I nodded.

He shook his head again, smirking. "d.a.m.n."

My stomach dropped. He was making fun of me.

I ripped my hand out of his and crossed my arms over my chest. "I know I'm weird. Everyone at school always tells me that. Everyone except my best friend Kami. They hate my music because it's old. They hate my clothes cuz they're boy clothes. They think I'm a freak! So go ahead and say it! You think I'm freak, don't you!"

Deuce knelt down in front of me. "Darlin' you ain't weird. You're twelve. An those kids don't hate you, not even close. The girls are jealous cuz you're so d.a.m.n pretty and the boys are just bein' boys tryin' to flirt but not havin' the first clue how to go about it."

You're so d.a.m.n pretty.

"I'm pretty?"

His lips twitched. "Only twelve and already fishin'. Yeah, darlin', you're pretty. Gonna be beautiful someday. Gonna make some boy happier than a pig in s.h.i.t."

I grinned. Who would have thought the words "pig" and "s.h.i.t" used in the same sentence could make a girl blissfully happy.

"There it is," he said quietly. "That's what I like to see. Nothin' better than a pretty girl smilin'."

I stared up at him; he stared down at me. His hard eyes gentled and I felt my body go b.u.t.ter soft. Something was happening to me, something important, monumental even.

The shift from child to teenager. Although I wouldn't understand this until I was much older, what had happened and why it had happened, standing there in the middle of a pumpkin field I'd known I was irrevocably changed. And that I'd changed because of and for this man.

"EVA! WHAT THE f.u.c.k!".

I swiveled around. Frankie was storming towards us, kicking poor innocent pumpkins out of his way.

"Great," I groaned. "Frankie found me."

"Your man?" Deuce asked watching Frankie's temper tantrum with marked interest.

My eyes bugged out of my head. "Ew! He's my fake brother!"

Frankie's long brown hair was flying all over the place and his dark brown eyes had darkened further with burgeoning anger. Only fifteen and he was already six foot tall with the body of a quarterback. He wasn't as big as Deuce was but he would be someday.

"I know you?" Frankie hissed, stopping only inches from Deuce.

Deuce's eyebrows popped and he smirked. "No kid. Fraid' we haven't had the pleasure."

Frankie hated being called a kid, especially in front of me. I watched as his hands clenched into fists.

Deuce wasn't smiling anymore. "You're gonna wanna reel that in. I don't take s.h.i.t from grown men and I'm sure as s.h.i.t not gonna take s.h.i.t from an a.s.shole who's pretendin' he's grown cuz he wants down a girl's pants."

I closed my eyes. Deuce didn't know Frankie therefore he didn't know that Frankie wasn't trying to impress me, this was just the way he was all of the time. Before he could throw a punch and get his b.u.t.t kicked by Deuce, I pushed in between them and wrapped my arms around Frankie's middle.

"I missed you," I said hurriedly. "I've been looking everywhere for you and couldn't find you anywhere. I asked Deuce to help me look for you."

Frankie's arms wrapped around me and his hard body sagged against mine. One of his hands fisted in my hair and the other held tight to my waist.

"Sorry," He muttered. "I just thought...I don't know...you gotta stay close to me. I can't f.u.c.kin' protect you if I don't know where you are. If somethin' happened to you baby, I would kill myself. Can't be in this world without you. f.u.c.k, I can't even think 'bout you bein' gone, makes me f.u.c.kin' crazy."

"Oh Frankie," I whispered. "You gotta stop worrying. Nothing's going to happen to me and I'm never going to leave you."

Deuce hesitated leaving Eva alone with that crazy little s.h.i.t but it looked as if she was the only person who had any sort of control over him, so he left her to it. He had known kids like Frankie growing up. Jacked in the head, no control, caught crazy at the drop of a hat and usually ended up dead before they turned thirty. Preacher giving him a cut had been a big mistake. He didn't give a s.h.i.t how much love he had for the boy. When s.h.i.t got intense, and it always did, you needed level headed men on your crew.

"Dare you to touch her t.i.ts."

Deuce paused beside a rundown barn at the edge of the farm.

"Dare you to f.u.c.k her."

"Preacher finds out he'll kill you."

He stiffened. Little s.h.i.ts were talking about Eva.

"I'm not scared of Preacher. 'Sides she's the only b.i.t.c.h here old enough to f.u.c.k."

"She's f.u.c.kin' ugly. Except for her t.i.ts, b.i.t.c.h has nice t.i.ts. I'd f.u.c.k her just to see those t.i.ts."

Deuce saw red. Eva was twelve years old. Yeah, she had t.i.ts, twelve-year-old t.i.ts. And these f.u.c.kers were around sixteen and seventeen. He cracked his knuckles and stalked inside the barn.

Five little s.h.i.ts were leaning back against a row of empty horse stalls smoking cigarettes, acting like they were grown.

"Deuce," One of the little s.h.i.ts said. "What's up man?"

He didn't answer, just walked up to the first little s.h.i.t and kicked him in his face then moved onto the next. Yanking little s.h.i.t number two up by his collar, he spit in his face, gave him a fist to the gut and tossed him to the side.

The remaining three had scrambled behind stacked bales of hay.

"Git your f.u.c.kin' a.s.ses back here," He said, pulling his piece from the back of his jeans. "And take your f.u.c.kin' punishment like the men you ain't. If not I got some bullets with your f.u.c.kin' names on 'em."

"What the f.u.c.k did we do?" A pimply faced, gangly little s.h.i.t screeched.

Using his gun, he gestured to where they had been sitting just moments ago. "Get. The. f.u.c.k. Over. Here."

They got.

"I hear you talkin' 'bout Eva again. I see you lookin' at Eva, I see you within a hundred feet of Eva, you are all dead. You feel me?"

Wide eyed they nodded.

"Gonna go find your father's next and tell them what kinda b.a.s.t.a.r.ds they're raisin' and I 'spect they'll be beatin' the s.h.i.t outta you next but first you're dealin' with me."

He took the third little s.h.i.t by his greasy hair and brought the kids head down on his knee. Out cold, he shoved him to the side.

The forth little s.h.i.t p.i.s.sed himself the moment he stepped to him. Laughing, he moved on to the last little s.h.i.t. The one who had called Eva ugly. Grabbing his neck, he shoved the barrel of his gun in the boy's mouth.

"Know for a fact you got a coupla sisters. Know for a fact one of 'em is just a year older than Eva. How's 'bout I go find your little sister and f.u.c.k her? How's 'bout I get some of my boys to f.u.c.k her too? Maybe we can all f.u.c.k her at the same time? f.u.c.k her in her mouth, and her p.u.s.s.y and her f.u.c.kin' a.s.shole. Sound good?"

Crying, the kid shook his head.

"You respect women you little f.u.c.kin' s.h.i.t. It was a f.u.c.kin' woman who carried you around in her f.u.c.kin' body, f.u.c.kin' birthed you and f.u.c.kin' loved you, and it's gonna be a woman who keeps you warm at night, who lets you inside her body and it's gonna be a woman who carries around your f.u.c.kin' children. You f.u.c.kin' respect that, you feel me? You f.u.c.kin' respect women, all of 'em, or I will end you."

He released him and the kid fell to his knees retching.

"f.u.c.kin' little s.h.i.ts," He muttered. Tucking his gun back in his jeans he walked away.

CHAPTER THREE:.

I was sixteen.

It was summer in Manhattan.

And it was the first Sunday of the month.

Smack dab between Morissey's Bar and a Middle Eastern grocery store, up on the roof of the Demon's five story Portland Brownstone, the MC's monthly family barbeque was in full swing. Old ladies and wives, children, cousins, friends of families and business a.s.sociates were talking and laughing, dancing and drinking while dogs and burgers were being flipped on the grills as fast as the kegs were emptying.

On top of a picnic table, Frankie and I were sitting side by side sharing a pair of earbuds. My discman was wedged between us, our heads were pressed together, while we rocked out to Led Zepplin's Dazed and Confused. I had my arm slung over Frankie's broad shoulders and his hand was sliding up and down my thigh, his fingers tapping out the beat of the song.

"Heads up brothers the Hors.e.m.e.n are here!"

My head swiveled right.

Another yell. "Hide your women!"

This was followed by loud guffaws and a lot of feminine giggling.

I watched as a large group of leather clad men joined the crowd on the roof. On the backs of their cuts were the h.e.l.l's Hors.e.m.e.n insignia.

Just like the insignia on my medallion.

My heart started pounding. Was Deuce here? I scanned the crowd but the Hors.e.m.e.n had already dispersed within the sea of people.

Frankie squeezed my thigh to get my attention. I pulled out my ear bud and slanted my eyes at him.

"Want me to hide some booze for later? Some smoke?"

Demon barbeques were infamous for becoming wild and reckless and more often then not every last biker would be pa.s.sed out drunk before midnight. This was when their offspring partied with their leftover booze and green.

"Yeah," I said and smiled at him.

Frankie stood, ran his fingers through my long dark hair and pulled my head flush against his hard abdomen. "Be right back," He whispered.

"And Eva?"

I looked up.

"Don't f.u.c.kin' go anywhere until I get back."

Rolling my eyes, I put my earbuds in and resumed my head bobbing, foot tapping and overly loud singing, happily ignoring the openmouthed stares my singing always caused.

Middle school had been rough for me but I'd since grown into my awkwardness. I'd embraced my weirdness, I was cool with my oddities. I was who I was and I didn't care anymore what anyone else thought. High school so far had been good to me. I was pretty, I was popular and I had a ton of friends. I suspected most of my girlfriends used to me get near Frankie, trying to bag him. Frankie was a good-looking guy, big and broad with finely chiseled features. He was a pureblood Italian with brown eyes the color of dark chocolate and thick blown hair he'd grown long.

The girls flocked and bag them he did. In droves. Never did the same girl twice. So other than having to listen to all the girls at school whine and pine over Frankie, life was good. It was fun and uncomplicated and I was happy.

My eyes trained on the blacktop beneath me, a shadow fell over me and a pair of leather boots walked into my line of sight. I stared down at them. Full grain black leather with a rubber sole. Detailed at the ankles with metal buckles, they looked edgy, s.e.xy.

I looked up.

"Still wearin' chucks and singin' out of tune I see."

Yep. Edgy and s.e.xy. Just like the man wearing them.

Deuce was all dimples and smiles and icy blue eyes that matched perfectly with his long blonde hair that he'd pulled back in a stubby ponytail. He was just as large as I remembered, broad and well built; he towered over me and was at least half a body wider. He looked hot as h.e.l.l in a tight white tee, his leather cut and ratty, low-slung jeans. This time when I grinned at him, it wasn't with little girl awe it was with sixteen year old s.e.xual fascination.

"Eva f.u.c.king Fox," He drawled. "You've grown."

"Deuce," I said, smiling impishly. "You've aged."

He threw his head back and laughed a deep, rumbling laugh that had my belly clenching and my nipples tightening. I wasn't the only female affected; several women on the roof were openly fawning over him.

Reaching inside his cut, Deuce pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He kept his eyes on me as he lit it. "How old are ya now, darlin'? Eighteen, nineteen?"

"Sixteen," Frankie hissed appearing beside me. "Six f.u.c.kin' teen."

Deuce's eyes cut to Frankie and I watched as recognition dawned. It wasn't happy recognition.

"Crazy f.u.c.kin' Frankie," Deuce said smirking. "Got a pretty impressive rep for a brother so f.u.c.kin' young."

Frankie had been coined "Crazy Frankie" a few years ago because...he was crazy.

Hands clenched into fists, Frankie glared at Deuce. "You're gonna wanna back the f.u.c.k off Eva, Horseman."

I tugged on his cut. "Calm down. He's friends with daddy."

Frankie turned his glare on me. "No baby, he's not. He's in business with him. It's f.u.c.kin' different. You shouldn't be around him, he's f.u.c.kin' dangerous. If Preacher could he'd take him to ground."

I gaped at Frankie.

He shrugged. "Way it is babe."