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One of his dimples deepens as he gives me a half-smile, and tingles erupt over every inch of my skin. He has to know what he’s doing to me, right?

“Hey, Pip-squeak. When did you get here?”

My back teeth grind at the nickname, but I let it go with a shallow inhale of engine fumes, hoping that his mocha-colored eyes will catch my breasts as they bob to the surface of my black leather corset.

With a casual shrug and a toss of my long brown hair to showcase my décolletage, I sidle up closer to him in my stiletto heels, but falter in my steps when one of the assholes revs his Kawasaki Vulcan until it barks.

A cacophony of laughter ensues while I pretend I’m unfazed, but my eyes shoot daggers over to where my brothers are smoking. Neither seemed to do it on purpose, but their presence is a constant reminder of who I am: Pip-squeak, the kid sister.

Nico pulls my shoulders under his rugged arm, tugging me into his chest. As usual, his stiff knuckles rub my head affectionately before his pierced lips find the top of my scalp, and another wave of sparks shoots down my spine.

“About a minute ago. How long have you been here?” It’s a lie. I’ve been waiting around the corner on my Harley until I heard his Indian Scout approach with its custom pipes. The mini ape hangers he added make his ride noticeable from a mile away, even on a starless summer night like tonight.

Not that I would know. I’m no stalker . Only a bit obsessed with my brother’s best friend since the day I met him at thirteen.

He pulls back as I take a stance in front of him, my tight black jeans stretching across my thighs. In a slick motion, he slides a pack of cigarettes from his rolled-up shirt sleeve, taps one out, lights it, then takes a slow drag, his labret bar shifting on his lip as he does. The man is so cool.

When he speaks, my ears strain to hear over the loud highways sitting above us at The Underpass. With motorcycles, cars, and radios blaring, it’s almost impossible to have a conversation unless you’re standing close.

So I inch in, gaining a sly whiff of his manly scent, which makes me tingle. It’s like motor oil and sweat. Maybe he didn’t shower after work at his family’s mechanic shop, but whatever natural cologne he wears, I’m very much into it. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

His lips purse with a smirk as he releases a puff of white cloud high above our heads, then taps the end of my nose with a finger.

“I asked, how’d you get to be so cute, Pip-squeak?

You showed up here in that grown-up get-up…

” Butterflies dance in my belly as his eyes trail over my body. Until he says, “Has Adal seen you yet?”

At the mention of my oldest brother’s name, I grimace.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Without turning around, I squeeze my eyes closed, hoping my brother will leave me alone.

“Pippi. I asked what you’re wearing. Dad wouldn’t let you out of the house looking like a stripper.

No way. Nuh-uh.” A hot, steamy leather jacket is thrown over my shoulders, so heavy, I almost fall over in my tall heels.

“Here. Cover yourself, for fuck’s sake. Nineteen and out in that . ”

Ire rages up to my cheeks until they’re inflamed. “I’m twenty . Remember?”

“Only for, like, a month now.”

Nico leans back against his bike and grins, his teeth toying with his piercing while ignoring his best friend. Something I’ll be ever grateful for. “Happy belated birthday, Pip-squeak. I told Oz, but didn’t see you that day.”

I shrug, the momentary annoyance that is Adal Freidenberg forgotten. “No worries. Oz and I celebrated apart for the first time.”

Despite my twin and I being closer than anyone else, we figured we would try our own things this year.

Him with his friends and me with mine. We had our annual shindig later that evening where we watched Breakin’ projected on a sheet in the backyard, then binged on our special mix of buffalo ranch popcorn and s’mores.

It’s tradition, and we promised we’d always do it, even when we’re eighty.

Nico rises and shrugs off his jacket, and my heart rate accelerates. Is he going to offer me his? As he leans forward, I can only think of how awkward our first moment like this will be with my brother standing right here . But I quickly decide it doesn’t matter.

This is Nico Griffin , the hottest member of the Maned Marauders MC. Well, the hottest guy I know.

My hand slides across his rippled abs as he holds up the patched coat by the collar, and I try to shrug off my brother’s, but I pause when Nico reaches past me toward an approaching figure over my left shoulder.

Horror makes my heart stop at my embarrassing mistake.

To make things worse, when I glance up at Adal, he’s giving me such a knowing expression that I want to die right there.

Please. Let me not exist.

A trace of jasmine and cigars curls through the air just before I see her—Wren with her ink-black split by a flash of white lightning down the middle.

She clings to Nico’s side like she owns the spot.

Her full sleeves of tattoos are quickly covered by my—his—jacket as he slips it over her arms, and she shivers, shedding her skin cells all over the lining.

The two lean in and open-mouth kiss each other. Her delicate fingers dance over his broad chest. Peeks of their tongues poke out until the sight of it makes my stomach churn.

But I can’t look away.

When my heart beats again, it feels like it’s been stabbed and is leaking blood into my lungs—filling the space where breath should be.

Wren breaks the suction of their embrace and flutters her lashes at him while whispering, “Thanks. I was cold.” Finally, her eyes dart over to my brother and me. “Hey.”

Adal tosses his cigarette butt on the ground and gives her a fist pound. “Sup, Wrench. I need more ink. You busy? Can I come by on Tuesday?”

“Yeah, actually. Nico’s helping me now, so there’re three of us working at Iron Inque. Stop over any time, Adal. You’re always welcome.”

My wits fray. I’m stunned. With every last inch of resolve, I plaster a plastic smile on my face and try not to combust with jealousy. Are they together ? He’s a tattoo artist now? What else have I missed?

Do I know him at all ?

“Hi, I’m Wren.” The woman’s plump tits almost pop out of her tube top as she presents her hand. All of my martial arts instincts command me to grip her wrist and twist, but I simply shake it limply, not capable of forming words. “Who’s this?” she asks Nico when I don’t respond.

“Oh, it’s just Adal and Oz’s kid sister. Ain’t that right, Pip-squeak?” His hand reaches across the divide to ruffle my hair.

Like a dog.

The carefully teased coiffure I spent an hour on tonight.

For him.

Without a word, I maintain my balance while turning on my heel, then walk straight back to my bike, plop the helmet over my ruined head, rev the engine, and take off.

I shouldn’t be driving like this. Wind freezes the tears on my face, so I slam the tinted shield down. No one other than my mother and Oz has seen me cry. Adal would make fun of me and Dad would tell me to grow some thicker skin. I am tough, normally.

Except when a curvy cool girl with injected lips decimated my aspirations of any semblance of future happiness. A heavy sigh parts my mouth, steaming up my visor until I lift it again. No, it’s not even her I blame. She’s not the one who caused me pain tonight.

Pip-squeak? Hair ruffles? Making out with someone else in front of me? All hope that he’d see me as an independent woman has shattered.

I can’t go home now. Mom would ask what’s wrong and Dad would find out, then it would become a thing . Adal will make gagging noises, and Dad will think about hurting Nico, which would only add to my shame.

So I pull into an empty parking lot of the North River State Park and cut the engine, then slip off my bike, setting the helmet on the back.

A bright yellow metal gate blocks the trailhead, which I skirt past, wandering off in a random direction with my hands on my hips.

The world is almost too dark for me to see where I’m going, and I consider turning back, but the clouds over the moon drift away, a blaze of blue light guiding me on the asphalt path through the pine trees.

What an absolute waste of an evening! It took me hours to fix myself up, to become someone different: a grown-up Pippi Freidenberg. Not just kid sister Pip-squeak.

But with my family, there’s no escaping that role. I’ll always be everyone’s precious little girl. Virginal and pure. Protected until I’m appointed .

At this point, I’ll fuck whomever so I can have some adult college experience and not be the Sigma Lambda Psi member who was accepted only to score their agility points in the Greek events.

Water roars in the distance, the sound soothing my soul like the earth is crying for the loss of my hopes and dreams. As I round a formidable oak tree, a table of flat rocks spreads before me, rapids of black river falling over the apex of the ledge.

The height is enough to make my steps slow to a crawl, but the hazy light of the night guides me toward the top, showcasing a log set up for serene summer night viewing.

It’s the perfect place to sob in sorrow. No one can hear me suffer as I relive the embarrassment of tonight’s drama.

Careful to step over branches and crevices, I meander toward nature’s seat, but when I approach, every muscle in my body locks tight.

At the crest of a flat rock jutting over the waterfall, the dark silhouette of a man is cast against the moonlight, with arms outstretched like he’s about to take flight over the edge.

A choked cry lodges in my throat as I quickly brush away the teardrops on my cheeks, blinking to make sure what I’m seeing is real.