Chapter 1

I stared at the colorful balloons floating lazily against the high ceiling of Victor's massive living room, the smile I'd forced for the last hour finally cracking. Eighteen candles sat untouched on the oversized ice cream cake I'd spent all afternoon decorating. Streamers hung from the walls, and a playlist of my favorite songs hummed through the Bluetooth speaker. Everything was perfect.

Except no one was here.

My phone buzzed again on the marble coffee table. Another "sorry, something came up" text from my so-called best friend. The others had already bailed with similar excuses. Mom was gone too—Victor had sent her on another "club-related business trip" that conveniently kept her away for the whole weekend. Again.

I sank onto the huge leather sectional, pulling my knees to my chest. The short white sundress I'd chosen hugged my curves, the hem riding up my toned thighs. I'd wanted to look pretty tonight. Wanted to feel wanted. But here I was, alone in this giant house that still didn't feel like home even after three and a half years.

The low rumble of a Harley-Davidson engine cut through the quiet. My heart jumped. Headlights swept across the windows as Victor pulled into the driveway. A minute later, the front door opened, and the scent of leather, motor oil, mint, and cedarwood rolled in with him.

Victor "Raze" Kane filled the doorway like he owned the world—which, in many ways, he did. At 1.9 meters of pure muscle, with broad shoulders and arms covered in riding scars and Iron Reapers ink, he looked every bit the President of the club. His black leather cut was open over a tight gray shirt that stretched across his powerful chest, the top buttons undone to reveal the edge of a tattoo I'd secretly fantasized about tracing with my fingers.

His dark eyes locked on me immediately. The moment he saw the balloons, the untouched cake, and my glassy eyes, his jaw tightened.

"Riley," he said, voice low and rough like gravel wrapped in velvet. He crossed the room in three long strides and dropped onto the couch beside me. Before I could protest, he hauled me onto his lap, one massive arm wrapping around my waist while his other hand cupped the back of my head, pressing my face against his warm chest.

"Daddy won't let his little princess spend her birthday alone," he murmured against my hair, the command in his tone making my stomach flutter. His body heat seeped through my thin dress, and that intoxicating mix of oil and man filled my lungs. "Those little shits bailed on you again?"

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. Being this close to him always did dangerous things to me. He was my stepfather. He was thirty-eight. He was… everything I wasn't supposed to want.

"I'm fine," I whispered, even as my fingers curled into his shirt.

"You're not." His hand stroked slowly down my back, stopping just above the curve of my ass. "But you will be. We're throwing a real party right now."

He pulled out his phone and made a call, voice dropping into that authoritative President tone I secretly loved. "Bull, Ghost, Jax. Get over here. Bring drinks, music, and some decent fucking gifts. Riley's turning eighteen and her so-called friends are worthless. Yeah… now."

Within twenty minutes, the house came alive.

Tate "Bull" Reyes arrived first—two meters of pure brute strength, thick with muscle and old calluses on his hands. Cole "Ghost" Mercer followed, tall and lean with sharp eyes and an easy, flirtatious smile. Jax "Spank" Holloway came last, grinning like trouble itself, a case of beer under one arm and a wrapped box in the other.

They filled the living room with loud voices, deep laughter, and pure masculine energy. The scent of leather, engine grease, and cologne mixed together until my head spun. I sat tucked against Victor's side on the couch, his big hand resting possessively on my hip, thumb occasionally brushing the bare skin where my dress had ridden up.

Every time one of the brothers looked at me—really looked—the heat between my thighs grew worse. Bull's massive frame made me feel tiny. Ghost's lingering gaze and smooth compliments made my cheeks flush. Jax's dirty jokes and the way he called me "princess" in that teasing drawl sent little sparks straight to my core.

God, what the hell is wrong with me? I thought, pressing my thighs together. These are my stepdad's brothers. Dangerous, rough men who live by club rules I barely understand. And yet… I can't stop imagining their hands on me. Victor's hands. All of them.

Victor noticed. Of course he did. His grip on my waist tightened as he leaned down, lips brushing my ear. "You okay, baby girl?" His low voice vibrated through me. "You're trembling."

"I'm just… happy you're here," I whispered back. My nipples had tightened into hard peaks against the thin fabric of my dress. I was already wet. Just from sitting on his lap and breathing in his scent while his club brothers celebrated me.

We raised our glasses—mine filled with something sweet and strong Victor had poured for me. "To Riley," Victor announced, his deep voice commanding the room. "My little princess. Eighteen and fucking perfect."

The brothers echoed the toast, eyes gleaming as they watched me. The warmth of the liquor and their attention spread through my body like liquid fire.

Then every light in the house went out.

The sudden blackout plunged the entire house into complete darkness. For a second, everything went silent except for the heavy breathing of four large men and the frantic beating of my own heart.

I tensed on Victor's lap. "Victor…?"

"Easy, princess." His deep voice was right against my ear, calm and commanding. One strong arm wrapped tighter around my waist, pulling my back flush against his broad chest. "I've got you. Daddy's right here."

His body heat surrounded me like a shield. In the pitch black, every other sense sharpened. I could hear Bull's low grunt as he bumped into something, Jax's amused chuckle, and Ghost's quieter footsteps as they started searching for candles or flashlights.

Then Victor's hand moved.

It started innocent enough — just his big palm stroking slowly up and down my bare arm, as if comforting me. But the touch lingered. His fingers traced the strap of my sundress, then slipped beneath it, brushing the side of my breast.

My breath hitched.

"Shhh," he whispered, lips grazing the shell of my ear. "Just relax. Let Daddy take care of you on your birthday."