Four days later when we get back to the compound, I feel like a changed woman. Everything in life seems new and exciting. I'm telling anyone who will listen about our trip. Chef and Logo both indulge me. Chef wants to know about the food we ate. He was unimpressed with our meal in Louisiana, but intrigued by our Texas barbecue.

Logo swipes through every picture I've taken with interest. "I was stationed at Fort Carson in Colorado before I went overseas. I'd love go back west sometime."

"Maybe you could start a chapter out there," I say, raising my eyebrows.

"Pft," he blows out air. "Do you think Bree would ever leave this place?"

His wife was raised here, in Tampa and with the club. She loves the lifestyle. It's all she's ever known.

He hands back my phone when I get a text. Dakon's school gave them iPad to use in class. He texted me a picture of him in his school uniform.

Looking good handsome! I send him a few heart eyes. We text back and forth a little before I tell him to make sure he pays attention to his teacher. He tells me that they're on a "brain break" and he's allowed to use the iPad. I haven't even been out of school for long but it already feels like they're in a different world.

"Okay, so tell me what you want in this salad again?" Chef opens the stainless steel fridge looking back at me.

"It's called a California Cobb." Ticking out my fingers, I list the ingredients. "Bacon, avocado, grilled chicken, red onions. Oh! Blue cheese crumbles."

"Got it," he smirks. "You want to eat it here? Or in your room?"

"My room, please," I say, knowing I've classwork to catch up on.

College is easier and harder than I expected it to be. I got to choose my classes, so my coursework in Mythology and Anthropology is pretty easy because I naturally enjoy those subjects. My stats class, on the other hand, is another story.

By a happy interruption, my dad calls and I decide to take a break. Plunking down on the little love seat that sits in front of the sliding exterior door, I answer and watch Willy and Bone argue with two other guys. I think they're arguing, I don't actually know. They always look intense.

"Hi daddy," I say into the phone.

"Hey baby girl," he rasps, clearing his throat from his permanent smoker's cough.

I tell him all about the trip, especially focusing on New Orleans and Phoenix.

"You went all that way on a bike, huh?" he asks, not sounding enthused. "What was it, some kind of rally?"

"No," I shrug, even though he can't see it. "It was just me and Wulf."

"Oh you and Wulf?" he says, as if he's the enemy. And I remember that to my dad, he still is. "Wow. He took you on vacation then. Real nice of him."

I can hear the toxic tone seeping into my dad's voice. Normally, he's a happy drunk. I can tell that this afternoon, he isn't. I resist the urge to ask him how many beers he's had today. There's a long drawl- him sucking on his cigarette, and then he blows it out.

"Well I'm real happy for you," he says, sounding like he's never been happy a day in his life.

"Dad..." I breathe, sadness filling my voice. I understand. To him, Wulf is the man who barged into his house, shot my brother in the foot, and rode off with me on the back of his bike. I still don't even want to acknowledge that that happened because it feels so far from where we are today. Nothing I could say to my dad would make him understand, so I don't say anything. I just take the vicious remarks that he continues to spit my way.

I hold the phone away from my ear not wanting to hear his bile. Putting him on speaker phone, I walk away, putting my laptop up in the closet and my salad bowl near the door. I freeze when his next question comes through the phone.

In a voice as lethal as it is cold, he asks, "so what? Are you his whore now?"

Something inside me simultaneously breaks and snaps. Heartbroken and angry, I spew every venomous thought I'd ever had about my father to him. "Wulf may have kidnapped me, but at least he's been there for me." I remind him of some of the times he failed to show up. I'd like to say I told him about every time, but there's too many to name. I'm tired of paying for Joey's mistakes, so I lay into him about that too. "I'm going to college. I have friends. I'm happy." My voice is loud and I'm seething. "You can call me many things dad, but I'm not stupid and I'm not a whore. I'm your fucking daughter." Then I hang up the phone.

My chest is heaving. I turn around and Wulf is standing with his back to the bedroom door. "How long have you been standing there?"

He steps out of the shadow. "Long enough," he says simply, hands folded behind his back.

We just stare at each other for a moment. I'm the storm, he's the calm. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.

"No," I answer, because there's nothing left to say.