Not much difference between one or the other, frankly. In both places, he'd fought for his life on a pretty regular basis. In both places, somebody bigger and stronger had always held him down in one way or another. Until he'd gotten big and strong enough to resist and to win.

So s.e.x wasn't something he was all that keen on. Once he was on his own, he'd avoided it all.

But then he'd found the club. By the time he'd applied to prospect, he understood that there were things about that life he was going to need to get right with. He didn't want to start out that way in the clubhouse, around people he knew. So he'd saved up and bought himself a whole night with a hooker.

She was pretty nice and really patient. He thought of that as the night he lost his virginity, whether that was true or not. Just about four months ago.

Since then, he'd gotten comfortable with the girls in the clubhouse. He even thought maybe he was getting decent at it, and usually he had only good thoughts now. As a Prospect, he got the leftovers, but that was okay with him. He was just trying to get used to all this without anybody knowing that was what he was trying to do.

Faith, Blue's youngest daughter, was the first girl he'd ever really wanted. And it was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. Like head-on-a-pike wrong.

"Michael? Are you in there?" She still called him Michael. She was already the only one who still did. He didn't correct her. He liked it.

"Yeah, sorry. What's up?" He strove to keep his voice nonchalant. "Shouldn't you be in school?"

"Minimum day." She walked around to face him. She was dressed like she usually was-jeans, brown engineer boots, and a snug t-shirt that didn't quite reach the low waistband on her jeans. So unfair. He willed his c.o.c.k to behave. It ignored him. "Why are you standing in the middle of the lot? You look like your download froze."

He smiled, and she smiled right back, her eyes dancing with light and color. "Sorry. Just trying to work something out."

"What's the troub, bub?" She slid her hands into her front pockets, which pulled her jeans down even farther. Demon looked up and out over the lot, to La Cienega Boulevard.

Knowing he should blow her off and send her on her way, he said, "Hooj gave me a list for salvage, but the van's out. Flatbed, too."

Faith actually bounced. "Pik-A-Part? I love that place! We can take Dante!"

That was a terrible idea. There should have been brakes squealing in his head. Better to face Hoosier's wrath when he found out he had to wait until the van got back than to go with Blue's little girl off the compound lot and all the way to the Valley.

Demon knew that to be true. But the switch people had that made them stop before they did something stupid-his didn't work. He had the switch that told him it was stupid, and the switch that told him he should stop, but the switch that would stop him was badly broken. Sometimes, it was like his own life was playing out on a screen, and he was just sitting there, powerless, watching with his fingers splayed over his eyes.

"That'd be great-if you don't need to be anywhere."

"I'm a free agent. And Pik-A-Part is better than f.u.c.king Disneyland. Let's do it!" She threw her keys at him, and he caught them. They headed off together toward Dante.

She hadn't done much more to her car with markers-just, as far as he could tell, the side mirrors and the full rear b.u.mper. She'd told him that she did it when the mood struck her, when she saw whatever belonged wherever it belonged. She'd had a few people sign it, he'd noticed, and then she'd drawn around the signatures to incorporate them into whatever it was she was making.

He really did think it was cool. Like something he'd do, if he had a talent like that-to just see something and then do it, to follow the impulse. That generally meant trouble for him. But Faith had talent, so her impulses became art.

His just became trash.

Pik-A-Part was a junkyard that let people scavenge at their own risk. You went through, driving anywhere you could get your vehicle through, and just dug into the junk. There was a vague kind of organization-Fords in one general direction, Chevys in another, bikes sort of on the side, and so on-but for the most part, you just scavenged, doing what you had to do to get the part you wanted. Sometimes, you had to dig under rickety piles of rusty metal; sometimes you had to climb on top of those piles. Sometimes the part you wanted was sitting right there on the ground like it had been set out special, just for you.

When you had what you wanted, you went back up to the front, where a Quonset hut served as office and shop, and you d.i.c.kered your way to a price for your loot. The club had an account, so all Demon, wearing his kutte, would have to say was that the stuff he'd gotten was for Hoosier, and it would go out for cost.

He'd gotten everything Hoosier wanted-or he was pretty sure. Some of the parts were a little rough, but they were original stock parts, which was what Hooj was after. Everything was in Dante's bed. Now, though, Demon was busy having a heart attack because Faith was climbing through the carca.s.s of an old Plymouth Fury, which was perched on top of a stack of old carca.s.ses. Even with all the climbing and moving around she'd been doing, nothing had moved, so it seemed pretty stable. Still, though, if she got hurt-or worse-on his watch, well, he'd be better off crawling into one of the rusty hulls waiting for the crusher and just waiting right along with it.

She'd been running around the place for a couple of hours, acting like every pile of junk was the best thrill ride ever. She had herself a bizarre mishmash of c.r.a.p she was going to put on the same account-she'd said she did that all the time, and Demon hoped that was true. He knew what she intended it for. She made things out of junk. Like sculptures, or something. Blue, Hoosier, and Fat Jack all had stuff she'd made sitting or hanging around their stations.

It was pretty cool. He didn't really see what she saw in the junk or in the sculptures she made out of it, but it was cool the way she saw things in a way he couldn't. And it was cooler the way she made what was there become what she saw.

He looked up at the mountain of junk she was on and tried to ignore her pretty a.s.s. She was half lying in the Fury, reaching for something. She looked like somebody who was about to die in a horror movie. One of those Final Destination things. The thought made him woozy.

He knew if he nagged at her to be careful again, she'd do something crazy on purpose. The last time he'd said anything, she'd literally hung upside down by her knees off a length of rebar that was jutting out of a pile. He'd had to lean against Dante for a few minutes after that.

"Faith, come on. I gotta get back. Hooj is gonna have my hide." That was true-they'd been here for hours.

She looked down at him, under her arm. "You are such a pill. Okay, okay. There's a shifter k.n.o.b up here. I can't get it loose. Gimme a couple more minutes to try." She grunted with the effort. "f.u.c.k!" She kicked hard in frustration, and that time, Demon was d.a.m.n sure something shook.

"Faith!"

"One...more...Hah! Got it! Got it! Look-shiny!" She turned to show him, holding the black k.n.o.b-nothing special, just a plastic ball-back and out to him. Then she squealed. "Ow! f.u.c.k, ow!"

All the blood in Demon's body fell to his feet and then charged up in a rush to his head. "Faith?"

"My hair-I'm caught in something. f.u.c.k! Ow, ow, ow!" She dropped the shifter k.n.o.b and it bounced and rolled down the pile like the catalyst in a Rube Goldberg machine.

Rube Goldberg...Final Destination...Demon was going to f.u.c.king puke.

"Don't move! f.u.c.king freeze! I'm coming!" Not registering that he was about twice her size and probably only going to make everything worse, he headed up Junk Mountain. He moved quickly but as carefully as he knew how and managed to get himself into the Fury with her, half-lying face to face with her. She'd stayed quiet and still, doing as he'd said.

Her ponytail was wound around part of the rusted-out remnants of the drivetrain. He got his arms around her head and worked the strands loose as gently as he could. Her hair felt like silk.

She smelled like dirt and rust and oil. Also flowers of some kind.

She was a kid. A kid, a kid, a kid. A kid. Blue's kid.

When her hair was free, she sighed happily and then giggled. "You just rescued me. I feel like Rapunzel."

"Who's that?"

"Rapunzel? The fairy tale princess with the long, long hair? She was locked in a tower and the prince climbed her hair to rescue her? 'Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair'?"

He just stared at her, not knowing what she was talking about but not caring. Her eyes were so pretty. Today, they were mostly blue, he thought.

"You don't know Rapunzel?"

He shrugged, and her eyes got sad. He didn't like that at all. He didn't want her sad for him. That was pity, and he didn't need her pity because he didn't know a stupid fairy tale princess. Life was not a stupid fairy tale, and if she thought it was, she was just as stupid as Rapun-whoever. "You go down first. I'll follow. Be careful."

Her only answer was a nod.

When they were safely on the ground at Dante's side, they had an awkward moment when he was still feeling really p.i.s.sed and defensive without being entirely sure why, and he could see that she sensed his feelings.

Then she got a goofy grin on her face and ducked to the ground. When she came back up, she had the shifter k.n.o.b in her hand. "Aha! Cool!" She wiped it on her t-shirt. "See? Shiny!"

She looked so cute and proud of herself that his mood dissipated, and he laughed. Then she kissed the k.n.o.b. Watching her full lips purse around that piece of plastic, Demon felt an urge that would have overpowered any inhibition, even had he had one. He slid his hands over her jaw, cradling her head, and he bent down and kissed her.

Before his lips had even reached hers, she was with him. Her hands went to his hips and her body bent backward, molding to his. It was her tongue, not his, that moved first, sweeping along his lower lip. f.u.c.k, he'd never been so hard ever in his whole life. His body was functioning on a purely physical, elemental level, and his tongue overpowered hers and pushed into her mouth. He'd never kissed anybody like this, where he wasn't even paying any attention to what he was doing or what she was doing. All he knew was the feeling, the way his heart pounded, the hot silk of her skin in his hands, the way her body slotted against his like it belonged there.

The way he wanted so much more.

Then she pulled back-just an inch, but it was enough for sense to shoulder its way back into a corner of his head.

"f.u.c.k. I'm sorry." He let her go.

But she grabbed his kutte. "Don't be sorry. Please don't be sorry."

He looked into her eyes and tried to see what she was thinking. He thought he could see. He thought he saw trust and desire. But she was so much better than he was. Even if she hadn't been untouchable, she was out of his reach.

"We can't..."

She sighed and looked up at the clear blue sky. "I know. I know. The story of my f.u.c.king life." Her eyes came back to his. "But that was my first kiss, so don't be sorry. If you're sorry, that ruins the memory."

"Your first...? You never...?"

"Nope. And it was awesome. So don't be sorry, okay?"

He smiled. "Okay." He wasn't sorry anymore. He was proud, actually. And sad.

When they got back to the club compound, the van was back-and so were the patches that had been on the run with it. Including Blue. By the time Demon had Dante parked and had met Faith at the back of the car to hand her back her keys, Blue was just about on them. He ignored Demon and smiled at his daughter.

"Hey, kitty cat. Where you two been?"

"We went to Pik-A-Part. Michael needed to get some stuff for Uncle Hooj, and the van was gone, so I let him use Dante. And I got some sweet stuff for myself, too. I put it on the account. That's okay, right?"

"How much?"

"About twenty bucks is all."

"Yeah, that's fine." He turned and shouted toward the open bays, "c.r.a.pPER! GET OUT HERE AND HELP DEME GET THIS s.h.i.t INSIDE."

c.r.a.pper walked out, moving a lot more slowly than Demon would have, and they two unloaded Dante and brought Hoosier's parts to his station. When they were done, Demon started to head back to say goodbye to Faith, but Fat Jack grabbed his arm hard.

"Stay put, kid. Don't make it worse."

The possibilities of badness that Jack's warning portended were infinite. So Demon swallowed and stayed put, watching Blue hug Faith and send her on her way. He watched his daughter drive away, standing in the lot until Dante was out of sight.

Then he turned and headed back to the bays, moving fast, his head and shoulders brought forward like a charging bull. Demon locked his knees and stood firm. Whatever was about to happen, he would take it.

Blue grabbed a long, heavy screwdriver from a worktable he pa.s.sed and came straight at Demon with it. Still, Demon held. When Blue reached out and grabbed him by the throat and dragged him back until he was bent backward over Fat Jack's worktable, he went, not fighting, but not making a sound, either. When Blue shoved that driver into the soft underside of his chin, almost to the point of penetration, Demon held and kept his eyes on Blue's.

"That is my little girl. If you touch a hair on her, I will cut off your d.i.c.k, and I will f.u.c.k you right up the a.s.s with it. Then I will shove it down your throat until you choke to death on it. Am I coming through here?"

Demon felt sick and dizzy and furious and scared. His face was hot, so hot, and he knew that meant he was blazing, beet red. He could sense that everyone in the bays was watching, that people had come from the clubhouse, too, and that they were all giving the scene a wide berth.

But all he did was nod. His eyes steady on Blue's, the screwdriver digging dangerously into his flesh, he lifted his head and dropped it, twice, acknowledging that yes, Blue had come through loud and clear.

He understood. Faith was not meant for the likes of him.

CHAPTER THREE.

Faith hadn't slept. Maybe she'd dozed a little, drifting off into memory more than dream. But for the few hours between the moment Michael had turned and left her, again, and the moment the light in the sky became bright enough to call morning, what Faith mostly did was cry.

When Bibi had come back into the room, she hadn't said much. She'd simply hugged her and then shown her where she could sleep. Then she'd said good night, hugged her again, and left her to her spiraling emotions.

So much was so f.u.c.ked up. Just all of a sudden. She thought about the morning before, waking up in her loft a couple of blocks off the Venice Beach Boardwalk, having a regular morning before a regular day. Going down to Slow Drips for a coffee and a blueberry crunch m.u.f.fin, hanging out in the sunshine, doing February as only Southern California did it, then going back to the loft to work on one of her current projects.

Her life. She'd been having her life. It was pretty good, all in all. Nothing special, but hers.

Now, twenty-four hours later, all that, all those years of her pretty good life, felt like a dream, one that was breaking into pieces and blowing away as she sat up.

Though she'd grown up with Hoosier and Bibi as her second set of parents and Connor as her honorary brother, though she'd spent about as much time in their house as in her own parents' house, the bedroom she was sitting in now was alien to her. She'd never been in this house. She'd never been in this town. She'd never known this club. She'd never known this life.

In the years she'd been away, everything had changed. And yet, somehow, they'd managed to pull her back into her old life, one that didn't even exist anymore. It made no sense, and it made her feel disoriented, as if the floor under her feet were unstable, like a carnival funhouse, each room tilting a different way.

Michael was here. Michael. He'd turned away from her, left her standing alone, but he was here, and he hadn't gone far.

Michael.

She'd known he was back, of course. Bibi had never talked about him much, and Faith had never asked outright, but enough had gotten through during their occasional chats over the years to let her know that he'd been called home from exile with the Nomad charter and offered his L.A. patch back shortly after her father had been killed. She didn't know the details. But after her father was dead, and with her in San Francisco and determined never to return, she guessed the club had seen no reason to leave him out in the cold any longer.

She had indeed been determined never to return. Almost two years ago, when she'd gotten the big commission that had brought her back to Southern California, she'd felt safe coming back, because the club she'd known had died. The compound had been blown up, and the club had reformed as a new charter in a different MC entirely. They'd moved fifty miles east. There were a lot of people in those fifty miles. Faith had felt sufficiently anonymous.

And she would have been. She should have been. She had been. Until last night.

She smelled coffee, so she pulled her UGGs back on and went out into Hoosier and Bibi's strange house.

She found Bibi in the kitchen, and Michael's little boy sitting in a high chair at the breakfast table-that table, at least, was familiar. The boy had a bunch of Cheerios on his tray, and he was playing with them more than eating them, lining them up along the rim of the tray. Every now and then, he'd pick one up and put it in his mouth, using two fingers to pinch the oat ring and then sticking out his tongue so he could set it on the tip.

He saw her looking and froze, his eyes wide.

He really was beautiful. His eyes were like Michael's. His hair was darker, more a light, sugary brown than the pale gold that was his father's, but he was obviously his father's son.

As much as he'd been instantly, painfully familiar to her, Michael looked different from the way she remembered him. He wore the years hard; even though he was only thirty-two, lines around his eyes were noticeable. That pale hair was nearly gone-not receding, but cropped close to his skull all around. And he was much bigger than he'd been. She'd known a young man with a lean frame and wiry musculature. His physique had been beautifully cut but not necessarily intimidating. Now he was almost twice as broad and bulky. He'd been bare-chested last night, and he'd looked like a gladiator, his arms and torso brawny, with the sloped shoulders that came with hugely developed trapezius muscles.

There were ragged scars over his belly and chest-they looked old, but they were new to her.

And he had a lot more ink-both arms were fully sleeved and he had a large piece across his chest, all of it intricate and in full color. As he'd left her, she'd seen the word HORDE inked across his shoulders in heavy black letters. When she'd known him, he'd had only the kanji symbol for 'strength' over his heart and, after he'd earned his patch, a curving, black and grey scorpion on his left bicep. She'd seen neither last night. Of course he would have covered the scorpion, but it made her sad to think that his strength was gone, too.

She smiled at his beautiful boy. "Hi there, mister."