by Joanna Wylde
I stole a look at Batma . . . Puck and wondered how stupid it would be to call her back in front of him.
Probably pretty stupid.
We’d never talked about my mom, but it wasn’t a stretch to assume he wasn’t her biggest fan. Hopefully the call wasn’t urgent—I’d have to wait until my break at school to get back to her. Generally our conversations fell into three categories:
1) “I’m leaving Teeny for real this time, Becca. I just need some money for a bus ticket and I’ll come up.”
2) “I love you, baby,” drunken slurring. “I’m so sorry for what I did. You’ll see. We can fix it. Be a family.” Barfing noise.
3) “I need money, sweetheart. Just this once. We can’t pay the (insert bill here) and they’re going to (insert consequence here).”
I’d love to say I never sent her any money, but that would be a lie. I loved her. I wanted her back. I wanted to be a whole person again and some small part of me insisted that nobody can be a whole person without their mommy.
Fortunately I rarely let that small part make the decisions, and I definitely didn’t give it access to my checking account. Nope, if I sent her something, it was just tips. Those didn’t count.
(Right.)
So instead of returning the call, I used the time to check my email, which I couldn’t get at home. There wasn’t much in my in-box. Several ads for “enhancement” products. A quick note from Danielle saying she’d run into Joe, and that he’d left her makeup bag hanging on my doorknob because she’d forgotten it in his truck last night—could I bring it in to work with me?
Hmmm . . . That was going to be complicated. I hadn’t figured out the whole ride/home/work situation in my head. I wrote her a quick note saying I’d try, then put the phone in my purse.
By the time we pulled up to the school, I’d managed to relax despite Puck’s oh-so-friendly presence.
“I’ll see you at five,” he grunted as I hopped out. I wanted to tell him not to worry about it, but I couldn’t justify making Danielle drive all that way just because I was scared of one biker. One big, tough biker who just happened to be the only man I’d ever really wanted to—
“Thanks for the ride,” I said, my smile bright and plastic.
What the hell was wrong with me?
—
“Hi, Mom.”
“Becca baby! I’m so glad you called. It’s been awful, I don’t even know what to say, it’s so bad.”
“What’s going on?” I asked, wondering if I really wanted to know. It always ended the same anyway . . .
“Teeny’s finally lost his shit,” she replied, and for once her voice was sober and somewhat focused. “I think he’s going to hurt me.”
“Mom, he’s been beating the crap out of you for years. What’s changed?”
“No, those were just little arguments,” she said, brushing me off. “Marriage is hard. You’ll learn that someday, if you ever manage to find yourself a man. No, this is different. He’s been really angry and upset, and he pulled out his gun last night and held it to my head for an hour. His eyes were awful, Becca. Like a devil’s eyes. He says I’ve been cheating on him and now I’m going to pay.”
My chest tightened.
“Mom, you need to get out of there.”
“I know,” she replied, her voice a tense whisper. “He just got home. I’ll try to call later. I need money, baby. Money to leave him. If I don’t get out I’m dead.”
Then she hung up the phone.
My head started to sway and I felt dizzy.
“You okay?” asked Caitlyn, one of my classmates. Apparently she’d caught the tail end of my phone call. I looked up to find her face full of exaggerated concern, a newly lit cigarette dangling forgotten in her fingers.
“I’m fine,” I said quickly. Great. Now everyone would be up in my shit, because Caitlyn was the biggest gossip in the whole damned school.
“Do you want to talk?” she asked, her voice oozing sympathy. “People say I’m great at listening.”
And repeating.
“It’s okay, really,” I told her. “Don’t worry about it. I need to get back inside.”
—
It wasn’t okay, though.
My brain was too restless. I decided to bug out of school early, so I gathered my stuff and walked over to the coffee hut. Caffeine might not solve my problems, but it probably wouldn’t make them any worse. I bought a drink and a muffin for dinner, because I’m healthy like that, then found a place to sit on the side of the building.
Teeny. God, I hated that man. He’d gone after Mom with a bat once—I’d been little enough to hide behind the couch that time. Another time she’d turned the bat on him, which was great right up to the point where he pulled his gun and made her beg him not to shoot her.
I’d watched that one from underneath the table.
Now I couldn’t get the image out of my head. For years I’d been terrified of him, but I’d learned from Regina and Earl not to let fear rule my life. Would he really do it?
Impossible to know.
She needed to get out of there. Maybe I should call her back . . .
“There’s a hot guy out here looking for you,” Caitlyn gasped, running around the corner. “He’s all dark and scary and fuckable. There’s this amazing scar on his face. It looks exactly like the kind of scar you’d get fighting pirates. Please tell me you’re screwing that beautiful man—I’ll lose all respect for you if you aren’t.”
“No, he’s just my ride,” I said, rising to my feet. I swatted my butt to get any dirt or sticks off. Caitlyn scowled at me, then smiled suddenly. Poor dear, she really wasn’t very bright. Her little brain moved slowly, telegraphing every thought right onto her face.
“Introduce us?”
“I really have to go,” I replied, trying not to roll my eyes as I walked around the corner. Sure enough, Puck was waiting, looking grumpy as ever.
For an instant I considered just turning around and taking off. I’d hide behind the school, make Danielle come and get me.
Get over yourself.
Okay, so I was going to pull my shit together and act like a grown-up, starting with an apology for being rude to him this morning. Did he make me uncomfortable? Yes. Had he been rude? Definitely. But he’d also rescued me on the side of the road and traditionally that calls for graceful tolerance and a pleasant thank-you.
Not like he had to stop in the first place, right?
Moving quickly, I crossed the lot to his truck before the girls standing around smoking had the chance to start with the questions about him. They’d try to get his information out of me tomorrow—we did enjoy our gossip at the school—but I’d worry about that when it happened.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said, climbing up into the truck. My eyes took him in and I felt a wave of lust hit me. Beautiful. That’s what Caitlyn called him, and I was tempted to agree, but it wasn’t really the truth. He was too rugged and scarred to be beautiful. She’d hit it just right with “fuckable,” though.
He grunted, turning up the radio in the universal signal to shut up, so shut up I did. We merged onto the freeway and started out of town in silence. Not a pleasant, comfortable silence. This was strange and uncomfortable, with every line of his body radiating tension that made me nervous. Was he about to snap?
I’d grown up around bikers so I knew better than to ask him about his day or why he was so obviously not a happy camper. He wouldn’t tell me and I didn’t want to know anyway. Okay, I did want to know but I shouldn’t. Even so, by the time we’d turned off and started up along the river I couldn’t take the silent treatment any longer. I had to say something.
Keep it friendly. Break the tension and let him know you’re ready to move on.
“Do you want to come over for dinner tomorrow?”
He didn’t respond, and I bit my lip, stealing a look at him. God, he was good-looking. Not traditionally handsome—nope, between the scar and the broken nose, that ship had sailed. And
he wasn’t cute, either. Way too terrifying to be cute.
But there was just something so compelling about his face, the way he held himself, the controlled power in every move he made . . . Drove me crazy every time I thought of it. Drove me crazy, heated me up, and scared the crap out of me—the situation was utterly ridiculous and completely inescapable.
I had to remember that Puck was a biker, and not one of the nice ones. There was a reason the Silver Bastards protected Callup and all its inhabitants. Not out of the goodness of their hearts—I didn’t believe that for a minute. Nope, their protection was all about territory, kind of like a dog with a bone.
The Silver Bastards might not shit where they ate, but they had to shit somewhere.
Since leaving California, I’d lived my life according to one basic rule—I called it the Mom Principle. When in doubt, think about what Mom would do. Then do the exact opposite. It’d never failed me. Mom loved bikers, which meant I needed to stay the hell away from them. Hold out for a nice guy.
Nice. Normal. Boring . . .
Joe.
Ugh.
When Joe kissed me I just sort of checked out. There was no burning need, no heated desire . . . Puck turned me on just by existing. With him actively existing right next to me, it was almost more than I could handle. To this day, I blame my hormones for my actions, because my brain certainly didn’t get a vote. I should’ve let it die, made a clean escape. Instead I had to open my big fat mouth and make things worse.
“You didn’t answer my question earlier.”
“What question?”
“Do you want to come over for dinner tomorrow?”
Puck ignored me, but I swear—his hands were suddenly squeezing the steering wheel so hard it should’ve snapped in half. The truck abruptly slowed and he swerved off the next turnoff to the river, brakes slamming hard. For a minute I thought we might go over the embankment into the water. I froze as he opened his door and got out, slamming it behind him. Then Puck walked away from the truck, kicking a rock hard as he looked out over the water.
Long minutes passed.
I fidgeted, wondering what was going on. Finally my idiotic, self-destructive curiosity got the best of me and I undid my seat belt, stepping out and moving toward him. He had to hear the crunch of the gravel under my feet but he didn’t say anything.
“Why did you get out of the truck?”
Silence. Had he heard me? Then slowly Puck turned, radiating a restrained intensity. His eyes flared as he started stalking toward me. Not walking—stalking. Like a predator in slow, inevitable pursuit of its dinner. Crap. Puck liked to play with his food, too. I remembered that from California.
What the hell kind of mistake had I just made? I needed to run away, but it was too late—he already had me backed against the truck, although I couldn’t remember exactly how I’d gotten there.
“What exactly do you think we have here?” Puck demanded, his voice harsh. My knees threatened to let go so I grabbed the truck behind me with both hands.
“I don’t understand.”
“You just invited me over for dinner,” he sneered, like it was a dirty word. “Who do you think I am? One of your girlfriends?”
Um, no danger of that. Crap. Damn, but Puck was big. He loomed over me, pinning me with the sheer force of his presence. My heart pounded, utterly convinced that Batman was going to eat me if I didn’t do something right now.
“I think you’re the guy who pulled over this morning and gave me a ride so I wouldn’t miss school,” I said breathlessly. Puck’s mouth twisted into a snarl. Jesus Christ, he’d gone from scary sexy to flat-out scary as fuck faster than Danielle could down a shot. And Danielle was fast. “You didn’t have to, but you did. You’re my new neighbor, too. Things have always been weird and uncomfortable between us. Maybe they don’t need to be.”
He leaned into me, slamming a hand down against the metal on either side of my body.
“Things are uncomfortable between us because I fucked you at a party after your daddy pimped you out,” he said bluntly. “That was a problem for me, given that I was on parole and the powers that be tend to frown upon statutory rape. That was a problem for you because getting raped is a fucking shameful violation, no matter how it goes down. But here’s the really shitty part—fucking you was good, Becca. Damned good. Believe me, I remember how you felt wrapped around my cock. But not even you’re good enough to risk going back to prison, so I’m sure you can understand why I was pissed off about the whole situation. I still did the right thing, and helped you out.”
I blinked rapidly, trying not to faint. I remembered being wrapped around his cock, too. The memories were twisted and confusing as hell, but they were good. Not just good—fucking amazing. Right up to the point where he’d hurt me. Why is this turning me on?
Shit. This had to be Mom’s fault somehow. She’d somehow passed on her only superpower—the ability to seek out and fall for the worst possible man in any given area code. Only possible explanation.
Puck hadn’t finished.
“Dragging your ass out of there seems to have given you the wrong impression about me, Becs. Do not think for one minute that I’m the kind of guy who does the right thing. That’s not my style. I’m the guy who does what he wants when he wants, and trust me when I say I didn’t do nearly enough to you that night to get you out of my system.”
Holy. Crap. I couldn’t process this. Then his body pressed into mine and it got worse. I could feel him against me. Not just all of him, but one specific part of him, digging into my stomach. He lowered his head.
“Let me tell you how this plays out,” Puck continued, his voice going deep and rough as his lips grazed my ear. If I’d turned my head half an inch, I’d be kissing his cheek.
What the ever-loving fuck is wrong with me?
Why would I even think about kissing him?
Because you want him, my body shouted from somewhere deep inside my gut. No, not gut. This was definitely the va-jay-jay show. He’s strong, he’ll protect you. He’ll make you scream and feel good because he’s the baddest motherfucker on this mountain and that’s the only kind of man you want!
His teeth caught my ear, tugging on it and sucking it into his mouth. Then his tongue traced me and if I hadn’t been pinned against the truck, I’d have fallen right to the ground. Puck let my ear go and spoke again.
“I’m not going to fuck you here on the side of the road today, Becca, despite the fact that it sounds like a hell of a good idea at the moment. And the next time I see you out with your precious boy toy, Collins? I’m not going to beat him half to death because he’s touched you. But here’s the thing . . . you’ve pushed me about as far as I’m willing to go with this friend bullshit. I’m not your friend, Becca. I’ve never been your friend and I never will be. I can be the man who fucks you and owns you, or I can be the man who keeps an eye on you to make sure your stepdad doesn’t come and steal you back. I can even be the man who watches while you find a nice little boyfriend you can control and settle down to make babies together like normal people. But don’t you fucking dare issue any more invitations unless you’re ready to handle me and don’t pretend for one second you aren’t fully aware what that means.”
Before I could breathe, think, or start to process his words, Puck caught my face in both hands and kissed me hard, tongue pushing deep inside even as he shoved one of his solid thighs between my legs. Desperate, mind-numbing painful need exploded through me. Five years ago he’d been strong, but now? Puck had filled out and bulked up with age and I knew that there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop him, even if I wanted to.
I’d never wanted anything less.
Suddenly it ended.
I dropped to the ground with a thump, shaking as I raised a hand to my swollen lips, stunned. Puck stepped back, eyes flaring with suppressed need. Then he fumbled in his pocket for something only to find it empty.
“Fuck!” he shouted, turning and pacing toward the river.
“Get back in the goddamn truck.”
Yeah, wasn’t going to argue with that.
Five minutes later he ripped the driver’s door open, rocking the vehicle as he got in. We pulled out onto the road with a skid of gravel and then started driving toward Callup again.
This time when he turned up the radio, I kept my mouth shut.
—
Puck dropped me off in front of the Moose about an hour before my shift was supposed to start. That afternoon I’d decided to catch a ride all the way home—that way I could shower and change, not to mention grabbing Danielle’s makeup bag. It was probably still hanging on my door . . .
After our little confrontation, though, I’d been far too busy dealing with all that extra adrenaline exploding through my body to ask for favors. When he’d pulled up to the bar I’d all but jumped out, desperate to get away. He seemed to share the sentiment, hardly waiting for the door to close before taking off again.
Now I sat on a battered picnic table in a patch of grass across the road, staring down into the river as I tried to collect my thoughts. A partially deflated inner tube had been left behind from someone’s float earlier that day. I kicked it, feeling wistful. Like always, watching the water run over the rocks soothed me. No matter what else went wrong, at least I lived somewhere beautiful. That had to count for something, right?
“Did you bring my makeup?” Danielle asked cheerfully, plopping down beside me. I shook my head.
“Nope, I didn’t get a chance to go home,” I told her. “Car trouble. I had to catch a ride from Puck.”
“Really . . .” she drawled, her voice full of questions.
“Really,” I answered, the word final.
