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I wobble on the ridiculous heels that Summer insisted I wear to match the outfit as I stand and back up a step. The guy on the ground groans—my date, not the other one—and I give him a kick. Okay, two kicks. Asshole deserves it.

A car door opening has me looking at the driver of the limo who was shit for help five minutes ago. I would make a go of beating the shit out of him, too, but one of the biker boys has pulled a gun.

“Oy, be a smart man and don’t move.” The Irish accent is thick, and I bet he gets laid based off that alone.

Well, maybe his rugged good looks and crazy red hair that combine to scream “sex god in bed” help too.

You know, the kind you want to sleep with once just to say you did, and then you move on.

Not like the one beside him. Domino. He’s still hot as fuck, even with the same black sweater on.

His face draws you in. The sharp jawline to match the sharp eyes that seem to catch more than you want.

He’s got classic looks, someone a parent would be proud to have you bring home.

Which makes him a bigger threat than the carrottop.

Guys like that stick around long after one night, and they probably leave you wanting for more with a smirk and some well-placed words.

He was smooth for the five seconds he spoke to me before, and that’s why I shut him down quick.

Girl’s got to protect herself when she can.

“Viv, you good?” he asks as he looks me over, no doubt taking in not only the dress but the blood and bruises all over me. What can I say? It’s been a helluva night.

I go to nod, but then things get dizzy, and I falter, catching myself on the open door of the limo just before Domino’s there, grabbing me and supporting me.

He even kicked his buddy a bit to get to me, or maybe I just saw double for a second.

All I know is things are tilting, and the world is spinning.

“Oh no, you don’t.” I hear his words a second before he lifts me into his arms like a freaking damsel in distress. I would complain, but I also feel like I’m going to throw up, so I decide to keep my mouth shut and just glare. Which he laughs at. I glare harder, and now his friend is laughing too.

“You got this?” Domino asks his friend as he looks at the two on the ground and then the driver, who’s still frozen as he stares at the barrel of the guy’s gun that’s still out.

“Oy, ain’t my first dog show.”

No idea what that has to do with anything, but it’s good enough for the Tarzan man carrying me.

The ride isn’t the comfiest. I get tossed around, and some of my bits are a tad more tender.

Also, the rocking is not helping my nausea.

I take slow and steady breaths to push down my body’s reaction, trying to keep down whatever’s left in my stomach.

Which isn’t much. I never eat before I go out, only when I get back, and then I pig out.

I consider it my own special treat for doing it at all.

Some people read a book for thirty minutes after forcing themselves to work out. For me, I get to eat any greasy type of food I want after I agree to a night out. It’s my routine. Shame me if you want, but I would die for a taco, or twelve, on some nights.

“Hey, boss,” someone calls out to Domino, but he doesn’t break stride, and another two men open the double doors and let us pass without a word.

Never been in here before, and I’ve honestly never had a care to.

Not against it, or for it; it’s just not something I saw myself craving, so I didn’t waste my energy thinking about it.

I also have a ton of other things to focus on daily, so being curious about a biker club is on the same level of not caring how broccoli became a staple piece as a side at meals over something like an eggplant.

More and more people stand up and move closer, calling out to their boss as we keep moving farther in.

“Tell Swiss to meet me in the clinic, and someone go to Howlers and bring Lucky into the clinic too. Oh, and someone make sure Mickey isn’t shooting anyone, or at least not leaving evidence that he did.”

I swear, half the damn place evacuates at Domino’s words. They probably think some serious shit is going down. Too bad for them. It’s nothing more than a tale of a guy thinking he was owed something that he wasn’t.

When we get to another room, the door opens from the inside a second before Domino can reach for the knob.

“Thanks, Swiss. Didn’t know you were already in here.”

“Counting inventory. Rooster wanted to get an order in after the weekend to stock up before the winter storms come in and shut down the roads. ”

“Wait, it’s only going to get worse?” The sheer awe in Domino’s voice has me thinking this guy is dumber than rocks.

Winter is just starting in December, not ending.

Did he really think we were out of this?

We haven’t gotten to the fun part of living in Michigan.

Nothing says awesome times like foot after foot of snow to the point that you’re stuck inside for days before it melts enough for you to get your door open without causing an avalanche.

At least in Traverse City, we get some winds off the rivers and less snow than others. Not always, but sometimes.

He sets me down and steps back. I sway for a second, glaring at everyone. Which is about the time I lose my willpower to keep myself in check.

I turn away from them, and a split second before I upchuck the measly things in my stomach, a tin trash can is kicked over to me. While I aim for it, I still don’t get all of it in the can.

I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth and then see a towel held out for me. I look up at Domino and give him a chin lift before I take it. It’s damp and feels amazing against my feverish skin.

“Still going to yack?” the other guy, Swiss, asks, and I just shake my head. Which is a mistake, as I immediately throw up again.

This time when I’m done, I lower myself on the table and close my eyes.

It helps. Not much, but the lights no longer hurt my eyes, and I feel less dizzy.

Okay, that’s not true, but I refuse to move.

If I do, I might throw up again, and I have nothing left.

The first time was everything I ate today, which was just oatmeal.

The second was bile. Once you hit bile, you know that’s all you’re going to get.

“What’s the story?” Swiss asks a second before he peels my eyelids open and shines a light in one eye and then the other. I swat at him, but it does nothing to deter him. I feel weak. I’m just slapping at his hand like a five-year-old for all the good it does.

“You tell me,” Domino says.

“Pupils dilated.” He moves to check my pulse. “Pulse weak.” He does a few other things, but at this point, I give up trying to get him to stop and close my eyes to stop everything that’s a problem. You know, like the world spinning at Mach 3 around me.

“Drugged, if I had to call it something,” he says a few moments later. “I’ll run some blood tests to be sure.”

I huff a laugh. Typical.

“This funny to you?” Domino asks, and I can’t tell if it’s a smirk I hear in his voice or anger. Even sounds are foggy right now.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I mumble.

Did someone growl, or did the building moan?

I hiss and snap my eyes open, baring my teeth at the guy poking me in the arm.

Asshole didn’t even ask if he could take my blood, much less warn me he was doing it.

But the look he gives me has me holding my tongue and just closing my eyes once again.

Who gives a fuck? Not like cloning has had some major upgrades and they’re going to create a whole new Viv.

Of course, they could have been drugging me more, if that’s possible.

My defenses are down, but I feel confident that if I wind up dead in a ditch, Summer will know who took me.

She’ll come by the house in the morning, see I’m not there, and check the feeds.

The cameras around my building are good—fantastic actually—and they have a clear shot of both the tattoo shop and the club entrance.

She’ll see where I went. Sure, it might be too late by then, but Summer knows people, and my death will get some justice at least. Even if she goes to some major extremes and just lights the place on fire while everyone’s sleeping.

She’s crazy like that. Then again, if things were reversed, I would do the same.

Like recognizes like. And most become besties when they find each other.

The door smashes open, and I peel my eyelids open just enough to see two guys carrying in the one I decked, setting him on the second table in here.

This place isn’t big enough to be a full-size clinic, but there are three exam tables with just enough space between them for someone to squeeze through.

Two people could easily hold hands while on their own tables.

Upper and lower cabinets line every wall, with most of them clear to see what’s in them.

It’s efficient and stocked enough to be called a doctor’s office, but still missing a few machines to deem it hospital worthy.

Then again, this is a biker club. Who knows what they have in other rooms. The movies make it seem as if they always have it, stole it, or know a guy who can get it for them by sneaking them into a hospital.

I’m not naive enough to believe these guys are the weekend-rider types and stay clean of anything shady.

For one thing, I live next door. Also, most of them seem to be of the “scary biker” variety and not the “Grandpa Santa belly only here to tell war stories” type.

I saw a few when I was carried in who matched the look, but they were still a bit scary looking.

And trust me, I know what is and isn’t scary.

I’ve been around those who pretend to be scary and aren’t more than most. I know when a person holds that something extra that makes them a person you should be nervous around.