Michael roared in anguish and tore himself free from his brothers. But he didn't go for Kota again. He turned toward the back, toward Faith, and then froze, his face, his whole head, a dark, sinister red, and she could see it dawning on him at the moment that she had seen it all. He roared again and ran toward the door to the back. Faith tried to stop him, but he pushed her away, so hard that she lost her feet and landed on the concrete floor.

He saw what he'd done, and she saw the complete desolation in his eyes. She knew that look. And then he was gone.

The woman who'd torn everything apart was still laughing.

Muse kicked her in the head and shut her up.

Faith sat on the floor, sobbing, terrified and heartbroken, remembering the last time she'd seen that look in Michael's beautiful eyes.

memory Faith sank the ten and the thirteen into the side and corner pockets and then turned and, giggling, smirked at Connor. Her father held up his hand, and they slapped a high five.

"You know," Connor grumbled, "it's a lot less cool when you look so f.u.c.king pleased with yourself. Fast Eddie would never have giggled."

"I don't know who that is. And you're just p.i.s.sed that a girl is kicking your a.s.s. Troglodyte."

"Blue! She doesn't know Fast Eddie?" Connor turned to Faith. "The Hustler. Paul Newman. Coolest pool player ever. And I'm letting you win, because I am a gentleman. What's a troglodyte?"

"You are, b.u.t.thead." She lined up her next shot and felt a gentle nudge of her foot on the floor. Looking down, she saw her father's scuffed cowboy boot pushing her foot toward the proper position under the cue. She grimaced. Connor was distracting her.

She stood up to reset her stance, and she decided to show him just how good she was. Her daddy had taught her well, but he didn't let her play at the clubhouse often; he didn't like her bending over the table here. They had a table in their garage at home.

She set up a double bank shot and spared a glance up to see Connor frowning at the table, trying to figure out what she was doing. Cool.

Except she missed. She was thinking about Connor more than the game. He crowed with glee and then pushed her back to set up his own shot. Faith stepped over to her dad, who handed over her bottle of c.o.ke.

"Showin' off is the express to trouble, kitty. You know that."

"I know. He's so c.o.c.ky, though."

"What d'you think you are?"

Faith turned to her father, who was giving her a smugly wise look. "I'm not c.o.c.ky."

He laughed. "Whatever you say, darlin'." He took a drink of his beer, and when he put the bottle back at his side, his smile was gone. "I'm not so sure about tonight. You don't have any other friends you can ask?"

She shook her head. Hoosier, Fat Jack, Blue, and Dusty were riding to Nevada in a couple of hours for a whole-club officer meeting. They'd be gone until tomorrow night. This run had coincided with Bibi and Margot's annual girls' week at a Palm Springs spa.

There were no other old ladies in the club. With a lie, making up reasons that Bethany and Joelle couldn't have her over, and insisting that, since she was only a few months away from her eighteenth birthday, it was ridiculous to think she needed a minder, Faith had convinced her parents to let her spend the night alone in the house.

She wouldn't be alone, but Blue didn't ever, ever need to know that. Never in her life had she been so excited for her father to go on a run. A whole night with Michael. In a house. In her bed. It wasn't just Connor distracting her from the pool table.

Her father sighed and draped his arm over her shoulders. He grinned down at her. "No wild party-or just try not to have Joe Law on my porch, okay?"

That was a joke, so she laughed. He knew she didn't have enough friends for even a mellow party, especially if, as he thought, Bethany and Joelle were otherwise occupied. "I'll make sure to pay off the neighbors."

"That's Daddy's girl." He pinched her chin. "For real, though, kitty cat. You lock up. And I'm gonna send the Prospect by to check in. And you keep in touch. You hear?"

She rolled her eyes. "Daddy! I'm not a kid!"

"You are my baby girl. Always will be. And I want you safe."

"Fine." With a sudden, devilish inspiration, she looked up at her father and smirked. "Maybe I'll invite Sherlock in for a nightcap."

Blue didn't see that humor in that, and Faith realized that it was really G.o.dd.a.m.n stupid to joke around so near the truth. His dark eyes narrowed. "Make another joke like that, and I'll hire you a babysitter right now."

"Sorry. Everything'll be okay, Daddy. Promise."

He looked down at her for another second or two, then kissed her cheek and hugged her. "I know. I trust you, kitty. You're my girl."

"Hey, Bambi. You should take a look at what you're missing."

At Connor's snide tone, Faith turned back to the table she'd been ignoring. He'd run it. His solids were gone, and he was setting up the eight ball.

"I'm not scared. You're gonna scratch."

"c.o.c.ky little s.h.i.t," he muttered and took his shot. He didn't scratch. In his celebratory delight, he caught her up and lifted her off the ground. "Don't cry, Bambi. Better luck next time."

She stuck her tongue out, and he put her down, still laughing.

Feeling the back of her neck p.r.i.c.kle like she was being watched, she looked over the table and across the room. Michael was staring at her, his cheeks red and blotchy, the way they got when he was mad-or getting there, anyway. When he was really mad, he got a lot more than blotchy. He was jealous. She couldn't figure out how to make him not be.

Also, she kind of liked it.

Michael came to her house that night long past dark. She opened the back door and found him squatting on the patio, letting Sly rub his hand. The cat was purring so loudly he sounded like he had mechanical parts.

Looking up at her, Michael grinned. "Hey."

Faith's heart thudded heavily in her chest. A whole night in his arms. No s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g in Dante. It was going to be the best night of her life. "Hey." She realized she hadn't heard his bike come up the drive. "Where's your bike? We should put it in the garage. My dad has Sherlock checking on me."

"He said. I parked a couple streets over." Standing, he came to her and put his hand on her cheek. "You sure this is a good idea?"

"The house is ours tonight. I want to have a normal night with you and feel what it's like to be totally naked and sleep together. It's a perfect idea."

"Okay. I want that, too. I love you." Smiling, he brought his other hand up to her face. Holding her the way he so often did, he bent down and kissed her.

"Do you have any clothes in your drawers?"

"Hmm?" Feeling happy and cozy, settled on Michael's chest, tracing her finger along the tattoo over his heart, Faith left her eyes at half-mast. She'd been right. The night before had been the best night ever. To be comfortable and to be able to go slow and feel each other-it was almost like last night was their real first time. Times-plural. She smiled.

They'd only had one weird moment, when she'd tried to go down on him. Of course, she'd never done anything like it before, but she'd wanted to try. His reaction had been nearly violent, shoving her away. She'd thought at first he didn't want her to do it because he didn't think she'd be any good. But it had seemed more like something was going on with him.

He wouldn't talk about it, though, and she didn't push. She wanted everything to be good and happy while they had this chance. They'd gotten past that awkward spell and kept on with their good and happy night.

"There's clothes all over the place. What's in your drawers?"

"More clothes." She waved lazily around her room. "That's the stuff I wear most. No point putting it away if I'm just gonna put it on again in a couple of days."

He bent his head so he could see her face on his chest. "You're a slob."

Her mother said that all the time, so Faith gave Michael the same answer. "No. I'm efficient."

Laughing, he kissed her forehead. G.o.d, she loved this peaceful relaxation. She didn't want it to end.

"What's this mean?" She traced the j.a.panese character on his chest again.

"It's kanji. It means strength-I think like the perseverance kind of strength, not like muscles. I hope that's what it means, anyway."

"I like it. I like your muscles, too, though." She moved her hand down and caressed the ridges of his belly and then over to one of the really amazing muscles that slanted over his hips. As she touched him, his c.o.c.k filled out and raised the covers.

She wanted this to be her life every single day.

But he groaned and grabbed her hand. "I gotta get going, babe. I was supposed to be on shift at the shop almost two hours ago. They're gonna start looking for me."

He'd never called her 'babe' before. She liked it. "Can't you just bail for the day? I don't want this to be over."

"I don't, either. But we can't have people wondering where I am. Not with Blue and your mom both gone."

He was calmer than he usually was, by far, but Faith knew he had a clear, short limit to how much control he had. Especially when it was something he really wanted. So she raised up and kissed him, sliding her leg between his. After a few seconds, he grunted and rolled over on top of her.

But then he lifted his mouth away. "We have to stop. You have to let me stop. I have to go. And we're out of condoms."

Reaching between them, she put her hand around him, running her thumb over his tip. The first time she'd touched him, she'd been surprised by how velvety the skin was there. He shivered and tensed at her touch.

"You could pull out. Like you do sometimes." She spread her legs, settling him fully between them.

"G.o.d, Faith. I can't...you know I can't..." He was shaking with the effort to resist. It gave her a sense of power that she liked. She didn't understand it, but it was erotic in some way. Still holding him, she flexed her hips.

And he gave up.

Michael was still resting on her, panting, and she still had her arms and legs wrapped around him when Faith heard the sharp click of a gun being c.o.c.ked.

He heard it, too; his body became iron.

"Oh, Demon. The trouble you're in. You get off my daughter right now. You move slow, or I will give her a brain facial. Trust me, I know what I'm doing with this thing."

Faith's mother was home. She couldn't be-she wasn't supposed to be home until after dinner! Like six hours from now, at the earliest! They always stopped at a restaurant for steak and lobster as the grand finale.

Michael lifted his head and looked down at her, and Faith saw an abyss of sorrow in his eyes. I'm sorry, he mouthed.

But it wasn't his fault. It was hers. If she'd let him leave when he'd wanted to, he'd have been on his way to the shop right now. If she'd let him leave even earlier, when he'd wanted to be on time for work, he'd have been up to his elbows in bike parts by now. This was her, not him.

She shook her head, trying to say that when her tongue wouldn't work to make words.

"Move now, Demon. Right now."

He got up, slowly, carefully, sparing a chance to brush her cheek with his finger. Then he stood up and turned from her, facing her mother, unaware of, or unconcerned by, his nakedness. "Margot, I-"

"Shut up. You got nothing I want to hear." She looked him up and down. "Holy h.e.l.l. No condom? Are you s.h.i.tting me?" Her eyes moved to Faith and locked on her belly, which was still sticky with his s.e.m.e.n. "Look at you. Covered in come like the wh.o.r.e you are."

Michael took a long stride toward Margot. "Don't call her that."

She tightened her aim again, right on his chest. "I told you to shut up. Your wh.o.r.e there is definitely not a concern of yours anymore. She is my problem. You, on the other hand, are not my problem. You are Blue's problem. I think you'd be smarter to think about that. Get your G.o.dd.a.m.n clothes on and get out of my house."

As he grabbed his jeans, he turned and looked down at Faith, who was still so stunned and afraid that she hadn't moved at all. He pulled the cover over her bare body. "I love you," he said, clearly and without hesitation. "I love you."

Before she could answer, the air in the room broke apart with explosive noise, and Faith reflexively curled into a ball.

Her mother had fired the gun into the ceiling.

"Next one goes into your head. Get out. Dress in the yard."

Michael grabbed his clothes and left. Margot followed him out, her little Smith & Wesson apparently trained on him the whole way.

When Faith was alone in her room, still too much in shock to think clearly or feel fully, she got up and cleaned herself up. She was closing her jeans when her mother came back and stood in the doorway, her arms crossed under her augmented chest. She looked angry, but surprisingly calm. When Faith thought about this moment later, she would decide that there was a hint of satisfaction in her anger.

"Do you have any f.u.c.king idea what you've done to that boy? What your father will do? And the club? You probably killed him, you little s.l.u.t. How long have you been f.u.c.king him?"

Faith didn't answer. She was too busy grappling with the reality of the consequences they'd-she'd-set in motion. It was her fault. Hers. He'd tried to avoid her. She'd sought him out, again and again. Even now, today, he'd tried to leave, and she'd pulled him back. This was her fault. Whatever happened next, she had done it.

She wrapped her arms around herself and pinched at the skin above her elbows.

No. Her father loved her. She would talk to him, make him understand that she loved Michael, that he loved her. She would make him see, and they wouldn't have to hide anymore.

It would be okay.

Her father did not understand. It was not okay.

Her mother had been right. He had put Michael's life on the table, but he'd lost that vote. Then he had demanded his patch. He'd lost that vote, too, but with only one vote against him. Faith didn't know whose, but she thought it might have been Hoosier, because Blue was almost as angry at the President as he was at Michael.

They were sending Michael away. The vote that had pa.s.sed was to send him to the Nomads. He was leaving.

But not before Blue was granted his right to vengeance.

And now Faith was standing in the bike shop, late at night, her mother's hands gripping her shoulders, her long, manicured nails digging like claws into her skin. The whole club-all the patches, and Bibi, Margot, and Faith, too-were arrayed around the large, industrial s.p.a.ce in something like a circle. In the middle stood Michael, shirtless, strung between two support poles, his arms splayed and chained high above his head, but his feet on the ground.

Thus exposed and unable to defend himself, Michael kept his feet for a long time while Blue, with both hands wrapped with lengths of chain, beat him. He punched and punched, and when his arms grew tired, he unwrapped the chains from his hands and used one length as a whip. He beat him until Michael finally lost consciousness, his legs sagging.

Until then, he kept his eyes on Faith. Even when Blue shouted at him to quit looking at her, even when the blows landed on his face, he came right back to her. He blinked blood away to see her. He made no sound but that forced out by the expulsion of his breath on impact of each body blow, and he looked at her.

She wanted to look at him, too, to hold his eyes with her own, but he was so hurt. Her father, her daddy, was hurting him so much, and she couldn't bear it. So she tried to look away, but her mother wouldn't let her. She whispered in her ear to watch what she'd done, to see it. And she watched.