“Fine.”

Vic doesn't have helmets, but I'm beyond caring about little things like my personal safety at this moment. Instead, I hop on and curve my body against the strong, muscular expanse of his back. I'll admit, my head spins a little at his smell, this dark, musky sort of scent that sets all my senses on fire.

But I don’t have to let him know that, now do I?

The “dress shop” we head to isn't in a good part of town; it's not even in a bad part of town. In fact, it's in the worst part of town.

My body is molded to Vic's big, strong back, the sun beating down on me, making me sweat.

I tell myself that the heat in my core has nothing to do with his rock-hard body locked between my thighs, the fresh scent of male sweat and leather teasing my nose. Fuck. Fuck, this is torture.

“What the hell is this?” I snap when the motorcycle comes to a skidding stop on the dead front lawn of some trash heap in South Prescott. There's a sea of rusted-out vehicles, a mobile home with rotten siding, and some bitchy dark-haired girl I'm pretty sure I beat the snot out of last year. What's her name, some guy's name turned girlish by adding an ie at the end. Billie?

Vic chuckles, and the sound rumbles through me in the best possible way, taking over every part of my body and delving inside. Vic's laugh owns my blood, my bones. What the hell is gonna happen when we fuck for the first time?

“What did you expect? Bloomingdale's?” He snorts as he climbs off the bike, and I follow after him.

I’m not about to dignify that response with an answer, so I stay on his heels as Hael peels into the lot and damn near runs me over with that stupidly beautiful car of his. I go to slam my fist on the hood as we pass, and Vic grabs me by the wrist.

His dark eyes are deadly serious when I look up into them.

“Don’t ever touch Hael’s ride without his permission,” he warns, pulling me along after him as Billie rises to her feet and stretches, popping her ass out like a cat in heat.

“Well, hello there, Victor Channing,” she purrs, sauntering over to him and flipping her dark hair, so that I can see the teal color underneath. Her brown eyes slide from him to me, and she frowns. “What can I help you with?”

“We need a dress for my fiancée,” he says, just like that, matter-of-fact and without a single shred of emotion. The stare he levels on Billie is intense, so much so that I almost take a step back. Almost. But then, I’m not scared of the Havoc Boys, not anymore.

“Your fiancée?” she asks, blinking stupidly at first me, then him. “Seriously?”

“Did I fucking stutter?” Vic says, his voice sharp enough to cut. Billie takes a step back as the other boys come up the rickety stairs behind us. “Let us in.”

Billie turns and scrambles to unlock the door, holding it wide and waiting until all six of us have moved inside before she shuts and locks it. She glares at me as she passes, and I flip her off, tattooed hand held high. Vic stiffens, but I guess he accepts that I can handle my business and doesn’t intervene.

“Right this way,” she says, leading me through what’s actually a surprisingly nice interior and into a side room that’s filled with clothing in garment bags, metal racks with hanging poles on all four walls. “What are you looking for, exactly?”

“We’ll take a look and let you know,” Vic says, moving confidently into the room. Somewhere further back in the house, a baby cries, and Billie hesitates.

“That means leave, and we’ll pay you on the way out,” Callum says, towering over her in his hoodie and shorts. Billie’s face registers a true moment of fear before she scampers off. Pretty sure her kid is like, a year and a half old. She had him sophomore year with some guy who’s in prison now.

At least I managed to avoid that particular fate.

My eyes slide to Aaron’s, and he looks away, green eyes dark, like maybe he had the same thought I did. We were never careful, hardly used birth control. It’s a miracle I didn’t end up like Billie Charter.

She shuts the door behind us as Oscar starts flipping through dresses.

“Boss,” he says, after systematically discarding a good two dozen dresses before he pulls one off the rack. The other guys make themselves comfortable, like they could care less what I wear, but are determined to be here regardless.

That’s Havoc for you, blood in, blood out.

Oscar unzips the plastic, flashing a white dress with long sleeves, but a low-cut back. I’ve got ink all down my arms, a little on my breasts and neck, but none on my back just yet. He knows my body too well; it’s almost scary. That is, if I were capable of being afraid of anything anymore.

“This'll do,” Vic confirms, taking the dress from Oscar's inked hand and studying it carefully. “My mother's a sucker for money, and this screams loaded.” He tosses it at me and nods with his chin. “Put it on.”

There's a challenge in Vic's dark eyes that I meet head-on. He thinks I'm going to shy away from something as stupid as this?

I've been stripped bare in my heart and soul, had my emotions torn off and tossed aside. He thinks I give a shit about being naked?

“This dress is ugly as hell,” I say, and several of the boys chuckle.

“Yeah, well, my mother is the queen of the designer label. Never said she had any fashion sense. She buys whatever's the most expensive, doesn't care what it looks like.”

“It's your funeral,” I mimic, staring at him with a blank expression as I shrug my leather jacket off. It falls to the floor in a heap, and I exhale. Here goes nothing.

My fingers curl under the hem of my shirt, and I tear it over my head. That dress won't work with a bra, so I reach back and unclasp the hook, letting the cups fall forward and slide to the floor.

“Jesus,” Vic grumbles, rubbing his hand over his mouth. Oscar takes notes on his iPad before glancing up at me like he's bored, like he couldn’t care less that my bare tits are hanging out.

“Like what you see?” I ask sneakily, but Oscar just gives me this tight, little smile that infuriates me to no end.

“I prefer my women with bigger breasts,” he replies smoothly, and I grit my teeth, reaching down to flick open the button on my jeans.

“I prefer my men to be able to hold their own in a fight,” I fire back, and Oscar's brows go up as Hael howls with laughter. Vic grins, and I turn away, noticing that Aaron's watching me with a severe frown. Callum, meanwhile, just smiles, almost sweetly.

With a quiet breath, I kick my boots off and shove my jeans down my hips, leaving my panties in place. Nobody complains as I unzip the dress and wiggle into it.

“Allow me,” Vic says, moving over and putting his huge, inked hands on my waist. A fire rips through me, and I close my eyes. It feels good when he touches me, too good. I don't like it. Makes me nervous, all that fire and tension.

He zips me up and then steps back as I turn around to face him.

The white dress hugs my curves and reveals just enough skin to be sexy without showing off too much of my ink.

The expression on Victor's face says it all: he likes this dress. A lot.

“Shit, that's hot,” he murmurs, rubbing at his chin again. Seems to be a tell of his for when he's deep in thought. In that case, I don't have to worry about seeing too much of it, huh? “But is it too hot? My mom is a serious bitch. She might feel intimidated if you look too pretty.”