After being here a few weeks, I've made some friends. Chef is really nice. You can tell he's a lonely old guy. He married his high school sweetheart and she died of cancer after twenty five years.

Logo, one of the prospects, wants to join so badly because his dad, uncle, and father-in-law are all in GOW. He's the same kid who brought water to the door on the first night. I've learned that being the prospect basically means you're everyone's bitch. He washes the bikes, runs meals from the kitchen, goes on runs... which I'm pretty sure is code for illegal shit. But I don't ask and they definitely don't tell. If any shit goes down, I'm not getting caught up in it.

"You gonna be his old lady or what?" he asks, washing Wulf's tires with a soapy sponge.

"Uhh what?" I laugh.

He coughs and stands up, doing some kind of weird salute. Twisting around, I see my vicious god step into the garage. He smells like leather and him. Today he's got his vest on and his hair pulled back into a bun. Pulling off his aviators he steps up and plants a kiss on my forehead.

I've started to feel like a schoolgirl around him. I get all wide eyed and my breath catches in my throat. Each time it happens, I hate myself a little bit more for it. He's hot. More than that, he's a commanding presence. He is the authority. He demands respect and attention as soon as he enters the room.

Wulf and Brick are going on a two day ride to handle business. This is one of those times when I don't ask questions. I don't need to know what they're doing. Plus, I'm kind of glad to be away from him. I want to see how I feel about this place without him adding a confusing layer to the mix.

Wulf whispers something in my ear about what his teeth are going to do to my panties when he gets back and I can't help but giggle. Pushing off his chest, I take a step back and let him climb on his bike. Giving a little wave, I watch him kick off and leave the compound.

He can talk about what he wants to do to me, but it's never actually happened. I won't let it. There are many horrible things he's done... and many horrible things he's done to me, but forcing himself on me isn't one of them.

We sleep together every night. He holds me sometimes. I know he's hard when we're in bed. I can feel it. Sometimes when he's snuggling against me it's hard to resist. But it's a path I just don't think I can go down.

At night, I make my way down to the bonfire. I've never actually been down here without him. Things get... crazy to say the least.

I've learned to laugh it off. It's like these people can smell fear and discomfort. If they know they're making your squirm, they'll do their best to keep it up. That's why when a couple are going at it on a lawn chair in front of everyone, I don't look as disturbed as I feel. Giving a little laugh, like it's funny, I side step them and cross the fire so I don't have to see.

Logo is drinking with a friend he vouched for. Another thing I've learned here- they're big on who comes in and who goes out. No one comes in without a club member vouching for them. "This is my buddy Anthony," he tells me. "We served together in Iraq."

Logo looks like the traditional surfer boy. He's got blonde curls, blue eyes, and is tall and lean. It's hard to believe he's a veteran or that he wants to be in a motorcycle club.

Anthony, however, is the opposite. He's got dark hair, faded in a military style. He's tall and muscular and has eyes that are dark. Too dark. Scary dark.

He looks like he's seen some shit that he carries with him every day.

"Thank you for your service," I smile at both of them.

"Aren't you a sweetheart," he says and kisses my hand.

Logo shoots me a look of apology that begs me not to tell Wulf and then tries to strike up a conversation with his friend. Anthony responds to him, but tries to involve me too.

"I was supposed to meet Rod, so I'm gonna go grab him real quick," I say slipping away. It isn't totally a lie. I was supposed to stay close to Rod, but I wasn't supposed to meet him specifically.

He's laying on top of the picnic table closer to the house. The bonfire makes his silhouette glow, blonde hair shimmering like an angel. Rod presses a joint to his lips, then offers it to me.

"No thanks," I wave my hand. Sitting on the bench of the table I ask, "so what are you out here thinking about."

"Life man," he says, like he's a hippie stoner. He sucks on the joint, holds it, blows a plume of smoke, then coughs. "What are you thinking about?"

"Life," I give him the same answer, looking up at the stars.

"Brothers," he says and I don't really catch his drift. "Yours and mine."

"Yeah," I say, because agreeing seems easier than questioning.

"Vito would have been twenty eight today," he coughs again after hitting his joint. "He would have been done with his sentence this year. Three years for mail fraud. Mail fraud of all things. This dude ran drugs from Cuba to Canada and he gets caught up on mail fraud," he laughs. "He should have been called Capone instead of Vito. Did you know Al Capone went to prison for tax evasion?"

At this point he's rambling and I'm trying to keep up. "Jasen," I say, using his real name and not his club name, "did my brother kill yours?"

"Fuck," he hisses. Like hearing me say it out loud made him realize it too.

"Yeah man. He fucking did."

My heart feels heavy in my chest. Swallowing a lump, I feel the need to apologize, profusely, for sins that aren't mine. "Joey fucked up a lot of lives," I say, through tears. "Yours, mine, his own, his sons..."

"Jared's," he whispers, using what I assume is Vito's real name.