The president of Fortitude MC, my father, Anthony Marini, had never been a bundle of sunshine and rainbows.

As a child, I’d always been a little frightened of him. When I got into trouble, he was quick to anger, and if my mother wasn’t around to take the brunt of his foul temper, I copped the full force. I learned to duck and weave when his fists came out. I only ever escaped for now, never forever.

I’d thought the family I grew up with was normal until the moment I saw my mother’s dead body lying on the pool table in the compound. In hindsight, my living situation had been toxic, but I was a kid. An innocent fucking kid who just thought she had a big family and a grumpy daddy who liked to buy her candy and toys after he was angry.

Boy, was I wrong.

I glared at the back of Harley’s head as he led me into the Fortitude compound. He looked like he’d had a fair whack with the ugly stick, and I wondered, besides working in the garage, how much whacking he did of his own.

It had been a long couple of weeks, and I’d forgotten when I’d last slept. My eyes burned every time I blinked, my entire body felt like it was one large bruise, and I was running on fumes, but I still followed him without complaint. Thinking about Chaser, I knew he would fare better than I would. These were his people even though he wanted out as much as I did.

Harley led me down a dark hallway, then into a common room. Glancing around, I was greeted with more of the same. What felt like a hundred carbon copies of Harley glanced up and stared at me, their eyes raking over my body and sizing me up. They saw tits and a vagina, not the president’s daughter. Scantily clad women glared my way as the men leered, making my skin crawl. Seemed like it was party night.

I painted my face with a mask of nonchalance. No fear or emotion. Cold eyes. Hard mouth.

The room reeked of cigarette smoke, and the air was hazy with it. Music was playing in the background, some old rock ’n’ roll record, while the clack of balls flying across the pool table caught my attention.

I stopped in my tracks and stared at the table, my guts twisting and my lip curling. It was still there. The same position, the same table, the same green felt. Her lips were blue like the stupid lipstick we’d bought as a joke the day before. Her lips were blue, and her eyes were open and lifeless.

A hand grabbed my arm, and Harley wrenched me toward him. “Don’t stare, sweetheart.”

“Harley’s got himself a new whore,” someone said, their voice low. The volume was still too high. If I could hear, then so could the smelly tub of lard in front of me.

“Her pussy’ll be bleedin’ by tomorrow,” another voice quipped.

“Like it rough, do you?” I asked, staring at the biker who had me in his grip. His touch made me want to puke. I was already missing Chaser’s asshole attitude.

“I’ve got a big cock,” Harley said with a snarl. “Think you can take it?”

The room fell silent. All eyes were on us. This was my debut moment in front of the people I needed to win over. Weakness would not do.

“Show us then,” I declared. “C’mon. Drop your pants right now, and show us all how big your cock is. Fifty bucks says it’s tinier than my little finger.” I lifted my hand up and wiggled my littlest digit at him. “A hundred says something’s crawling on it.”

Laughter erupted around us, and I smirked as Harley’s face turned red. His head was looking increasingly like a pressure cooker with every passing second. Any moment it would go boom.

“Drop ’em, Harley!” someone shouted.

“Anyone got a ruler?”

Even the women had sheathed their claws and were sniggering between themselves.

“Fuck the ruler! Who’s got a magnifying glass?”

Harley snarled and pulled me forward, dragging me through the common room and into another hallway I knew led to my father’s rooms. When we were out of sight, he pushed me against the wall and curled his big, greasy right hand around my neck.

“You’ve got a big mouth on you, Betty,” he murmured. “Around here, big fucking mouths get people into trouble. You don’t want to get off on the wrong foot. You might be Marini’s daughter, but that won’t save you from getting a cock up your ass.”

I shoved down a wave of fear that had welled up inside me when he’d grabbed my neck and smiled the sweetest smile I could manage.

“Up my ass you say? That tight little hole? I don’t think you could find it let alone fit your tiny, little pin dick in there.”

He snarled and tightened his grip. “Bitch.”

“You need to learn how to respect women.”

“Harley.”

He froze, his grip loosening.

“Let her go,” the voice commanded. “That’s not the way to treat my daughter.”

Harley’s lip curled, and his eyes burned with unmasked loathing. Leaning close, he delivered a threat directly into my ear. “Daddy won’t always be around to save you, Betty.”

Letting me go, he strode off down the hallway toward the common room, leaving me against the wall. I was hyperaware my father was standing a handful of steps away. It was the closest he’d been in seven years.

I didn’t want to look him in the eye, but I had to. There was no avoiding it.

I turned my head slowly, my heart pounding in my chest. How one man could cause such fear in an otherwise smartass body like mine was chilling. I knew what he was capable of. I knew what he’d tried to do to me. I knew what he’d done to my mother. Now I had to cozy up to him so I could stab him in the back. It would hurt—oh, fuck, would it hurt—but the look on his face when he realized I’d taken everything from him would be worth the salt in the wound.

In the last seven years, he’d aged considerably, but it was his eyes I noticed first. His Italian heritage shone through in their chestnut coloring, but they couldn’t be any colder. His short, scrappy beard was strewn with gray, and his severe short back and sides haircut gave his hard angular face a menacing look. Broad shoulders, a hard chest, and a towering stature completed the picture. A picture was worth a thousand words and all of them said don’t trust me.

Anthony Marini was a big man. Bigger than Chaser. Bigger than Pube Face Bailey. But not as big as Harley.

“You’ve got your mother’s looks,” he said, picking up a strand of my hair and rubbing it between his forefinger and thumb. The baritone of his voice was gravelly as though he’d smoked a thousand cigarettes a day and his throat was raw.

“You’re acting like you never saw me before,” I snapped, pulling away. I wondered if that was why he’d wanted to sell me off. Because I looked like her. The woman he got killed.

“You’ve changed.”

“I’m not the same girl I was seven years ago,” I said, implying I would fight with deadly force if I had to. “Far from it.”

He nodded toward the door behind him. It was a silent command, and one I wanted to follow for once. Things needed to be said. Things that no one else had any right to overhear.

Dad—I wasn’t even sure I should call him that—held out his hand, gesturing for me to step into the room beyond like he was some kind of reformed gentleman. I wasn’t on the road with Chaser anymore. If he were the one standing there, I would give him lip, but he wasn’t. Where was he?

The entire Fortitude compound was like a miniature city. Everyone had a room, though none were like my father’s—he was king here, so he took what he was owed, which was a private sitting room with posh leather sofas, a sleek bar fridge, massive flat-screen television. A private bathroom and bedroom completed the presidential suite, all fitted out with the latest mod cons.

My gaze flickered around the room and settled on the automatic rifle mounted on the wall and the handgun and a long-barreled revolver on the glass-top coffee table. The grip on the revolver was inlaid with mother-of-pearl.

Dad closed the door behind him and crossed the room. Sitting in the armchair, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He was waiting for me to take a seat.

I lingered behind the sofa, my eyes on the guns in front of him. Did the air have a tang of copper to it, or was it my imagination? I could smell tobacco, spice and…gunpowder. Taking in the room, I was aware of him watching me as I saw the patched hole in the wall behind my head. I promptly stepped to the side.

Dad raised his eyebrows and resigned himself to the fact I wasn’t sitting anytime soon.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked, his voice familiar yet oddly strange to my ears.

“Who?”

“Chaser. Did he take care of you?”

“Yes.” I narrowed my eyes, not liking what he was implying.

“Did he touch you?”

“No.”

Dad watched me closely, taking stock of my answer. Chaser had touched me deep and hard with his cock, but Dad couldn’t know that. He would cut Chaser open top to tail if he knew, and I’d be right back on the club’s list of items to sell…if I wasn’t back on it already.

“He was stabbed,” I went on. “Butcher—”

“Will sew him up,” Dad interrupted.

“He did his job. He should be rewarded.”

Dad grunted, his lip curling. “Will you sit the fuck down?”

Tensing, I rounded the back of the sofa and perched on the edge. My thighs burned, and my back thanked me for it, but it was a bed I longed for the most. A bed, sleep, and knowing Chaser was going to be all right. Maybe I should’ve been thinking about my own fate, but I was running on fumes.

“You will be given a room in the compound,” Dad declared. “You’re free to come and go as you please, but you are not to leave under any circumstances.”

“That’s the direct opposite meaning of ‘free to come and go as I please,’” I pointed out.

“If you need something, ask. Don’t bother Chaser with your inane requests. I know he saved your life, but that does not make him your errand boy. We have new recruits that specialize in shit kicking. Ask them for your tampons.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes. Just like old times, Daddy. Just like old times.

“When does the bidding start?” I drawled.

He stared at me and didn’t bother replying. His fingers stroked his beard while his eyes retained their icy luster.

“Them attacking you is a slight on me,” he began, lowering his chin. The light bounced off his face in a demonic way, making my spine tingle. “It makes me look weak. You know I’m not weak, Betty. They’ve declared war on Fortitude by putting a hit out on you.”

I snorted. Manipulative bastard. He really thought I would buy that? Fortitude was going to war over me? Fat fucking chance.

“Betty died,” I said, lowering my voice to match the tone of his. “Seven years ago.”

“Ah, you call yourself Sloane now.” He smiled. He actually fucking smiled at me like I was a cute little child playing at grown-up games.

“So, what’s it to be, Daddy? Lay it out.”

“That all depends on your attitude.”

“You could’ve had something good,” I murmured. “It could’ve been great, you know, but you screwed it all up. You raised your hand to my mother. You raised your hand to me. To you, a woman is something to be bought and sold. You tried to sell me into sexual slavery. Your own daughter.” I reached out and picked up the revolver, knowing full well it wasn’t loaded. I stroked the mother-of-pearl, watching the colors shimmer. “I’m half her, but I’m also half you.” I glanced at him, a smirk playing on my lips. “There’s power in that.”

“Is that what you want?” The undertone of his smile changed, and he leaned back in the armchair, the leather creaking.

Setting down the revolver, I rose to my feet, trying not to puke on the way up. “It all depends on your attitude.”

He nodded, the ice in his eyes beginning to thaw. His gaze never left mine as he took a cell phone out of his pocket and brought it to life.

“You must be tired,” he said before pressing the screen. Lifting the phone to his ear, he added, “Rick. My daughter is here. Get the fuck in here, and show her to her room. Get her whatever she wants.” He looked at me. “Within reason.”

He put the phone away, and I wrinkled my nose.

“That gun is pretty,” I said. “Is that within reason?”

“I won that off a Mexican,” he replied. “Cartel, he was. Outside of reason. You don’t need weapons in the compound.”

The door opened, cutting off any chance I had of making a witty comeback. The entire MC was packing heat, yet I was unarmed…like all the other Old Ladies in the joint. Being Marini’s daughter wasn’t a fast track to notoriety, not after the stunt I pulled getting out of the place the first time around. I would have to earn that pretty sidearm, but it was worth a try.

A man strode into the room, dressed in beat-up jeans, boots, and a faded Harley Davidson T-shirt. He had a shaved head, stubbled jaw, and soft eyes to match his baby face. A new recruit. I made a mental note to ask him for tampons.

“Rick, this is my daughter Sloane.”

I stepped around the sofa, glad to get away from the dangerous tug of war that’d begun with my father.

The newbie recruit nodded, eager to serve his master like the desperate dog he was. “Room’s this way.”

I took two steps before I stopped.

“Dad?” I turned, leaving Rick out in the hallway.

My father lifted his head and waited for my pearl of wisdom.

“If you ever try to sell me again, the last thing you’ll see is my face as I put a bullet into your head.”

“Of course.” He smirked, lips curving lopsidedly. “You are half me.”