks, so they need to realize they’ll lose those cocks if they don’t treat you right. Nothing quite like a show of force to put a kid on notice.”

“That’s bullshit, Daddy, and you know it,” Kit said, coming to my defense. Thank God, because I’d lost the ability to think or move. “And it’s sexist! Em can take care of herself. You have no right to humiliate her like this.”

“I have every right,” he replied, and I knew from his tone that it was all over. “I’m your father, and it’s my job to protect you. Not my goal to embarrass you, Em, but I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

“Nobody wants to hurt me,” I managed to say.

He snorted.

“They’ll want to f**k you, though.”

I felt my cheeks turn bright red and I kept my eyes down, terrified to look at Ruger or any of the others.

“You want me to treat you like an adult?” Dad asked. “Pretty hard when just mentioning sex makes you blush. If you can’t talk about it, you sure as shit aren’t ready to do it. This way nobody will pressure you to, either. Now grab some cereal if you’re planning to eat. We’ll be leaving soon.”

I felt sick. My high school life was over before it even began, and he wanted me to eat cereal?

“I’ll just have a granola bar,” I muttered, glaring at him. Dad shrugged and I saw his hand slide between my mom’s legs.

Ugh. My life sucked.

• • •

I usually love riding with my dad.

There’s nothing better than sitting behind him—arms wrapped tight around his waist—as we fly down the highway. Kit may have gotten Dad’s temper, but I got his passion for the road. I’d been saving for my own bike since I was six years old, and I saw the pride in his eyes every time I begged him to take me with him.

Today, though . . . For the first time in my life, I hated it.

We pulled up to the school in a roar, me and Dad in the lead, followed by six Reapers (including Ruger, who’d probably slept with half the girls there before he graduated). Dad stopped right out in front, in a no-parking zone, and the brothers all backed their rides in next to his, forming a row of gleaming chrome. Any fantasy I might’ve had about a quick, quiet entrance on my first day was gone.

One of the teachers—a woman who was probably in her midtwenties—stood out on the lawn looking nervous, but as the guys swung off she didn’t ask them to move. Nope, she just gaped at us, which would’ve been funny if I hadn’t been fairly sure I was in one of her classes. I recognized her from the open house. Ruger smirked and swaggered over to her. She blushed brightly.

Shit, was there anyone at this school he hadn’t had sex with? Maybe I should rethink those wedding plans.

“Okay, well, thanks for the ride,” I told my dad pointedly. “You can go now.”

“Show me your locker,” he said, obviously determined to smash any chance of happiness I might have during the next four years. I looked up at him and gave it everything I had. The puppy eyes, the little-girl lip bite, a hitch in my breath. Usually I could even squeeze out a tear or two, but that took more prep time.

“Daddy, can you just let me go in on my own?” I asked, my voice a quavering whisper. “You made your point.”

He shook his head, ruthless.

“Don’t even try,” he said. “I’ve seen it all before, and compared to your mother, you’re an amateur. I’m coming inside because I want every kid here to understand you belong to the Reapers MC, and they’ll be answering to us if they f**k with you.”

I don’t know why I bothered trying.

Dad was a force of nature—a tidal wave determined to destroy my life. Every eye followed us as we walked through the doors and down the hallway. Quinn caught my gaze and raised her eyebrows dramatically. I shrugged, resigned, and looked for number 1125, which was on the first floor near the boys’ locker room.

The locker room where the football team was starting to wander out after an early-morning practice.

Perfect.

My life was f**king perfect.

I looked up to see Quinn’s brother, Jason, a junior and one of the team’s defensive starters, watching us. I’d always had a crush on him. In fact, I was sort of secretly hoping he’d finally notice me as someone other than his little sister’s annoying friend. Seriously—if I wanted a guy like Ruger to call me back, I’d need some practice, right?

“Reed,” Dad said casually, jerking his chin toward Jason. “Great season last year. How are things looking so far with the team?”