Because, he thought, glaring at Eva, someone’s got Deuce’s balls wrapped around her finger.

“Because.” Eva sighed. “No one else is home, so why should she be home?”

“You could be home,” he muttered. “Should be home.”

Not hanging around an MC all the time; not giving teenage girls rooms at MCs, forcing him to watch them lying around in bikinis, leaving him vulnerable to accidently fucking them. Again.

Tap shot him a dirty look. “Way to be an asshole, brother,” he said.

“It’s fine,” Eva said quietly. “But let’s get one thing clear, okay, Ripper?”

“What’s that, babe?” he sneered.

“I didn’t know,” she said evenly. “If I would have known what he’d done to you, I would have—”

“You would have what?” he yelled, jumping up and knocking his chair backward. “You would have fuckin’ what, bitch? Sang him a motherfuckin’ lullaby? Told him everything was gonna be A-fucking-OK? You had no fuckin’ sense when it came to that man! You wouldn’t have done jack fuckin’ shit!”

Ivy burst into tears and Bucket was suddenly up in his face, pushing him backward. “Take a fuckin’ walk,” he hissed. “And cool the fuck off before Prez rips that fuckin’ patch off you for talkin’ to his old lady like that.”

“She wouldn’t have done shit!” he repeated, leaning around Bucket and pointing at Eva. “I saw you with him, Eva! Him givin’ you bullshit, tellin’ you he can’t fuckin’ sleep without you, him justifyin’ why he put A FUCKIN’ HIT ON YOU, and you cryin’ like a baby, tellin’ him everything’s gonna be fine!”

“Get the fuck outta here!” Bucket yelled, shoving him backward.

Eva appeared beside Bucket. “I’m sorry Frankie took your fucking eye,” she hissed. “He also took twenty-two years of my life from me! If anyone understands what it feels like to lose something at the hands of Frankie, it’s me!”

“Fuck you,” he bit out angrily. “You coulda walked away, coulda called Prez, coulda said somethin’ to your old man. You had a motherfuckin’ choice! I didn’t have that luxury, Eva, I couldn’t walk away! I couldn’t fuckin’ leave!”

“Neither could I,” she whispered.

He stared down at her, trying to figure out what the fuck she meant by that.

“Heads up,” Bucket muttered, moving aside as Deuce stepped out onto the back patio, eying them warily.

“What the fuck is goin’ on?” Deuce growled.

“Nothing,” Eva said evenly, her eyes still on him. “Ripper and I were just having a small argument over which one of Danny’s friends looked better in their bikini.”

Deuce’s eyes shot to the lawn and went saucer-wide, his nostrils flaring. “Danielle Elizabeth fuckin’ West!” he roared and pushed past them, headed for his daughter. “What the fuck are you not wearin’?”

Eva gave him a small, sad smile. “Two birds, one stone,” she said softly and turned away. After retrieving Ivy from Tap, she disappeared inside the clubhouse.

“Dude,” Tap said, getting to his feet. “You are a first class asshole.”

“Second that,” Bucket said, glaring at him. “Foxy doesn’t deserve your hate, brother. Frankie does.”

Ignoring them, feeling like an asshole, a justified asshole, Ripper stormed across the patio and into the club. He should have never opened his mouth. He’d gone this long keeping his true feelings about Eva to himself, but his nerves were shot from this shit with Danny. He felt strung out half the time and the other half…

He wanted her. She was too damn beautiful. And he’d owned that shit. There wasn’t a part of that body he hadn’t touched, hadn’t had his mouth on.

He wanted more.

Ah, fuck, what was he doing?

He was supposed to be flushing her out, not fantasizing about her. Fantasizing about her was only going to lead to fucking her again, and fucking her again would lead to fucking her again and again and again.

Fuck, he wished she would go away. Go home, go hang out somewhere else, go live with her mom, go to college in France.

Ripper had his key in his door when the sound of giggling brought him up short. Turning his head, he found Danny with her two friends, and Deuce herding the three of them down the hall. Her friends were staring at him, the blonde giggling, the mulatto scowling, and Danny was bright fucking red, looking anywhere but at him.

Fuck. She’d told them. She’d fucking opened her big fat mouth and told her dumbass friends.

He was so busy staring at her he didn’t even notice that Deuce had stopped beside him until he was being smacked across the back of his head.

“What the fuck you lookin’ at?” Deuce demanded and smacked him again.

“Nothin’,” he muttered. Turning his key, he pushed open his door and shut it quickly behind him. Sliding down the door, he hit the floor and buried his face in his hands. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her?

He hadn’t given a fuck about anything in so long he’d forgotten what it felt like. Forgotten how horrible it was to feel anything at all.

The last time he’d given a fuck was…

Ripper came back to consciousness on fire. Everywhere. He coughed and gagged as hot, wet, fire poured down over his face and chest. Sputtering and screaming, he tried to jerk away but his bonds allowed him no movement.

“Wake up, sleepin’ beauty.” Frankie laughed and Ripper heard the sharp slide of a zipper, then felt the air shift as Frankie knelt down beside him. Spitting out a mouthful of hot piss, he gasped for air.

“Gonna try this shit one last time, Horseman. You don’t give me what I want, you’re goin’ in the ground.”

His body shaking from shock, his skin burning, unable to see what was going to be the final death blow, Ripper stayed silent, praying it would be over soon.

Cursing, Frankie tugged on the rope binding his ankles to his wrists and started sawing through it. No longer bound in the fetal position, Ripper fell sideways, sprawled on his back. Grabbing hold of his balls, Frankie squeezed and twisted.

“Talk, you fuckin’ shithead,” he growled.

Breathe. He just had to keep breathing through it. He just had to breathe, in and out, until Frankie finally ended it.

“TALK!” Frankie roared and twisted further.

Pain hurtled up his groin and exploded into his stomach. He couldn’t talk now, even if he’d wanted to.

Breathe.

Just fucking breathe.

BREATHE, DAMN IT. BREATHE.

“Yo, Frankie!” a loud voice bellowed.

Frankie released him and his trembling body went lax. Gagging, he turned his head and released a stomach full of spit, piss, and bile.

“What?” Frankie growled.

“Eva’s blowin’ up my fuckin’ phone, brother.”

Ripper heard Frankie jump to his feet, heard his heavy booted steps crossing the floor, heard a door creak open, then slam shut.

It took a moment to realize that he was alone.

Alone…

He had two choices. He could keep lying there, naked and bleeding out on the ground and wait to die, or he could try.

He couldn’t let it end like this.

He couldn’t die a high school dropout, a criminal who’d never done shit with his life, with no woman or kids to care if he’d gone.

He had to try.

Dry heaving, tears streaming down his cheeks, he struggled to roll to his side. Sucking air in through his teeth and breathing out hard, labored breaths, he folded his body in half.

Breathe.

Just fucking breathe.

Gritting his teeth through the blinding pain, he reached down his body with his bound wrists…

His fingertips brushed against the rope on his ankles.

With a heave and a shout of pain, with every ounce of energy he had, he stretched his body just a little more and grabbed hold of the knot.

Yeah. The last time he’d given a fuck about anything was when he’d thought he was going to die at the hands of a crazy motherfucker. After that, he’d become consumed with what hadn’t happened, so much so, he’d started wishing it had.

Until now.

Until he’d accidentally fucked a little blonde bitch with the face of an angel and a body built to drive a man crazy. Danny was every man’s wet dream; an honest-to-god good, sweet, girl who was drop-dead gorgeous and fucked like a whore.

If she were anybody else, anybody else’s daughter, he’d have spent a week straight up inside of her, fucking her half to death, splitting her down the middle, taking what he wanted. And fuck him, he wanted.

He wanted.

But she wasn’t anyone else’s daughter. She was Deuce’s daughter, and every bit as lethal to him as Frankie had been.

• • •

Pulling on a pair of sweatpants, I glared at Anabeth. “That was a terrible plan.”

She waved me off. “Oh, please, he was staring at you the entire time. If your dad hadn’t gone ballistic, Danny, I guarantee you’d be bent over his motorcycle right now.”

Right. Instead I’d gotten yelled at by my father in front of everyone and was now even more embarrassed then I had been. Actually, I was pretty sure this was the most embarrassed I’d ever been in my entire life.

“Oh. My. God.” Ellie shut my bedroom door behind her and leaned back against it.

“What’s wrong with you?” Anabeth asked.

“Some guy whose name is Dirty, and may I just say kudos to his parents for aptly naming him, just asked me to blow him. Ordered me, actually.”