“You’re a pussy tease,” I told him. His eyes widened. I dropped my hand lower and gripped his cock 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 fucking 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 fucking 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 fucked her from behind. She moaned dramatically with each stroke. Her disgusting, porno-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 asshole 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 fuck 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 asshole 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 fucking 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 asshole. 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 fucking 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.

THREE WEEKS LATER

SPOKANE, WASHINGTON

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