Ellie’s gut lurched and she dropped to her knees. She’d barely gotten the toilet seat up before her stomach emptied. She continued to vomit as the memories assaulted her—Daniel’s fist slamming into her face not once but three times, his hand wrapping around her throat, his other ripping at her clothing, and then feeling his penis pushing against her, unable to stop him, unable to do anything other than lie on the filthy ground and bleed.

She was still bent over the toilet, dry heaving, her stomach long empty, tears streaming painfully down her swollen face, when there was a knock on the door.

“Ellie?”

“I-I’m…f-fine,” she choked out, acid-flavored saliva dripping from her mouth, obscuring her words. But she wasn’t fine, she was so far from fine. She felt disgusting, violated, and utterly terrified. Who did you go to when it was the police who hurt you? What was left?

As it was, Dirty had already attempted to blow the man’s head off. What if Daniel had recognized him as he ran for safety? Was he going to come for Dirty?

One thing was for certain, she had to get out of Miles City as quickly as possible and back to her life in Bozeman. But what if that wasn’t enough? What if Daniel was hell-bent on silencing her and came after her? Then what? Daniel came from a powerful family with loads of money. He would undoubtedly have connections within the law, probably even countrywide.

Oh God, what was she supposed to do now?

“Are you sure?” Dirty asked.

Gripping the rim of the toilet bowl, Ellie pushed herself to a semistanding position and glanced at her pile of torn, bloodstained clothing. She sure as hell wasn’t putting that back on. In fact, the first chance she got she was going to burn it all.

But she absolutely was not going to prance around in only a towel in front of Dirty, an aptly named pervert who’d once demanded she get on her knees and suck him off. Never mind the criminal aspect, she’d never liked going to the club with Danny for the sole reason that all the men there were foul-mouthed and disgusting.

Yet Dirty had saved her, and not just from being sexually assaulted but from being killed as well. And so far, since she’d woken up, he hadn’t said more than three words to her. He’d kept his distance and, strangely enough, looked more uncomfortable with her presence than she felt.

What choice did she have? At the moment, she needed his help. Who knew what Daniel was doing at that very moment? Was he at her parents’ house looking for her? She closed her eyes, suddenly very grateful she’d planned on surprising them.

Suddenly, her rental car came to mind. It was still parked outside the high school just begging for a ticket, and if she got a ticket her name would pop up, and if her name popped up…

Frantic, she grabbed for the doorknob and flung the door wide open, revealing a startled Dirty. “My rental car!” she cried out. “It’s parked outside the school.”

In the process of backing quickly away from her, Dirty paused. “So?” he asked.

“It’s going to get ticketed. And Daniel will know I’m still here! He’ll find me!”

Dirty blinked. “Daniel,” he said slowly and Ellie realized, in her panic, she’d just given the name of her attacker away, something she’d planned on keeping quiet in order to protect herself.

She knew the moment Dirty figured out exactly who Daniel was. His expression went from confused to not only hostile, but frightening. Murderous.

“Mooresville,” he growled menacingly. “Chief fucktard? That’s who motherfuckin’ did this to you?”

Ellie swallowed hard. What now? She obviously needed help and it wasn’t as if her parents could do anything. Dirty, as well as the Horsemen, she supposed, were her only option. The more she thought about it, the more a small sense of comfort began to soothe her tightly strung nerves. If anyone could take on the law and win, it was Deuce West. As it was, Dirty had already tried to kill the man.

“Yes,” she whispered, feeling disgusted with herself. “God, I was so stupid. What was I thinking kissing him?”

The next thing she knew Dirty was grabbing her shoulders, painfully squeezing her bruised skin. The smell of body odor, motor oil, and cigarette smoke hit her like a punch in the gut and she recoiled.

“Fuck that!” he hissed, shaking her. “This shit isn’t your fault. This is that rich, thinks-he’s-fuckin’-entitled-to-anything-he-fuckin’-wants asshole’s fault.”

“Stop!” she cried, her terror from last night resurfacing. “Please, you’re hurting me!”

Dirty froze and a breath later released her. She scrambled backward, back into the safety of the bathroom, and tried to breathe as her heart pounded painfully, wondering how she was going to escape Dirty when he was blocking her only exit. But when she looked back at him, she found him looking nearly as afraid as she felt. Not only was he holding his grease-stained hands out in front of him, he was staring down at them in disbelief.

Then he glanced up at her and his eyes went wide. It took Ellie a moment to realize what was wrong; she was naked, her towel had fallen from her body in her mad scramble for safety. Quickly, she snatched her towel from the floor and held it against her body and the second she did, Dirty suddenly spun around, facing the hallway.

“I’m sorry,” Dirty said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “Fuck, I’m really sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

Ellie didn’t say anything, just stared at his back, at his hole-ridden T-shirt and the filthy jeans sagging off his body.

“Hang here,” he continued, his voice rough. “I’m goin’ to the club, gonna let Deuce handle this shit.”

As soon as Dirty took his first step forward, Ellie panicked. “Wait!” she cried and Dirty froze.

“Don’t leave me here alone!”

She didn’t want to be alone. She didn’t want to take the chance that Daniel had seen Dirty last night and would come looking for him or her or both of them.

“Fuck,” Dirty muttered. “Fuckin’ fuck.”

Ellie waited with bated breath to see what he would say next, hoping and praying he wasn’t going to abandon her.

• • •

Holy fucking shit. Holy what-the-fuck fucking shit. Dirty was going to throw up. He was going to fucking spew his guts all over the damn place. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why had he grabbed her? He could still feel her skin on his palms, warm and damp from her shower, her body quivering, the fear in her voice.

She’d been nearly raped in a filthy alleyway, beaten unconscious, and he’d only further terrified her. Then, if shit wasn’t already fucking awful, he’d seen her naked.

She’d gained weight since he’d last seen her as a teenager. She’d been curvy before but she was all curves now. Her stomach far from flat, her full breasts hung heavy, and her thighs were dimpled with extra weight.

His brothers, most of them, would have taken one look at her and passed on her in favor of a thinner, more aesthetically pleasing female.

Actually, most of the boys steered clear of black women. Some of them because, yeah, they were fucking racist, others because brothers knew better than to mess with a sister. Most of the black women they encountered were gang-affiliated, and not women who messed around. If you wanted a black bitch in your bed, you’d better have plans on making her your old lady unless you wanted to find your balls no longer attached to your body.

But none of it was off-putting to him. Dirty never discriminated; he didn’t give two fucks who he was fucking because 99.9% of the time they didn’t have a clue they were being fucked, and the other 0.1%…

Tap stepped in front of Deuce. “Hold off a minute, Prez,” he said, looking down at Mama Vi, his mouth slowly curving into a grin. “Lemme have at her first.”

“Fuck you,” Deuce muttered. “This bitch needs to be put the fuck down.”

“Yeah,” Tap said, his eyes never once leaving Mama Vi. “But first I’m gonna show her what the fuck happens when some fuckin’ cunt thinks she can mess with my club.”

“You just wanna fuck her,” Cox said, lighting up a smoke. “Don’t lie.”

Tap shrugged. “That too.”

Dirty had been standing off to the side waiting for it, watching Tap closely, knowing exactly what was running through the brother’s mind, waiting for Deuce to okay it before he jumped on board.

He didn’t get the chance very often to take a woman while she was conscious, a woman he could do whatever the fuck he wanted to, beat her, brutally fuck her like a goddamn animal, relish in hearing her beg and scream.

Because unlike most of the women he fucked, this bitch deserved what she was about to get.

She was a cold-blooded killer; a bitch who had tortured and killed without remorse, a bitch who deserved to go out in the worst possible way, and women like her, Dirty didn’t lose any sleep over what he was about to do.

But he never initiated it. He let Tap or Bucket or Dimebag take the lead. Deuce already knew he was fucked in the head. He didn’t want his prez thinking he was a loose cannon, giving Deuce a reason to strip his patch.

“I’m in,” Dirty said, joining Tap. He kneeled down beside Mama Vi and grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head up. “Don’t let the lack of a mustache fool ya, baby,” he said, grinning, stroking his full beard. “I’m always down for a gang bang.”

“There ain’t nothin’ you can do to me,” she hissed, “that ain’t already been done.”

Dirty’s grin grew wider. That’s what she thought. His foster mother had proven useful in situations such as these. The sick bitch had an imagination to rival that of anything he’d ever read about.