He turned his head and rubbed his cheek up against hers, inhaling her strawberry-scented hair.

“You wanna be kissed?” he whispered in her ear.

He licked the skin just behind her ear and she shivered. He sucked on her skin, bit down lightly, and rolled it between his teeth.

She was breathing hard, her pulse in her neck fluttering wildly against his mouth. He started sucking with vigor and her legs fell open. He took advantage and shoved himself between them.

He spread kisses across her neck and under her chin, up to her cheek, kissing a line to her mouth. His lips met hers. She trembled.

“One more time, babe,” he said, low and raspy. “You wanna be kissed?”

“Yes,” she whimpered.

Yeah, he’d fallen hard, been forever ruined by a goddamn sixteen-year-old in the stairwell of the Silver Demons MC. Not a day had gone by since that he hadn’t thought of her, and still nothing had changed. Next to the club, Eva was his whole world.

Blue shrugged. “But what the fuck do I know. My old lady died over thirty years ago. Hardly remember what lookin’ at a woman worth lookin’ at feels like.”

Deuce barely remembered Gladys but he’d seen the old black and whites of her and Blue from back in the day when Reaper still ran the Horsemen and Blue still had teeth. She’d been damn beautiful. Dead ringer for Natalie Wood. Way too good-looking for an asshole like Blue. Cancer took her in her fifties and Blue hadn’t gotten back on a bike since. In fact, he was surprised Blue had even gotten off the barstool for the meeting.

“Go home, son,” Blue said as he shuffled toward the doors. “Go home and take back your woman.”

Dropping his head in his hands, Deuce closed his eyes. Blue was right. The stupid fucker was always right. And Preacher, that stupid fucker, had only been half right. Telling him to go fuck away his problems had been a catastrophe.

“My name’s Heather,” the whore slurred.

“Clothes,” he barked, unbuckling his belt. “Off. Now.”

Grinning, she swayed drunkenly and tried to salute him. “Aye, aye, Captain. Or should I call you Mr. President?”

“How about,” he growled, shoving down his boxers, “you shut the fuck up, finish takin’ your clothes off, and then you get down on your fuckin’ knees.”

Laughing, she pushed down her jeans and kicked them away, leaving her in a purple T-shirt and a matching thong. And that was good enough.

Grabbing her, he bent her over the railing and kicked her legs apart. Reaching between them, he pulled her thong aside and then palming his cock, pushed up against her and tried to push inside.

“Fuck,” he muttered as his partial erection went completely flaccid. “Fuck!”

Grabbing the back of her neck, he swung her around and shoved her down on the floor. “Suck it,” he said, pushing her face in his crotch.

Gripping his thigh, she grabbed his cock, filling her mouth, and he closed his eyes, trying to think about anything other than Eva.

Frankie grunting on top of Eva.

Eva whimpering.

Eva crying.

Eva…

Coming.

Frankie grinning.

Grinning.

Fuck.

Eva.

Eva.

Eva.

Fuck him.

“This ain’t workin’, honey.”

He glared down at the whore.

No shit, it wasn’t working. Nothing in his life was working.

Grabbing his boxers and jeans, he dressed quickly.

Still buttoning her jeans, she staggered by him. “I wouldn’t worry ’bout it, baby,” she said. “Happens to all you old dudes all—”

Anger at Frankie, at Eva, anger at the whole goddamn world powered through him and he reacted, grabbed the back of her hair and yanked her backward, then thrust her forward, power-slamming her face into the drywall. Still holding her hair, he dragged her away from the wall and with a hard shove, sent her sprawling down the hallway.

“What the fuck!” she screamed, scrambling to her feet. Tentatively she touched her lips and nose and her hands came away bloody. Seeing them, seeing the blood, she looked up at him and started to scream.

Jesus motherfucking Christ.

“SHUT UP!” he roared, pulling his gun from the inside of his cut and aiming it at her. “JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

She didn’t. The bitch just stood there, covered in the blood from her broken nose, screaming, sounding like something out of a bad horror movie. Fuck it. She was annoying him.

Thumbing the hammer, he slipped his pointer finger over the trigger, cocked and—

“Deuce!” Preacher shouted, jumping in front of him. “Put the damn gun away!”

He didn’t. He couldn’t.

He wanted someone else to hurt.

Someone who wasn’t him.

Grabbing his shoulders, Preacher leaned in close. “Deuce, lemme take care of this bitch.”

When he didn’t respond, Preacher gave him a hard shake. “Go home, brother,” he said firmly. “You need to go the fuck home.”

He did.

He needed to go home right the fuck now and take back his woman.

• • •

Eva stared down at her cell phone, at the text message Deuce had sent her only moments ago.

You home?

No. At Kami’s. Why?

Meet me at home.

Why?

GO. HOME.

“Foxy?”

Startled, she glanced up and found Cox looming over the couch she was sitting on.

“When did you get home?” she asked.

“Just now.” He nodded at her phone. “That Prez?”

She could sense anger in Cox’s tone, see it in the tight lines of his face, and didn’t understand what she could have possibly done to warrant any sort of negative reaction from him.

“Yes,” she said warily.

“What’s he want?”

“Cox, I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”

At his sides, Cox’s fists clenched. “The fuck it isn’t,” he hissed. “You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t know you’re ready to split? Don’t get me wrong, Eva, I don’t fuckin’ blame you, but bitch, you take off and I know Kami’s gonna follow you. I ain’t gonna let that happen.”

“Cox,” she said quietly. “Kami married you. You have a son together. She isn’t going to leave.”

His nostrils flared. “The fuck she isn’t. I know her. She loves you more than she loves me and that’s fine, I fuckin’ accepted that shit a while back, but no fuckin’ way am I gonna let you take her from me. I’ve been watchin’ this shit comin’ from a mile away and I can’t keep my mouth shut no more. Fix this shit with Prez and fix it quick because I swear to fuckin’ god if you don’t, bitch, and I lose—”

“Cox!” Kami screamed, stalking into the room. “Shut your stupid Mexican mouth!”

Cox glared at her. “Bitch, I’m Puerto Rican!”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Whatever. Don’t you have some lawns to mow?”

“I’m Puerto fuckin’ Rican!”

“What! Ever!

“Bitch! Don’t you got some rich boy cock you need to suck off for a new pair a fuckin’ shoes?”

“Fuck you!”

“No, bitch, fuck you! I’m fuckin’ Puerto Rican! Say it, Kami, say Puerto Rican!”

“No!”

“Say it!”

“American Indian!”

Eva quickly got to her feet. “I’m, um, going to—”

Cox spun on her. “You’re gonna to go fix this shit!” he bellowed. “Before it ain’t just Prez who’s fallin’ apart, but my fuckin’ family and the whole goddamn club!”

“Don’t you dare blame her for anything!” Kami hissed.

“See!” Cox roared. “You’re always sidin’ with her! You’d jump off a fuckin’ bridge if she did!”

“Yes, I would!” Kami shrieked. “Did you actually think there was a chance I’d choose some hot Cuban piece of ass over my Evie?”

“PUERTO RICAN!”

While they were busy screaming at each other, Eva was able to slip from the living room unnoticed and head down the hall toward Devin’s playroom. She found both kids on the couch, sharing a handheld video game and a pair of circumaural headphones stretched out over top of both their heads. She paused in the doorway, watching them, unable to stop the memory that assaulted her…

On top of a picnic table, she and Frankie were sitting side by side sharing a pair of earbuds. Her Discman was wedged between them, and their heads were pressed together while they rocked out to Led Zeppelin’s “Dazed and Confused.” She had her arm slung over Frankie’s broad shoulders, his hand was sliding up and down her thigh, his fingers tapping out the beat of the song.

“Miss Fox?”

Eva blinked at Devin’s nanny, Kajika.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Sorry,” Eva murmured, shaking herself out of the memory. “Just thinking.”

“We can learn much from children,” Kajika said, smiling at Devin and Ivy. “They view the world as it is, innocent and waiting for them, like a playground ready to be explored.”

“Yes,” Eva whispered, staring at her daughter. “They do.”

“Can I share something my grandfather once told me, Miss Fox?” Kajika quietly asked.

Eva nodded.

“There is an old story passed down through the generations of a Native American grandfather counseling his young grandson, telling him that he has two wolves living inside of him, constantly fighting each other for dominance. One is the wolf of peace, love, and kindness. The other represents fear, greed, and hatred. The boy asks, ‘Which wolf will win, Grandfather?’ and the wise old man replies, ‘Whichever one I feed.’ ”