“Fuck me, already.”

Ava Marie Donner glowered at the rider beside her.

“Why should I?” she retorted, eying the cub up and down. “You feel like losing your balls to my daddy’s claws?”

The dick, a new prospect by the name of Edison, just grinned in response. “I’d run the risk.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re not my mate.”

“And you’re staying pure for him?” Edison demanded, his grin turning lewd.

“It’s none of your business if I am or not,” she retorted snidely. “Whatever the hell I am doing, it won’t be with you.”

“Ain’t I strong enough for you, princess?” Edison growled, kicking the hog’s stand down.

“No,” she told him bluntly. “I’m the Clan Leader’s cub... what do you think?”

Edison’s cheeks, still round with youth, turned ruddy with the humiliation he felt at her words. “I could take your daddy.”

The statement had her barking out a laugh. “You could, huh? I’ll tell him the next time he’s looking for someone to spar with. Or, do you think you could Challenge him now? Maybe take him on for Prez?”

The red that had so swiftly appeared drained into a pasty white that had her lips twitching with a derisive amusement.

It was unusual to have one of The Nomads MC actually approach her. Sure, they looked often but they never touched. They usually valued their lives more than that. Her daddy was the biggest, baddest bear in the MC. Still in his prime, he’d survived three Challenges alone last year, so Edison’s posturing was ridiculous to the extreme. There wasn’t the slightest chance that he’d win.

Striding away from the bikes she’d been eying with envy, she headed from the bike shed where Edison had caught her and back to the clubhouse.

Mischa, the mate of the club’s VP, Kiko, appeared out of nowhere. Her Slavic accent was still present even though she’d been in the States for over twenty-five years now as she murmured, “Do you wish me to talk to Kiko about him?”

Ava shot Mischa a look. “I can handle him.”

“Why waste energy on it?” A very Slavic shrug came next. “He’s hardly prospect material if he’s coming onto the Prez’s only child. Moron,” she finished with a sniff. “Let Kiko sort the wheat from the chaff.”

“He could be good for the club He’s just thinking with his dick.”

“When don’t they?” Mischa retorted with a grimace. “Still, he’s more of an idiot than most.”

Ava couldn’t argue with that. “No. I’ll see how I get on, then I’ll talk to Kiko. If he doesn’t lay off, I know what to do. Don’t worry.”

“Good.”

The satisfaction in her tone had Ava smirking, but the smirk died a quick death as she grunted, “There’d be no wheat to sort if Kiko got rid of all the prospects who pester me.”

Mischa grimaced. “True, but they just gawp. He approached you. The boy’s an idiot,” she declared. “For the moment, he deserves to keep his balls—as you so rightly said, Mars will take them from him for pestering you.”

She laughed at the memory. “Did you see his face?”

Mischa grinned. “I did. From bright red to pale white. You handled yourself well, babushka.”

Ava dipped her head for a moment, then shot Mischa a grateful smile. “Thank you for not wading in.”

Mischa’s grimace was rueful. “It was hard not to, but I heard your argument with your mother the other night. How could I intervene when it causes you such upset when she does?”

“I know she means well, but...”

“She’s your mama, babushka. She’ll always try to watch over you.”

“In human years, I’m an adult now. I shouldn’t even be living here. I should be living on my own.”

Mischa snorted. “Tell that to your papa.”

Ava sighed, but it wasn’t an overly irritated one. She’d long since come to terms with the fact life would be easier if she stayed at the clubhouse until her mate Claimed her.

Whenever he decided to get around to it.

Damn him.

God, she longed for a house of her own. A place that her parents didn’t see as an extension of their own den.

What was it about mothers anyway?

No matter where you hid the vibrators, they seem to have some kind of weird ability to find them.

Grimacing at the memory of her mother’s face when she’d come across Ava’s favorite vibrating butt plug, she confessed to Mischa, “They’re driving me crazy at the moment.” Though, she wasn’t sure why her father had given her permission to go through her room. The lock on the door was supposed to keep the Clan out, including her mother. Yet, she found a way in anyways.

“It’s all the new prospects sniffing around you. They’re just concerned, that’s all.” She placed her hands together like she was praying and mumbled, “Thank the Goddess I was gifted boy children, not girls.”

Ava chuckled. “Thanks!”

Mischa shook her head, eyes twinkling. “You know what I mean. Boys are hard enough, but girls? You and Jessie drive half the men insane with your hormones.”

Ain’t that the truth.

Before Mars, her father, had met her mother, Annette, the MC hadn’t had a mate bond in the Clan house. They’d never experienced the weirdness of having unmated adult females in the den. It was discomforting to the extreme to know that the entire clubhouse was aware of her cycle. They had more fights and Challenges around those times of the month. It was a blessing that such close living had synced up the daughters’ cycles so it only happened once a month. Jesus, if it happened twice? Ava wasn’t sure the men would have survived it.

Mischa tucked her arm into Ava’s. “Do you want some borscht? It’s ready.”

“Only if we have sour cream.”

Mischa snorted. “When don’t we have sour cream when I’m making borscht?”

The bizarre purple soup was a staple of the clubhouse. In fact, the whole Clan ate Slavic meals at least four times a week as Mischa oversaw the kitchens.

For a woman whose parents were American, she knew more about Ukrainian fare than some fourth-generation Ukrainian immigrants!

“A big bowl,” Ava said with a pout. “I only got a small bowl last time.”

“You were lucky to get that.” Mischa kissed her cheek. “I saved you the bowl.”

“I know. Thank you, Mischa.” She nuzzled her temple against the other woman, finding and giving comfort with the small gesture. “You’re the best.”

As they walked down the hall toward the kitchens, Ava wondered why it was that her closest friend in the den was her mother’s age.

Jessie on the other hand was a pain in the butt. Two years younger than Ava and born to a Council member, she’d always been a nuisance, and the boys born to her father’s other Council members were equally as irritating.

Jaden and Kon, Mundo and Christie’s twins, were the eldest and the least annoying. As the three eldest, they’d always been the closest, but since they’d turned prospect, she barely saw them as they went off and worked on MC business.

As her father was approaching his third century, he was, quite frankly, a chauvinist. She knew the man had been around when corsets were considered the height of fashion and people spoke about the Civil War as in the recent past, but did he have to be such a jerk about it?

Though Ava wanted nothing more than to be a prospect, to do what Jaden and Kon did, what Gin and Cal would do next year, she couldn’t.

Instead of riding the hogs she loved, she had to ride a desk. It didn’t help she had her mother’s head for admin work. It didn’t help that she could manage the clubhouse with her eyes closed, and that she surpassed her mother’s skill with that task. Admin simply wasn’t what she wanted, though.

She huffed a sigh when Mischa toddled off to the hob. Watching as she grabbed a bowl and ladled off a huge portion which she anointed with a swirl of sour cream, Ava smiled as she placed it on the counter before her. Taking a seat behind it, she murmured, “Thanks, Mischa.”

She got a wink in response. “I saw your gloomy face this morning and knew it would cheer you up.”

“Was it that obvious?” she teased, spooning up some of the beetroot soup and sipping at it.

“Not to most, but you know I can always sense your moods.”

Strange that Mischa could and her own mother couldn’t. Glumly, she grumbled, “I wish you couldn’t. I wouldn’t wish my moods on anyone.”

“We both know why,” came the knowing retort from Mischa.

“What can I do?” she asked after another mouthful of soup. “I can’t make him Claim me.”

“I don’t understand how he’s held off for so long,” Mischa countered, shaking her head as she leaned over the counter. “I mean, Kiko waited a Godawful amount of time for me, but Chris is being ridiculous now.”

“He says he’d be a pervert to Claim me at my age.”

Mischa grumbled, “Men and their pride.”

“The bitch of it is, my dad would probably agree.”

“Waiting is doing neither of you any good,” Mischa argued. She stood upright and headed for the fridge. Grabbing two bottles of water, she passed one to Ava before opening her own. “Did you see him last cycle?”

Her and Jessie’s periods were officially known as ‘the cycle’. She’d ceased being mortified by such a collective awareness of her menstrual rhythm. There was only so many times a woman could blush at the irreparable.

“Yeah. He was bad, wasn’t he?” She grimaced at the memory of him almost getting into a fight with one of the older prospects who he’d caught flirting with Ava. He’d punched his fist into the wall and Pip, Major’s mate and the Clan’s healer, had had to heal him.

She’d watched her mate have his bones magically reset and hadn’t been able to approach him. Not to convince him the flirting had been one-sided as his glowers had made her surmise, nor to simply hold his other hand as Major’s mate, another of her father’s Council, healed him.

Mischa scoffed. “Bad? Understatement, babushka. He can’t take much more, surely?”

“I don’t know what he can take, frankly. He stopped talking to me a long time ago.” She firmed her jaw at that, but emotion overwhelmed her and her spoon clattered against the bowl as she dropped it. It took her a few deep breaths to get herself in line again.

“That might be for the best,” Mischa told her softly. “If he’s not willing to Claim you yet, then staying out of your way keeps the peace.” She took a sip of water. “I don’t understand how your father doesn’t know Chris is your mate. How he hasn’t seen is beyond me.”

“Chris is good at hiding it. And he’s made me hide it for so long, I am too.”

“It’s not fair on either of you.”

“What can I do? I can’t make him Claim me.” If she had that ability, she’d have been his since her eighteenth birthday.

Clan lore was ridiculous in that it said children only matured after forty years. Even at fifty, they were still considered cubs, just more mature than the youngest kits in the Clan. Yet, they sent their kids off to human schools. The disparity between maturity was insurmountable. To be raised among kids who were considered adult at eighteen and who left home shortly after, while the cubs had no choice but to return to the den to be swaddled...it was, quite frankly, unbearable.

“It’s such a shame he’s as old as he is,” Mischa complained. “There would be fewer issues if you two were closer in age.”

At ninety, Chris wasn’t exactly old in terms the Clan was used to. But the age difference was a problem for him. Not for her. But she knew it would be an issue for her parents which was why she’d understood his desire to wait for her to mature.

Mars was incredibly strong as a Clan leader. Few were stronger in the country, and though he didn’t rule the MC with an iron fist, he definitely was in command and no one could mistake it.

Chris, thanks to his business acumen, was on the Council. The MC had many fingers in many pies; something her father had instigated before her birth. The Nomads were nationally renowned now. Not as a Clan, but as an MC. They had their own breweries with award-winning brands of beer and ales. They even had fucking merchandise.

Chris, though a rider to his core, had gone back to college and had studied public relations to better serve his MC. As a result of his studies, the smallest of their divisions, a chain of garages, had expanded all over the state thanks to an advertising campaign that had gone viral.

As a thank you, he was on the Council. In essence, that was great. Her father knew how damn clever her mate was. But that mate was in constant contact with said father and knew how protective he was of his daughter.

She’d be lucky if she was still unclaimed when she hit forty.

“Where’d you go?” Mischa asked, gently squeezing her arm.

“Just thinking about things I can’t change,” she said glumly.

“Maybe you should ask your dad about college again.”

Ava blinked at her. “After the last time?” Mars wanted her where he knew she was. She’d tried, unsuccessfully, over the years to get him to agree but to no avail. And unless she wanted to leave the Clan, permanently; exile herself from all she knew and loved, her enormous extended family included, then she had no choice but to do as he wished.

“Yeah. That last time was two years ago. You’re twenty-five now. Plus, I told you not to pitch for an out of state college again. Go to a local one so it will at least get you out of the clubhouse. That’s what you both need. Time apart.” She grimaced. “Well, that’s the last thing you need but circumstances being what they are, that’s what will do you good. Proximity isn’t going to help you.” She squeezed Ava’s arm again. “You need to do something, babushka. You’re miserable.”

A shaky breath escaped her as she put the spoon back in the bowl. “I know.” What could she say? Mischa was one hundred percent right.

“It would help if you could tell your parents...”

“He made me swear not to.”

“And yet I still don’t understand why.”

She shrugged. “He said he didn’t want to be kicked out of the MC by the Prez for being mated to his daughter.”

Mischa made a pshawing noise. “What a ridiculous reason.”

“You said it yourself, Mischa. Men and their pride. They don’t make any sense whatsoever.”

The sound of boots stomping down the hall echoed into the kitchen. Mischa’s smile was all the proof Ava needed to know it was her mate, Kiko, coming down the way.

She dropped her head in politeness as the two greeted each other. Too used to the mated pairs in the den eating each other’s faces off after being reunited after even the shortest spaces of time, she didn’t even turn red at the noises Mischa made.

Hell, she’d seen nearly all of the mated couples in various phases of in flagrante dilecto. On top of that, she’d seen the club bunnies at work. There was no getting embarrassed after seeing what they did to earn their spot in the MC and to keep the riders happy.

A large hand clapped down on her back, and she turned at the signal that the smooching was over. “Hey Kiko,” she greeted with a faint smile.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” the VP asked, wrapping a beefy arm over her shoulder as his mate ladled him some soup. It was a portion that made Ava’s mighty bowl look small and she smiled a little at the size of it as it reminded her of Goldilocks and the three bears, especially when Mischa took a bowl for herself that was the smallest of the lot.

“Nothing’s wrong, Kiko. Thanks for asking though. You okay?”

He grunted. “Lies! But I’ll forgive you because you’re my favorite goddaughter.”

She laughed. “I’m your only goddaughter.”

“Good job. You cause enough trouble for two.” He winked at her to tell her he was teasing, then when she just smiled weakly at him, he frowned. Shooting his mate a look, Kiko murmured, “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Are you feeling ill? Your cycle was last week, wasn’t it?”

Withholding a huff at his comment, she jerked a shoulder. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Mischa inserted. “She wants to go to college.”

Kiko groaned. “Oh Jesus, not that again.” He scrubbed a hand over his face but when he reached for his spoon, Mischa slapped it.

“That’s not helpful, Kiko. We need helpful suggestions here.”

He snorted. “You’re not the one who has to put up with Mars when he has his tantrums.”

“I know, but you surely know of a way to help us?”

“Why do you want to go to college, Ava?” he asked, his tone a little to desperate, but Ava knew it was because of the militant glowers in his mate’s eye. “You’re already the best administrator the Clan has. You don’t need a degree to tell you that.”

She shrugged. “I don’t want to be an administrator.”

When he went for a spoonful of borscht, Mischa slapped his hand again. He sighed. “It seems like I can’t eat until I help. So, what is it you want to study?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He gawked at her. “Then what’s the problem?”

“I just know I don’t want to manage the MC.”

“How do we help her, mate?” Mischa asked.

“Do you know which college you want to go to? It’s not Harvard again, is it?” he demanded warily.

“No. That’s by the wayside now.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, frowning at her in a way that told her, bizarrely enough, he was offended on her behalf.

With a sigh, she explained, “They don’t hold those places open forever, you know.” She fiddled with her spoon as she shrugged. It wasn’t as nonchalant as she made it appear—it stung like hell her father hadn’t allowed her to go to Harvard. The culmination of years of study, and with the denial to use her reward, she realized it was all for nothing.

“But you were the top of your year.” He clicked his fingers. “That dictorían thing.”

She rolled her eyes. “Valedictorian, yes.”

“And they didn’t hold the place for you?”

“It was seven years ago, Uncle,” she told him softly, using the endearment for what it was—he wasn’t by blood, but by Clan he was more than that. He was like a second father.

Mischa rubbed her arm. “I’m sorry, babushka,” she told her, as she’d told Ava many, many times.

“I don’t think your father knew,” Kiko said softly. “If he had, he’d have let you go, I’m sure.”

She grunted. “Yeah, right. Why change the habit of a lifetime? Actually letting me do something I want. And surely he had to realize that Harvard wouldn’t hold a place for me forever. It’s stupid to think they would.”

“What do we know of human education?” Kiko retorted.

“It’s common sense,” she snapped back, fired up enough to lose her temper a little. “Why would the nation’s most prestigious university wait for a nobody like me? Sure, I was top of my class. Everyone is at the top of their class when they make it there. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It meant something to us. We were there for your graduation, and that speech you gave made us all proud.”

“I’m glad it did, but now it means nothing.” She pursed her lips as she thought of all the wasted hours of studing. Hours that had earned her a fully free ride to one of the best colleges in the world. “There’s no point in talking about this. He’ll never change his mind.” Mischa shot Kiko a look, one that had Ava shaking her head. “Don’t get into an argument over it. Not between yourselves or with my dad. He’ll just be his usual jerk self, and I don’t want you to end up being Challenged, Kiko. Jeez, that’s the last thing I want.”

Kiko snorted. “Mars wouldn’t Challenge me.”

“Where I’m concerned, you know he’s crazy,” came the tired reply. She got to her feet and sent Mischa a weary smile. “Thanks for the borscht, Meechee.”

“You haven’t finished it all.”

Ava just shrugged. “I’m not that hungry.”

She left the kitchen, dragging her feet as she headed down the corridor, past the common room where she could hear the sound of a game of pool being played, and aimed her way for the staircase.

Before she’d been born, a fire had decimated this part of the clubhouse. They’d patched it up, but had rebuilt a larger section. Extending the building, and almost tripling its size over the course of five years.

Above the common room, there was now an administration center. It ran the entire length of the extension, and had over thirty people working within its confines.

God, she hated the office.

Thankfully, being Mars’ daughter gave her some perks. Even though her mother usually busted her balls, she had some freedom and most of her admin work she could do in her own bedroom rather than amid the crowded quarters.

As The Nomads brand expanded, they only became busier. Sometimes, she felt like her father wasn’t letting her fly the nest simply because he needed her skills as a bookkeeper. Who better to trust than his only child?

But then, whenever that nasty, insidious thought reared its ugly head, she realized how stupid it was to think that way.

Bear Shifters were notorious for protecting their cubs. They were even more infamous for keeping their cubs young as long as possible.

It was nice, she guessed. And she never questioned that her parents loved her, but sometimes she felt like she was being suffocated by their lack of emotional support or care.

All she’d ever known was this clubhouse, and even when she was mated—when her SOB mate agreed to fucking Claim her—this would be her life too.

She’d known Chris was her mate since after she’d hit puberty. And he’d known it too.

She’d never forget the first horrified glance he’d shot her when the realization had hit home, and it was a look that would haunt her until the day she died.

Horror. Terror. Revulsion.

The triad weren’t exactly the emotions key to winning a girl’s heart. Not that she had a say in that. The Goddesses decided who was mated to whom, and Ava could only say they’d played a sick and twisted game when they’d matched her to a man in her own Clan. It was no wonder he felt like a pervert. To realize that a mate was yours when you were in your eighties and she was only fifteen was the height of cruelty.

Still, she’d matured the way a regular human would. Just because her culture kept her young, it didn’t mean her body had.

She’d always liked Chris. He’d always been friendly to her, kind. Always there with a joke or some candy if her daddy had said something to piss her off.

He hadn’t creeped on her. He wasn’t like that at all. If anything, he’d been the opposite. And when she’d had her first period, and they’d realized what they were to each other, that gentle friendship had vanished overnight.

In a way, that had hurt more than anything.

She’d grown used to his teasing jokes and him coming over and chatting to her, commiserating over something her father was dictating. In a weird way, he’d been like talking to Kiko, except she knew that whatever she said to Kiko would find its way back to her father eventually—for her own good, of course. She snorted at the thought.

Chris, on the other hand, had been a confidante. She knew he’d never tell her father anything she’d shared with him. Not that she’d shared anything too deep with him to begin with.

He’d been a guy, after all. Older than her by decades, in her father’s Council none the less. Mischa had been her only real confidante in the clubhouse after she lost Chris’ friendship. At school, she’d had her own friends but no one understood real her heritage. They didn’t know what she was.

That probably hadn’t helped, in all honesty.

She’d been raised among peers, matured with them, and those peers had flown the nest, leaving her questioning why the fuck she couldn’t.

Being shoved into a human school, being raised to be an adult at eighteen, and then being dragged back into her own culture had stung. She was still reeling from the lash of it.

With a huff, she made it to the top of the stairs and the admin quarters. She braced herself for the noise—Jesus, she hated noise—and pushed into the room.

The cacophony of sound hit her like a hammer to the head. She almost staggered from it.

Her mother had worked in a newsroom and she loved the noise. Fed off it. It energized her where it only drained Ava.

She cast a glance over the three dozen desks, seeing everyone was pretty much in situ, but thirty plus voices on the line or talking over their desks made for a hell of a lot of ambient sound.

The desks were arranged in rows. No walls separated them, so everyone was overlooked. It wasn’t about micromanagement, more for everyone’s comfort. Shifters didn’t do well in confined spaces, and this way, a lot of the admin—mostly riders with talents leaning this way—could shoot the shit as they completed their work.

Her mother wasn’t a harsh taskmaster. Well, with anyone other than Ava. Annette let the guys run wild, so long as they hit their weekly goals and completed their targets in time.

With Ava, she was a ball buster.

At the foot of the room, the only desk that ran horizontally in the space was her mother. She was on the phone, but as the door opened, her gaze clashed with Ava’s and a silent summon beckoned her.

As she’d been headed that way anyway, she complied. Otherwise, she’d have ignored her and gone straight to her desk to pick up the memos she knew would be waiting for her.

She was their daughter, not their slave. Sometimes, they had a habit of forgetting that.

Their need to push her to fulfil her potential made her feel more like a workhorse, and less like their daughter.

She strode down the back wall, aware that as she swept pass the room that she garnered the staff’s attention.

Accustomed to it, she kept her spine straight and the natural roll of her hips to a minimum. She’d been accused of being a tease more than once, which was hardly fair. The only reason she adjusted her behavior was because her father had Challenged the stupid shit who made the accusation and the guy had barely been left alive when her father decided enough was enough. The Challenge had been more of a warning to the rest of a MC than a true Challenge, and perhaps one of the many reasons why Chris hadn’t Claimed her yet.

All because one prospect couldn’t keep his fucking mouth shut and his dick in his pants.

Still, the guilt overwhelmed her enough to keep herself in line. Even if it wasn’t her fault. Even if she couldn’t help the fact she had ovaries and was currently unmated.

“Yes?” she asked Annette when her mother had put the phone down.

“Where have you been? I tried calling you earlier.”

Ava frowned, then reached in her back pocket for her cell. When her mother’s disapproving gaze flashed to the swell of her breasts covered in a thin but entirely decent camisole, she pursed her lips to curtail the words that longed to fall—she could wear a sack and these guys would notice she had tits and a pussy. Her very decent shirt and jeans were in no way inflammatory. Hell, women wore sexier stuff to the office every day in corporate America.

Eying her cell, she shrugged at the lack of notifications and flashed the screen at her mother. “No calls.”

Annette frowned. “But I tried you twice.” She narrowed her eyes. “Have you been down in the garage again?”

Fuck, she’d forgotten cell reception was shit down there.

Annette sighed when Ava had no forthcoming response. “You know your father’s forbidden you from going down there. Why do you always have to rebel against him?”

“I’m not rebelling, Mother. I was walking in the yard and I saw Edison and Jamie.” She shrugged. “I was talking to them.” A half-truth, one that had her mother softening a little. Annette didn’t like Edison but she did like Jamie.

She didn’t have to know that Jamie had disappeared within a handful of minutes, leaving her alone with Edison long enough for him to come on to her.

“Anyway, what do you need? I’m waiting on some figures I need to work with.”

Annette frowned. “I was expecting that report on the garages last night.”

She returned the frown. “Then bitch at Alan over in the Houston office. It’s not my fault he sent the data over too late for me to crunch last night.”

“I’ll send him an email. It’s not like him to be tardy.”

“Well, miracles happen.”

“Hardly a miracle,” Annette chided. “I wonder if he’s unwell.”

Ava huffed out an annoyed breath, then gritted out, “Is that everything?”

“Yes. I’ll expect that report this evening.”

“Yes, meine Führerin,” she hissed under her breath as she stormed off.

Jesus, Alan fucked up and her mother wondered if he was unwell. But if she’d been the reason for the delay, it would have been accusations and chastising words.

Heading for her perennially empty work space, she moved her hair over her shoulder to get it out of her face as she leaned over her desk and started sorting through the print outs Alan had sent over.

Her father could be terribly old school when it came down to the IRS. None of these accounts were kept on a computer that hooked up to the internet. She had to work with one that was clean from tampering.

It added to the delay on her getting the books done, but as was often the case, what her father wanted he often got.

Samuel grumbled, “Why can’t you work in the office more, Ava?”

Distracted, she just cocked a brow at him, knowing where this was going.

“You’re so pretty, you’d make my day if I got to work opposite you.”

To his left, and hers as well, Tommy and Jake chuckled. “What about us? We’d get into deep shit. It’d be hard for us to get any work done.”

She rolled her eyes. Here was another reason why her parents were glad she liked working in her room—no matter how many dictates they put down, the guys still messed with her.

Used to it though, and knowing these three were truly acting in jest, she just flipped them the bird. “It would be too hard for me as well. Looking at your ugly mugs would be so distracting.”

Jake hooted, but Tommy just pouted. “I’m hurt, Ava. Real hurt.”

“Good. Might shut you up,” she retorted as she gathered the papers together and tucked them under her arm. She shot Samuel a wink and headed out back the way she came.

Shifters were blessed with some of the Goddesses’ most wondrous DNA, and as a result were all too handsome for their own fucking good.

Hurting their ego was nigh impossible. They all knew what they looked like. It was why they could never really understand why she constantly turned them down.

It didn’t matter that her turning them down was akin to saving their lives—because no way in fuck would her father let her date, never mind screw, one of his men. They just didn’t understand how she could say no.

Rolling her eyes at their ego, she made it out of the admin block with a sigh of relief. She went in there as little as possible, mostly in an attempt to avoid her mother.

The beauty of the clubhouse being so large was she could go days without seeing either of her parents. Usually, that was only broken when one of them came looking for her—never the opposite.

Oh, Goddess, she knew they loved her, they just wanted too much from her. Expected too much without giving her anything she wanted in return.

She was only one person. One child. They really should have had a handful of kids to focus all their goals on, but unfortunately for all of them, she’d been it.

And she’d been born a chick, too.

Talk about screwed from the get go.

Grumbling, she hiked down the hallway to the other end before going down a set of stairs that led to the bedrooms. There were two floors. One for the mated couples, like her parents and Kiko and Mischa, and the top floor where all the cubs had their own rooms.

It meant most of the kids were close; especially the ones born near each other. Like she had been with Jayden and Kon, until they’d turned prospect and had forgotten all about her. Sons, after all, were allowed freedom. Daughters, not so much.

With a sigh, she let herself into her bedroom and locked the door behind her.

This was her haven. Her only solace.

It was large, the largest of the kids’ rooms if she was being honest—another perk of being the Prez’s only kid. One wall housed her queen sized bed, and opposite, there was a big screen TV. To the right of her bed, she had a walk in closet, and to the left, a connecting bath.

Underneath the TV, she had a workstation. It was overlarge, and currently had three computers up and running.

The space wasn’t functional. Not really. She’d collected bits and pieces over the years, bought swathes of fabric that she’d draped from the ceiling, and had even gone so far as to hobby craft her room into what looked like the interior of a Moroccan style tent.

Of course, the humming computers and TV spoiled that, but she was willing to put up with falling out of character for her dose of soaps on a seventy inch screen.

Aiming for her desk, she set out the sheets in a way her brain would find easier to process.

She had a form of autism; something that aligned itself to math. Most of her calculations she did without aid, and one of the teachers at school had said she was like a human calculator.

It wasn’t severe enough to affect her life, but it did play a part in the way she worked. It was why she couldn’t stand being in the office block. The reason she needed order and precision at her workstation.

If it did affect the way she lived her life, then she didn’t recognize how. But then, she was so used to outside factors interfering with her choices that she probably wouldn’t recognize it anyway.

The thought was gloomy, but then, the morning had been too.

It was with relief that she dove into the figures Alan had sent over. Though this type of work bored her, it was also a solace.

Numbers made sense.

They could be controlled. They didn’t act out of line, and weren’t emotional.

She needed that.

Desperately.