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she there?”
    “Because my father is here and her husband is there .” She didn’t want Thomas inflicting any more damage to her psyche or her person. She pretended the sheer horror of his actions didn’t affect her. In reality, she hurt to her very soul. Recognizing the sickness in Thomas consoled her but left her with two choices. Allow his brutality to rule her or acknowledge the problem for what it was and keep her life on a forward motion.
    To counteract her reaction to his proximity, she refocused on her feet, deciding to give up the argument about more soup. Her stomach was already starting to hurt. He touched her foot, his hand dark against her white skin. Crouching in front of her, he checked one foot and then the other.
    “You cut your feet?”
    “Rack didn’t tell you?”
    He straightened and sat next to her, his raised brow encouraging her to continue. His thumb caressed the high arch of her foot, almost stealing her ability to think and talk.
    “Don’t matter if he did. I’m askin’ you.”
    A spot he touched made her wince.
    “Um, I stole five dollars from him. I wanted a hamburger, fries, and a milk shake tonight.” To celebrate her birthday.
    He didn’t stop his investigation of her feet. “Five dollars ain’t enough.”
    “For a kid’s meal it would’ve been,” she countered, gasping when he squeezed her upper sole.
    “Are you? A kid, I mean.”
    Not as of today. “I’m eighteen,” she said softly, taking advantage of her unfettered access to him and touching his scruffy jaw before combing her fingers through his silky hair.
    Her touch seemed to anger him and he glared at her. “I told you don’t fuckin’ touch me.”
    She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve been touching me. Why can’t I touch you?”
    He got to his feet and she looke d away, not wanting to defy him. Whenever she or her mother stared at Thomas, he took that as a challenge. But this man said he didn’t hit women. And? What man admitted to domestic abuse? Thomas certainly didn’t. He didn’t even admit it behind closed doors. He blamed everything on either Meggie or Dinah.
    She sat still, not raising her gaze when she heard him rambling around through a draw er. A moment later, he stood before her, wrapping his big hand around each ankle, one at a time, to wipe first one foot and then the other with a wet napkin before covering them with medical tape. Who knew an MC had such things? She supposed it was necessary given all the alcohol she’d noticed and the temperament of the men involved.
    “By the fuckin’ way, what is your name?”
    “Megan,” she answered. She didn’t have her ID. It was in her backpack and she’d left it in her hiding space at the creek.
    “Have a last name, Megan?”
    “Same as Big Joe,” she said, slumping against the sofa. “Foy. My name is Megan Foy.”
    He drew in a deep breath and his green eyes shuttered. Jaw clenched, he nodded. “Where are your shoes?”
    “I n some alleyway, I guess. I threw them at Rack and the others,” she added when she saw his curiosity.
    “Shit.”
    He left her in the room, leaving the door open, so she saw the long hallway with lights from the main room shimmering against the brown wall. With the door open, the overwhelming noise level made her head hurt. The smell of cigarette smoke thickened the air. Everything she should’ve noticed while the man mesmerized her, she was noticing now. But he engaged all Meggie’s senses, her ears warmed by the sound of his voice, her eyes fascinated by the sight of his face and body, her nose filled with his scent and her skin consumed by the feel of his hands.
    She noticed him storming back toward her and she rose to her feet. Standing up, she wouldn’t feel so vulnerable . He still loomed over her, but, somehow, she seemed like a frightened little girl when she sat down and let him intimidate her.
    He threw socks at her and she noticed a burly, baldheaded man behind him. A teardrop was tattooed beneath