It was an impressive argument in favor of silence, all things considered.

In the midst of all this, they called on Friday to let us know my van was ready. I drove the loaner over to the shop, where I was handed my keys by a gruff, overweight man who ignored me when I asked about a bill. He wouldn’t even tell me what’d been wrong with the vehicle, which seemed a bit excessive. I would’ve been pissed if I weren’t so thankful that it was up and running without me having to blow my savings completely. Sure, I had insurance money coming. Theoretically. But I’d need that to rebuild, and those medical bills were always waiting for me.

Now it was Friday evening, and I was about to experience my first real biker party out at the Armory. I wasn’t sure how I felt about this—before all the drama with the house, I’d promised Reese that he could have Friday night and I wanted to keep my word. On the other hand, I’d watched my house blow up and I didn’t have anything to wear.

Reese laughed at me and suggested I go naked.

I went shopping instead, both for clothing and for several large containers of baked beans and fruit salad, because exploding house or not, I’d be damned if I’d show up to a potluck empty-handed. The gravel parking lot outside the Armory was about half full when I pulled in, with the same two young prospects I’d met on my first trip out there directing traffic.

Did those poor guys ever get a break?

This time they didn’t question me as I walked toward the building, just waved me through a side gate in the wall. I followed a narrow passage between the wall and the looming mass of the fortress itself, leading to a large courtyard in the back. It was a mixture of pavement, open grass, and outbuildings that had to cover a good acre or two.

It felt like being inside a castle courtyard, but instead of knights and ladies there were big, scary guys with beards and more cleavage than I’d ever seen outside a girls’ locker room. People bustled around everywhere and they all seemed to know each other or have a job to do. Feeling awkward, I glanced around for Reese. Maybe coming out here had been a mistake. Then a tall, curvy woman in tight jeans came up to me, smiling broadly. She looked about my age and very friendly.

“Hey, I’m Darcy,” she said, reaching out to take the container of beans from me. “I’m Boonie’s old lady. He’s president of the Silver Bastards. I don’t think we’ve met before?”

“London Armstrong,” I said, putting on my game face. “I’m friends with Reese Hayes.”

“Picnic?” she asked, looking startled. “Um, don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t look like his usual type. Are you … together?”

A heavy arm came down around my shoulders, startling me so much I squeaked. I looked up to find Painter grinning at Darcy, a hint of the devil in his pale blue eyes. His white-blond hair was newly spiked and he wasn’t wearing a shirt under his leather cut. Made me feel kind of pervy to notice, but between the muscles and the tattoos he was actually very attractive. He smelled good, too.

Oh, I definitely needed to keep his handsome ass away from Melanie … Boys like this one were dangerous, and not just because of the whole prison thing.

“London’s playing house with Pic,” he said blandly. Darcy’s eyes opened wide.

“You don’t say?”

Painter nodded.

“Yup, they’re shacked up,” he said. “Expectin’ him to get down on one knee and propose soon. It’s all so beautiful we could just cry.”

Her mouth dropped and he burst out laughing.

“Fuckin’ priceless,” he said, shaking his head and dropping his arm. “She’s his newest piece of ass. Seems to be sticking more than the usual, but we all know how he is. She doesn’t like me much for some reason, do you, babe?”

I glared at him, trying to decide whether kicking him in the nuts on Reaper property was a bad idea.

Probably.

“Reese and I are dating,” I said to Darcy, pulling my dignity around me like a queen. “I had a problem with my house, and he graciously offered to let me stay as his guest until I get things worked out. Anything else is baseless speculation.”

With those words I scowled at Painter for emphasis. He held his hands up in surrender, a look of blatantly fake empathy taking over his features.

“Wow, guess I’m not wanted here. I’ll go. You bring Melanie with you? I’d love to show her the clubhouse.”

I growled and he burst out laughing again before swaggering off.

“I see …” Darcy said slowly. “Well, you must be something special, because Pic doesn’t date women. He fucks ’em and dumps ’em. I should know. Enough of his leftovers have shown up at my place crying over the years.”

“Well, that’s very interesting,” I replied, because what else could you say? Darcy shook her head, frowning.

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking—that was so rude and I didn’t mean it that way. We must seem like the strangest people you’ve ever met.”

I didn’t respond to that, and she shrugged sheepishly.

“Don’t worry. Painter”—she paused to glare at him across the courtyard—“just has a strange sense of humor, and I’m sure he didn’t mean to offend you. And I know all the other old ladies will be thrilled to meet you. This is a special party, because we’ve got people coming in from five different states. Montana, Idaho, Oregon, California, and Washington. Three different clubs. You’ll have a great time, although you might want to stick close to either Pic or one of us, seeing as you don’t have a property patch.”

“What’s a property patch?”

“Wow, you really are new,” she said, eyes widening. “It’s when a man marks you as his, so the others know to keep their hands off. See mine?”

She turned around and for the first time I noticed she was wearing a leather vest, just like one of the guys. On the back it read “Property of Silver Bastards. Boonie.”

Once again, I had no idea what to say. She seemed proud and pleased with it, although I couldn’t quite imagine calling myself property. Of course, I couldn’t imagine my house blowing up, either. Sometimes life throws you a curve. Darcy turned back toward me, eyes assessing my face carefully.

“In club culture, being a man’s property is like being married to him,” she said. “It means he’s my old man, and that’s a special bond. The others respect it.”

“I see …”

She laughed.

“No, you don’t, but you’re being polite and I like that,” she told me. “More polite than I was. Here, come on over and meet some of the other girls. You’ll like them, and while you may not be Pic’s old lady, you’re obviously someone special. Otherwise you wouldn’t be sleeping over at his place. Don’t listen to Painter—he’s just fuckin’ with your head, okay?”

I shrugged, because I hadn’t planned on listening to Painter anyway. I liked Darcy, though. She was a little different, but she seemed genuine and kind. That went a long way in my book.

She started walking across the cracked concrete, and I followed her, studying the scene. There was a largish group of women arranging food on long tables back against the building. They all worked together smoothly to put together the meal, and I got the impression that every movement was well rehearsed—they must do this a lot.

That sort of surprised me, although I’m not sure why. I guess I’d pegged the parties as one hundred percent debauchery, but even sex fiends have to eat. At least my baked beans and fruit salad fit right in, because this spread wouldn’t be out of place at a church social. Apparently some things are universal, and potlucks are one of them.

Off to the right was a big fire pit built out of curved concrete landscaping blocks. The blackened smoke streaks and enormous pile of firewood stacked behind it made it clear the club used it often and well. Past that was a long patch of grass that I wouldn’t call lush, but it seemed to be holding its own despite the presence of a big wooden play structure complete with swings, slide, and rope bridge to a tree-house. The latter had been built into the branches of an enormous tree with a trunk that had to be nearly six feet wide. Old growth. Probably predated the building.

“Ladies, this is London Armstrong,” Darcy said as we reached the tables, which was surrounded by bustling women wearing property patches like Darcy’s. “She’s with Picnic.”

Several of the women stilled, studying me with sudden intensity. I glanced around, wondering what I’d done. A small brunette with riotously curling hair stepped forward, grinning at me. I’d met her before … What was her name? Marie. That was it. She’d shown me around Pawns the first night my crew had come in.

“Hey, London,” she said brightly. “Good to see you again! Sorry if it looks like we’re acting weird, but Picnic doesn’t usually bring women around here. Well, not the kind of women who bring fruit salad with them.”

I rolled my eyes, because I knew exactly what kind of women he liked to hang out with, and I’d be willing to bet some of them weren’t old enough to know how to make baked beans. You didn’t make the beans, either, my brain pointed out caustically. Jealous much?

Well, I could have made them if I wanted to, I insisted right back.

“Um, London? You okay?”

Oh, crap. I’d zoned out in the middle of a conversation again. I really, really needed to stop doing that. I smiled brightly and pretended I wasn’t a giant dork.

“Reese and I are dating and he wanted me to come to the party,” I told her, holding out the plastic bowl like an offering. “And I don’t believe in coming to parties empty-handed. Now how can I help?”

Marie looked impressed, and I realized I’d passed some sort of invisible test. I didn’t know what it was and I didn’t care. It was just nice to be surrounded by friendly faces, because despite the fact that the Reaper men had been good to me—for the most part—they were still scary.

“I’m Dancer,” said a tall woman with long hair, dusky skin, and a slow smile that screamed sexy. “I’m Bam Bam’s old lady. Horse is my brother, and we practically grew up in this club.”

“I met Horse,” I told her, smiling. “But I don’t think I’ve met Bam Bam.”

“He’ll be here tonight,” she said, her voice soft with something I couldn’t quite read.

“Horse is my old man,” Marie chimed in. “He’s a handful, but he’s a good guy. Most of the time, at least. Pic give you a gun yet?”

“Excuse me?”

“Has Picnic given you a gun yet?” she asked, as if it were a perfectly reasonable question. I shook my head, wondering if I’d somehow missed half the conversation.

“Just sort of seeing where things stand,” she said, smirking. That made no sense at all, so I decided to ignore it.

“Hi, I’m Em,” said a young woman with brown hair and Reese’s eyes. I recognized her immediately from the photos around his house and felt a sudden burst of nerves. This was his daughter. The one who’d moved to Portland last year, leaving him with an empty nest.

Why did I suddenly feel like I was in a job interview?

“Hi,” I said. “I’ve heard all about you. I didn’t realize you lived close enough to come to a party, though. I thought you were in Portland with your …” I fumbled for the right word, because she didn’t seem old enough to use the term “old man.” But I was pretty sure he was more than a boyfriend, and they weren’t married. Awkward, trying to figure out how to say things.

“My old man is Hunter,” she said, her eyes sparkling as she said his name. “He’s here for the meet. Bunch of clubs coming together, but that doesn’t have anything to do with us. Your only job here is to have fun, okay? Let’s go find you a drink and we can talk. I want to get to know the woman who’s moved in with my dad.”

“I wouldn’t say we’ve moved in together …”

“Have you slept there more than one night?” she asked, her voice challenging. I nodded. “Well, that’s more than he’s done with any other woman since my mom died.”

Damn. No pressure there.

Em took my arm and pulled me over past the tables to where several plastic garbage cans held silver kegs surrounded by ice. She grabbed a red Solo cup.

“Beer?”

“Sure.” Not that I’m a particularly big beer fan. Usually I drink wine, but it seemed the polite thing to do and I could nurse it through the evening. I pulled out my phone while she primed the pump, wondering why Reese never answered my message. He’d told me to text him when I arrived. Nothing.

“You waiting to hear from my dad?” Em asked, holding out the cup. I shoved the phone back into my pocket, nodding. “He’s probably welcoming the other officers who traveled here. It’s important—otherwise I’m sure he’d be out here with you already. As the president, he has certain things he needs to do at events like this, but he obviously trusts you to handle yourself. Want to sit down?”

“Sounds good,” I said, noting that she hadn’t gotten a cup of beer for herself. Hmmm … Should I have accepted her offer? Maybe it wasn’t considered appropriate to have a drink so early? A quick, surreptitious glance around told me other people had already hit the beer.

I decided I was overthinking things. Sometimes people just don’t feel like drinking, and if I kept worrying about doing something wrong I’d go crazy. We found a spot at a picnic table near the playground, and she sat down, straddling the bench to face me.