Puck

by Marata Eros

  “I’m a gun-wielding murderer.”

  Grabbing her ass, I punch inside of her, and Temp gasps, lowering her chin. She searches for my eyes in the gloom.

  “There is that,” I say, impaling her deeply as I come.

  “Puck,” she calls out, her own release milking me of mine. Her palm comes to rest on my chest as we move together and I grind deeply inside her.

  My hands play across her hipbones, thumbs lovingly pressing in the small hollows where her stomach has become rounded with our child.

  “Beautiful,” I breathe as I soften within her.

  Temp leans forward, lying down on my chest as I slip from within her.

  Our breathing syncs, and I think about what the last two months have been like for Temp and me.

  Tightening my arms around her, I feel blessed.

  Cursed.

  Whole.

  Kendra

  The lines of code blur in front of my face. I can’t concentrate. I keep seeing the dead bodies.

  The blood.

  Feeling that man’s rough fingerprints all over my body.

  With a shiver, I stand. Rising to my tiptoes, I stretch my spine. Hearing little pops, I work out the kinks. I didn’t used to be so great at self-delusion, but now I’m a damn expert.

  I behave as though I’m just taking a little break from my computer, when actually, I’m going to go check that door again.

  Did I really lock it?

  I turn and leave my tiny office space as I head to the door of my new apartment.

  The old one was unlivable, and I’ve been here a full month now after staying with Temp until she moved in with Puck.

  I left everything behind but my bed and dresser. Too much blood. Memories.

  Just too much.

  I paid extra money for the third-floor apartment and got special permission to get a burglar-proof door. Solid steel. Peephole. Bolted. Chained. Six hinges instead of three.

  Workers fortified the doorframe to hold the extra weight of the fortress-type entry.

  Storm felt the need to supervise the installation. Wordlessly. Even though there was police protection in place, he slept on my couch the first week after I moved in, gun lying on top of the coffee table.

  Then for three weeks, he was a ghost in the parking lot until my bedroom light shut off. The vigil was different than before. Before, his safeguarding felt like he was closing a loop from the kidnapping.

  This current one felt like something was opening. At least, I’d hoped it was.

  Even though Storm is a violent, messed-up, and scary man, I’d seen a quality there worth pursuing. But I’m so fragile now.

  So very fragile.

  Then Storm told me that all women were bitches, and he would never be with one.

  Not as in having sex, but as in being in a relationship.

  After a moment’s pause, I asked if I was a bitch too.

  He glared at me for a full minute, his normally bright hazel eyes gone obsidian with his apparent hate for females.

  Then, with agonizing slowness, Storm took my hand and pulled me to his body.

  I let him.

  He crushed me against his chest, and my face fit perfectly between his muscular pecs.

  His heart beat a wild rhythm against my face as we said nothing. Did nothing.

  It was almost as though he were afraid of me.

  I don’t know how anyone can be afraid of someone who is afraid of everything now.

  Storm never answered the question as to what I am.

  Am I a bitch?

  And if not—what am I?

  Chapter 33

  Noose

  Standing from being stooped for so long, I wipe the sweat from my brow on the sleeve of my beat up T-shirt.

  Wring slaps me on the back. “Taking a break?”

  I shoot him the bird. “Back feels like a yawning scream of fucking pain, asswipe.”

  Wring smirks. “Mine feels so much better.”

  Had our asses in the air for five hours straight, installing the new floor.

  Got the club re-framed, sided, and roofed. Took time. Now we’re sheet rocked and installing the new floor.

  Viper trots down the stairs, tools of the trade banging against his thighs.

  He’s in charge of the new greenhouse.

  I hike my chin in greeting. Dying for a smoke and a beer. But shit needs to get done.

  A text dings, and I see it’s from Rose. I look at the time.

  Right on schedule.

  “Rose?” Wring guesses, swinging a mallet on the strip of molding to tap that tongue into the board’s groove on the other side. Walking the length of the board, he keeps tapping, getting the parts married as tightly as possible before heading toward the remainder.

  I set the next board against the end he’s already done and answer, “Yeah.”

  “How she doing?” Viper asks, walking over to where we stand.

  “Getting there. Nightmares still.”

  Viper rubs his nape. “That shit’s harder on a woman.”

  Wring stands. “Depends on the property.”

  “Yeah,” I say, but down deep, I know that Rose was affected by that fucker.

  Probably more profoundly because of what happened with that fucking headcase Drake only a few years before.

  Wring walks back to where I stand. Clapping my shoulder a second time, he bends to where I set the board and taps. “She’ll be okay eventually.”

  Tap, tap, tap. Wring stands. Looks at me.

  Probably sees the worry all over my face. Hard to hide that from a brother.

  I just nod.

  “Let’s go have a beer on the back stoop,” Viper says casually.

  He knows that we’re all worn out from the constant rebuild of the club.

  And the rebuild of some of our women.

  “Sounds good,” Wring says, following Vipe out the back door.

  I stand, taking in the new surroundings, thinking about Rose.

  How she wakes up in the middle of the night, scared.

  I did that. By being part of the club.

  Rose never says a word of accusation. Doesn’t have to. My wife is a target. Our kids.

  All the brothersʼ property.

  My eyes travel the freshly drywalled guts of the new structure that hides the full array of snaking wires of security I personally installed. I run restless fingers through my hair, thanking Christ I chipped Rose right in her delicious ass.

  She laughed at the time when I kissed the small healing wound.

  Rose laughs less now. She’s a little jumpy and cautious. I don’t like it. Not a bit.

  But like Wring said, that’s going to take time.

  Denni, the counselor she’s seeing, says Rose needs to work shit through. Didn’t like sending her to a shrink, but Puck swears by her.

  I clench my eyes shut, remembering the first time Rose nursed the twins after. She sobbed while they fed, and I wanted to kill that fucker again.

  It evened out, but there were mixed feelings for a couple of days. A trigger for that fucker sucking on my wife.

  Something she’s allowed only me to do when I made her come, screaming my name. I’d lick that milk that leaked from her gorgeous rack.

  Now I’m not sure what to do.

  Just last night, when I made Rose come from her toes, she brought my head to her breast.

  I couldn’t, though.

  I cried instead. And I’m not a fucking crier.

  Ever.

  The tears hadn’t been sadness, but a sort of aggrieved frustration that another man had his hands on the most precious thing I have. That I wasn’t there to defeat his shit.

  I’m just so fucking sorry. So sorry.

  My head dumps, and a weary exhale slides from between my lips.

  We’re getting there, but time’s a bitch. It’s never a dude’s friend. Or anyone’s.

  Another raw exhale shoots out of me, and I follow the guys to the confession step before they think I�
��ve died.

  Puck

  Two weeks later

  “So I’m going to be your best man, right?”

  I snort. Rolling my head to the right and giving Perry the look he deserves. “Dumb ass.”

  He tips his head back with a satisfied grin, having that last third of his beer.

  We sit for a second in companionable silence, eyes on the rolling green of my slice of heaven.

  “Great view,” Perry notes after a few minutes of us just checking out a dying vista of Indian summer. October’s been almost warmer than August, when all the horrible shit was going down.

  “How’s Kendra?” Perry asks quietly.

  Now that’s a loaded question.

  “She’s not saying much about the last thing.”

  “The thing where that dude showed up and Temp blew him away.”

  I feel the crooked smile come on.

  “Love that. Won’t lie.” Perry’s grin matches mine.

  We clink empty beers.

  “Look at this state of affairs,” a rich feminine voice says from behind us.

  Temp stands there, leaning against the doorframe, her face neatly obscured by the screening.

  I make out the chilled pair of beers she holds.

  Love swells my chest. Not a mark on my woman now, unless I put it there.

  The mark of my kiss, the love I lavish on her.

  She’s showing pretty good now. Her tiny body has a semi-bowling ball down low.

  “Come here,” I tell her, my voice thick with my feelings.

  A light blush infuses the fair skin over her cheekbones, and ducking her head with a secret smile, she opens the screen door and steps onto the back porch.

  She hands Perry a beer, and I draw her into my lap.

  Temp does a cute pouty thing with her mouth. “I want to get blasted with you two.”

  I smile, placing my palm on her rounded belly. “Not yet, Mama.”

  Tilting my head backward, she leans forward, and I brush my lips across hers.

  “You two lovebirds,” Perry says, watching the exchange.

  I nod. “Yup.”

  Temp pulls away, and I hike her ass off my lap, squeezing the roundness.

  Her smile grows wider. “Lech.”

  “Hell yes,” I say.

  Perry takes a pull from his beer, and I stare at the rock I put on my girl’s finger. Best purchase I ever made.

  Temp protested the size.

  I told her it was half of what I wanted to do. Three carats of princess-cut diamond is a lot of stone on that small of a finger.

  Don’t want anyone to miss it.

  I find I look at the sparkler a lot. Glitters even in low light. Reminds me of our mutual trust.

  My lips curl. Think her dad likes it too.

  “What are you thinking about?” Temp asks, her face screwing into a frown.

  “That your dad likes the ring I got you.”

  “Pfft—the huge rock?”

  I nod.

  “Yeah,” she agrees softly. “He thinks you mean business.” Her chin does a minuscule defiant lift.

  My brows shoot up, and Perry chuckles in the background. “He’s all about business, our Puck.”

  I shoot my hand up, sprouting a middle finger—a favorite non-verbal of mine.

  We laugh.

  When that dies away, Perry asks casually, “How’s Kendra?”

  Now I know it’s not surface interest, and I look at his face. Fuck. Should have known he might be interested. The way he baited her when they first met.

  Don’t know that Kendra’s up for male interest right now.

  Temp lifts a shoulder. “You can ask her yourself.”

  Instantly, Perry tenses. “What?”

  “Well, Viper’s having a big thing at his house tonight, and K’s coming.”

  “A ʻthingʼ?” Perry asks with a small back of the throat chuff.

  “MC gathering. It’s a celebration. Finally got the club back to rights.”

  Temp nods. “And we must take advantage of this gorgeous weather. After all, we’re getting married next weekend.”

  Temp and I lace fingers, and I stand, towering over her.

  Perry does too, and like Storm, maybe he has an inch on me—all of us dudes are tall.

  “Do you want to come?” Temp looks hopeful.

  “I’m a cop still. Undercover,” Perry says.

  I clap his shoulder. “Trying to find a way out?”

  Perry narrows his nearly black eyes. “Fuck no.”

  Temp asks, “What’s the problem then? You asked about Kendra, and you know all the guys.”

  Perry’s chin lowers, and he asks in a low voice, “You guys get new men in?”

  “There’s always new men. But a few of the boys who were killed were going to be fine brothers.”

  A moment of respectful silence fills the space of a minute before Temp breaks it. “Well, you’re welcome. Just don’t be an asshole to K like you were last time.”

  “Was I that bad?” Perry asks with a snort.

  We nod.

  “Huh,” he says noncommittally. “Well, she’s a spitfire.”

  “Yeah,” Temp says but not like she means it. “The kidnapping and then that jerk showing up.” She swallows hard, clearly remembering her part of ending that. “It changed her.”

  Perry frowns. “How?”

  Temp shrugs again. “She’s more quiet. But I see the old Kendra cropping up more and more.” A private look crosses her face then is gone. “She’s been freelancing like the devil.”

  “She’s a computer geek, right?” Perry asks.

  I’m surprised he remembers that detail.

  “Yeah—big time.”

  Perry shrugs. “I guess I’ll come. Why not?”

  I’m burning to look at Temp, but I refrain.

  This’ll be interesting.

  Kendra

  This is me being dumb. Yup. Yessiree. I look at my image in my cheap five-dollar Walmart mirror. The kind that’s a little like a reflection from a circus funhouse type.

  High strappy heels. Check. Putting me at a sky-high five foot eight.

  Brightly patterned leggings that hide how skinny my legs are. Check.

  A push-up bra to make my barely Bs look like they might be a C. Check.

  I wear my hair loose, and that’s the hardest thing to decide on. I typically wear it in a messy bun.

  But it’s gotten long, past my bra strap, and I spent a lot of time outside in the last two months on my tiny balcony patio. The sun did its work, kissing my hair to a dark honey, a half a shade lighter than the dishwater blond it usually is.

  Had lots of time to think about things.

  Needed it.

  Rose and I have become great friends. She went through the mill with that perverted Alexander, and I went through stuff with his henchman.

  Almost raped.

  Saved by Storm.

  Then that other guy came to Temp’s apartment as I waited for her, and she covered her furniture with his brains.

  I swallow, shoving that shit way down.

  I’ve only seen Denni twice since the events happened. Each time, I can hardly talk.

  I like her, though.

  Dragging my eyes back to my reflection, I decide it’s time to fix my face. The hollows under my cheekbones can’t be helped.

  The dark circles under my eyes are almost gone—now that I’m finally fucking sleeping all night again. I do check my door three times before I go to my bedroom each night.

  I stopped checking for Storm outside my window. He’s not coming by anymore.

  And I never did find out if I was a bitch—or something more. But like the old saying: actions speak louder than words.

  And maybe I’m not woman enough for someone like Storm. He’s so much.

  But I thought I might’ve been up for the job.

  Don’t know that he was.

  I feel pretty naked without his protection. But then I have to give myself a donkey ki
ck in the ass.

  Storm’s not responsible for me.

  I move away from the mirror and walk into the bathroom to repair the past from my face. The memories.

  When I’m through, it looks as though I’ve done okay.

  My liquid-brown eyes, really more of a washed-out whiskey color, stare back.

  They don’t hold fear. But there’s sadness there if anyone is looking.

  People don’t, though.

  I grab my keys and move through my door. I lock it and only check it twice.

  That’s progress.

  Chapter 34

  Storm

  Love this weather. Cool at night, and just warm enough during the day. October is a favorite.

  Of course, killing road on the back of my bike is usually a favorite too. I smirk, biting back a real smile at the surface thought.

  Heading to Viper’s.

  Got a lot to celebrate. New clubhouse, even better than the old. Bitches have put the glass greenhouse back together on the top, with even more economy than I gave them credit for.

  Shannon and I always greet each other.

  She even let me hold the new baby.

  Fragile thing. Felt like I’d hurt the tiny kid, but miracle of miracles, I didn’t. It just sat there, gathering dust bunnies while yawning and making soft helpless noises.

  Another little boy.

  Couldn’t help making mental parallel connections. I was that small when my folks died.

  That layer of scarred hurt drapes itself over my brain, and I shove that shit away. Not a fan of introspection.

  Sucks.

  I do like the way Wring and Shannon look at me now. Different.

  The brothers always gave me grudging respect. They knew I had their backs. That I could bring it.

  But now I’ve got a champion behind me. Wring thinks the sun sets on my ass. I see his feelings with the deference he shows me. The smile on his face when I held his newborn son.

  It moves me. I can’t deny that. Never thought someone would ever feel that way about me.

  Shannon’s different. She hugs me every time she sees me. Every. Time.

  Doesn’t get offended that I don’t hug her back. That I’m plank-board stiff within her arms.

  She just plows through my physical opposition. Don’t think of her as a bitch. Impossible.