“You look like an ax murderer,” she said, frowning. “And I thought London was looking for me. Aren’t we going the wrong way?”

“I lied. I do that a lot,” I told her, staring at her lips. I reached out, catching her chin in my hand, running my thumb across her lips. Our eyes locked, and I don’t know if her pulse started to rise but mine sure as fuck did. What the hell had I been thinking, writing to this girl? She was so pretty and perfect and had this amazing, magical life just waiting for her and all I could think about was dragging her down into the dirt and shoving my cock into every hole she had.

She’d scream while I did it, too, the same sweet screams that played in my head every night while I jacked off.

I hated myself.

“Why did you lie?” she asked, her voice a whisper.

“To get you away from Taz. It’s not safe with him.”

Mel’s forehead creased in confusion, her brain moving so slowly I could practically see the wheels turning behind her eyes. She might be smart as fuck most of the time, but she’d transitioned to drunker than fuck tonight. Kit. Kit and Em. They’d done this to her.

I leaned in closer, catching her scent. For an instant I swayed, so tempted . . .

“They told me all about you,” she whispered.

“Who?”

“The other girls. Kit, Em. Jessica. I know how you operate,” she continued. One of her hands rose, touching my chest. Fire burst through me, because if I’d wanted her before I was desperate for her now. She was so soft, so sweet . . . so perfect.

Then her words sank in.

“What did you just say?”

“They told me all about you,” she said, eyes dropping to stare at my lips. “They told me you have a Madonna-whore complex.”

I froze.

“A what?”

“A Madonna-whore complex,” she repeated, her voice earnest. “You like to screw dirty girls and you put clean girls on pedestals, where they can stay perfect and pure. That’s pretty messed up, Painter. There’s no such thing as Madonnas and whores. We’re all just people.”

The words stunned me. What the hell was she talking about? Just because I didn’t want her dragged down in the drama and bullshit of this life didn’t mean I had some sort of fucking complex. And who the hell were the Hayes sisters to have an opinion? I couldn’t tell what pissed me off more—the fact that they’d talked to Mel about me or that they hadn’t done a better job of scaring her off.

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Kit and Em are crazy, and that friend of yours—Jessica? She’s like a car crash. You don’t belong here, Mel.”

“And where do I belong?”

“With some nice kid who’ll treat you like a queen and work his ass off to give you everything perfect for the rest of your life.” The words were practically a growl.

Her eyes widened.

“What if I don’t want perfect?”

“Too fucking bad, because that’s what you’re getting.”

“Excuse me?” she said, her voice hardening. I saw a flash of anger in her eyes—good. Maybe it would clear her head enough to pull it out of her ass.

“I’m taking you home and you aren’t coming back out here again. And you can stay the fuck away from Em and Kit. Hell, you should stay away from Jessica, too. Why are you two sharing a place, anyway?”

“What do you want from me?” she asked softly, her lips moving against my thumb, which had somehow started sliding back and forth without my permission. I took a deep breath, looking into her face. Christ, but she was beautiful. Dusky skin, thick, dark brown eyelashes and all that hair I wanted to wrap around my hands while I skull-fucked her.

If she’d cut it off while I was in prison, not sure I could’ve handled it . . .

“I want you to leave and never come back,” I said. She flinched, and for an instant I thought she might turn and run. Then her tongue flicked out and licked my thumb. Hot. It was hot and wet, and when she caught it with her teeth and then sucked it into her mouth my head started throbbing. Okay, more than my head. I could actually feel my pulse in my cock, which was rock hard and pushing against the front of my jeans.

Mel’s eyes held mine as she sucked me deep, swirling her tongue as her fingers dug into my chest. Those lips of hers . . . they were soft and puffy and looked fucking fantastic wrapped around my thumb, but they’d look a whole hell of a lot better wrapped around something else. Then she caught at my wrist with her other hand, pulling me slowly out of her mouth, even as her tongue flicked out for one last playful taunt.

“Painter, I want you to listen to me very carefully,” she said, holding my gaze as her face hardened. Damned if I didn’t love the way my name sounded on her lips. “I thought you were my friend, but you ditched me. You treated me like I was an annoying pest when I tried to thank you for loaning me your car. You acted like all those letters between us meant nothing. That hurt me, Painter. Hurt me a lot. Maybe I’ll regret telling you this once I’m sober, but right now it feels good to say the words, so listen up.”

My eyes widened—who the hell was this girl? Mel didn’t have a backbone, not like this. But apparently she did, because she wasn’t done talking yet.

“So far as I’m concerned, you have no right to tell me what to do,” she said, the words careful and deliberate as she reached out to poke me in the chest. “Ever. I was having a great time until you interrupted me, and I’m going to leave you now and go back to having a great time without you. If you don’t like that, you can shove it right up your ass.”

MELANIE

I’d lost my mind.

Only possible explanation for what’d just come out of my mouth. Wait—there was another one. I’d been possessed by a demon. I blinked slowly, thankful for the wall behind me because I’m not sure I could’ve stayed upright without it.

This is what drunk feels like, I realized. I thought I’d been drunk before, but I’d only been tipsy or something, because tonight was totally different. Take this whole situation with Painter. I knew he was a big, scary guy. I knew telling him off—alone, in the dark—was a bad idea.

I just didn’t care.

Talk about liberating . . . Painter’s face darkened, and I giggled. Couldn’t help myself, it was just too funny. Mr. Big Bad Biker Man didn’t know what the hell to say because I was right and he was wrong and—

“You have no idea what you’re fucking with,” he growled. He reached out, burying a hand in my hair and twisting it tight, tilting my head up toward him. Leaning into me, his eyes searched my face as his jaw clenched. “You think this is a game, Mel? Not even Em and Kit would be stupid enough to take off into the night with some guy they don’t know.”

“You mean like Jessica took off with you?” I asked, feeling bold. “You’re such a hypocrite.”

“All the more reason to stay away from me. You need to go home and stay there.”

“Do you even hear the words coming out of your mouth?” I demanded, frustrated because he was full of shit and I’d just been sucking on his thumb and . . . Em had been right—Painter did have a complex. I had no interest in getting stuck on top of some stupid pedestal, though. I wanted to lick him all over, not sit on an inspirational platform of womanly virtue. “Now let me go and we’ll call it good. I’ll go back to the party and have fun. You can go fuck some whore if you’re horny or say a few prayers to the Virgin Mary if you’re feeling guilty about something. Just leave me alone.”

His fingers tightened in my hair, his other arm reaching out to jerk me forcefully into his body. Then I was plastered against him, our faces inches apart. Yikes. Somehow he was bigger up close . . .

“You should listen to me,” he said, the words low and more intense than I’d ever heard from him. “You realize Taz could do anything to you out here? He’s not part of this club and you’re nobody’s property. There’s no protection for you if you don’t use some fucking common sense.”