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 fucking 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 fucking 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 fucked 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.”