“Touching her was stupid,” the big man said. “Now Shade’s gonna be in a bad mood and that won’t end well.”

I took a deep breath, looking around to find half the clubhouse watching our little scene. My back hurt and my cheek throbbed where it’d hit the truck’s side mirror. I reached up, touching it carefully as I considered my options.

“Shade’s coming!” one of the girls said breathlessly. Rebel tried to push himself up, his face filling with panic. Another biker stepped forward, raising a baseball bat.

Holy shit.

This was actually happening. This is my life. I was really surrounded by angry Reapers and their women, and my ex was gonna get destroyed. I might be new to the area, but I’d been around long enough to know how things worked around here—these guys could do whatever the hell they wanted without any consequences.

A good girl would be scared.

A decent girl would find a way to run.

I’d been a good girl for most of my life, though, and what’d it gotten me? A couch in a trailer and a boyfriend who traded me for a fucking motorcycle. He only traded you for part of a fucking motorcycle, Wonder Woman whispered in my ear.

Too true, sister. Too true.

“Give me the bat,” I said, my voice cold and strong. The bikers glanced at each other, and Dopey shrugged. His fellow Reaper tossed me the bat and I caught it like a badass, hefting it thoughtfully in my hands. A flash of sunlight reflected in the truck’s side mirror caught my eye, reminding me that I’d have one hell of a bruise soon. I raised the bat, took aim and hit the mirror so hard it went flying.

“Fuck!” someone shouted, but I didn’t pay attention. Rebel loved that truck. Not as much as he’d loved his motorcycle, but enough that destroying it would hit him hard. Raising the bat again, I circled the vehicle, then aimed for a headlight, smashing that out too. Oh, this was good. Very therapeutic. Whoops and cheers went up around me as I took out another light, the other mirror and then attacked the windshield. The glass cracked but it didn’t break, which was frustrating as hell. I’d just turned the bat around to use as a battering ram when someone grabbed me around the waist, pulling me back and away.

“You need to stop,” Shade told me, his voice in my ear low and controlled.

“No,” I snarled, bucking against him. “I want to kill him and kill his truck and cut off his balls and—”

“And you can,” he said soothingly. “But this isn’t the right way to do it. You’re gonna hurt yourself if you don’t calm down.”

The adrenaline surging through my body begged to differ, but he held me tight, forcing me to settle. I considered fighting him but that wouldn’t do any good. He’d made his point last night—Batman was stronger than Wonder Woman.

Fucking stupid men.

I stilled and Shade let me go, reaching out for the bat. I stared down at his hand, hating the fact that yet another man was telling me what to do. His club surrounded me, though. They had all the power.

Men always had all the power.

I forced my fingers to release my weapon. Shade smiled at me, tossing it to the ground. Then he raised his other arm, offering me something.

A tire iron.

“This’ll do a lot more damage,” Shade said, the words just for me. “You fuck up his truck as much as you want, but don’t touch him. Not here. We’ll take care of him later when there aren’t so many witnesses.”

My mouth gaped. “Are you serious?”

“Always,” he replied, reaching out to touch the tip of my nose. “That was cute with the bat, but show me what you can do with a tire iron, baby.”

I grinned like a lunatic, wrapping my fingers around the heavy bar and turning toward the truck again, taking careful aim. The metal hit the windshield with a shattering crash, the curved tip finally punching through the weak spot. The safety glass didn’t totally disintegrate but it’d still cost a fortune to replace, and I knew for a fact Rebel didn’t have any insurance.

Yeah, I had real a gift for picking winners.

I smashed the windshield again, then went after the driver’s side window. It wasn’t enough, though. I wanted more. Circling, I studied the truck and then glanced down at Rebel, who still cowered on the ground. He watched me with wide, terrified eyes, and I let my gaze fall to his crotch. Trade me like a baseball card, would he?

God, but I’d love to take that tire iron to his balls.

Shade was right, though. There were a lot of witnesses and I didn’t want to go back to jail. Ever. That didn’t mean I couldn’t fuck with Rebel’s head a little, though.

“Do you have a knife I can borrow?” I asked Shade. He raised a brow, then glanced toward Dopey. The man shrugged and unsnapped the leather strap that held a large knife sheathed to his leg. He handed it to me wordlessly. I tested the sharpness against my thumb, the thinnest of blood lines welling up from the tiny cut. It hurt, but not half as bad as Rebel had hurt me.

“I should cut off your balls,” I told my former boyfriend. “You tricked me and tried to use me like a whore. Now you’re going to pay for that.”

Rebel moaned in terror as I stepped toward him, sending a thrill through me. Damned straight you should be afraid, motherfucker. Then I turned away, smiling as I drove the knife deep into one of his tires. The air rushed out. I moved on to the next, and the next. By the fourth I felt some of my adrenaline fading. Rebel was sobbing, and all around me bikers were laughing and clapping. I turned to Dopey, carefully rotating the knife to offer him the handle.

“Thank you.”

Then I took a deep breath, wiping my forehead. Goddamn, but it was a beautiful morning.

Shade stepped up to me, looking almost proud. Something sparked between us, something wild and fun and free. Something close to the feeling I got from riding on the back of a motorcycle, a mixture of thrill and excitement and sheer joy as the wind tore through my hair and sang in my ear.

“That was the sexiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen,” Shade said. He caught the back of my head in his big hand, pulling me in hard for a kiss. His other arm wrapped around my body, holding me tight as his tongue ravaged my mouth like it belonged to him. God help me, in that moment it did. My body went molten, the thrill turning to something else—something more intense—as his tongue thrust deep.

I wanted to stay here, I realized. Let him drag me back into his clubhouse to his ratty old bed, rip off my clothes and fuck me until I forgot reality. The past few months had been tough, and while I’d had fun with Rebel, I’d never really been able to count on him. I had a feeling that if I just did what Shade wanted—followed him like a good biker babe—he’d take care of everything and I wouldn’t have to think for a while or make any tough decisions.