by Joanna Wylde
“I’m sorry my car’s not here,” I told her.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said as we passed through the back door, locking it behind us. Teresa was still in her office but she had an apartment upstairs so we didn’t need to wait around for her. Blake trotted down the steps, me trailing behind like a puppy. We were halfway across the lot when I saw someone move in the darkness.
“Shit,” I hissed. “There’s someone back here.”
“If you’re a murderer, you can back the fuck off!” Danielle shouted. “I have a gun and Blake killed someone with his bare hands once, asshole!”
Blake stopped cold.
“What the hell?”
“It’s all about creating an atmosphere of fear,” Danielle said confidently. “We’ll just scare him off. It’s probably just some dumbass kid having fun with us.”
He—whoever he was—wasn’t exactly radiating fear. I guessed this from the way he started walking toward us, each step crunching the gravel. I felt like there should be menacing music in the background. Maybe the lone call of a loon . . . Blake lowered Danielle and took on that menacing aura he’d had during the fight yesterday morning.
I was very, very glad to have him on my side.
Then the figure stepped into the ring of light surrounding the porch. Puck. I felt an innapropriate thrill, remembering all too well how he’d kissed me earlier . . . Hard hands cupping my face. Raw need in his eyes and the frustration written across his every move.
Now he waited for me in the darkness.
I wasn’t sure whether I should be relieved that we weren’t about to get murdered, or scared, because whatever Puck’s intentions were, they wouldn’t be pure and innocent. Meet him head-on, I decided. Never show a biker weakness.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, challenging him. “Not enough that Boonie trips me while I’m trying to work? And don’t deny it—I saw the look on his face.”
“Thought you might need a ride home,” he replied, his voice soft and deep. “And I happened to be passing by. Figured I’d wait.”
“What are you, some kind of fucking stalker?” Danielle demanded bluntly.
“Danielle, I can handle this,” I protested.
“So handle it,” she muttered. “I’m ready to go home and he’s in my way.”
Puck’s face hardened and I realized we were headed down a dark path here. Danielle was brave and loyal, but her sense of preservation was lacking. Throw in the fact that Blake was always ready to throw down, and Puck . . . Well, best not to go there.
“Danielle, he saved my ass today,” I said quickly, shifting out of tough girl mode. “It’s all good. He just caught me off guard and I’m tired. And Puck, it’s really nice of you to offer, but—”
I stopped talking abruptly. Danielle and Blake obviously wanted some time together, but she was such a good friend she’d run me home first. That meant close to an extra forty minutes of driving for her in the dead of night, all so I wouldn’t have to spend time with Puck.
She’d do it without a second thought, too—that’s the kind of person she was. But should I really be asking her to just because he sort of scared me?
“You know what? A ride would be great,” I told him, forcing myself to smile. Blake shot me a quick glance as Danielle started protesting again.
“You don’t need—”
“Let’s go,” Puck replied, reaching out and catching my hand. Then I was tagging along after him across the parking lot. Danielle squawked and Blake grabbed her. I heard them arguing in loud whispers and figured she was about ten seconds away from launching a one-woman jihad against Puck.
Fortunately we’d almost reached his bike. He paused, looking at me, his face thoughtful.
“If you want out, now’s the time,” he said in a low voice, and I wondered if he meant more than just a ride. What did I want? I was tired, my feet hurt, and Puck smelled good.
I glanced back at my best friend—still arguing with Blake. I needed to shut this down.
“Danielle, it’s fine,” I said, projecting my voice across the parking lot. “Puck can give me a ride and you can go to Blake’s place. Don’t worry.”
She stilled and Blake wrapped his arm around her neck, pulling her body into his. He didn’t say anything, just waited for her to make the decision to back down. She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms.
“If you do anything to her I’ll get you, Redhouse,” she threatened. Damn. Danielle was fierce.
“Take your woman home,” Puck told Blake. Danielle sputtered but Puck ignored her, pulling me toward the Harley parked around the side of the building. Then he was on it, kicking it to life as I stood there, frozen, because I’d made a serious miscalculation. For some reason, I’d assumed he had his truck.
I hadn’t been on a bike for five years.
They’d been a huge part of my life, growing up. Hell, Mom had a picture of me on one when I was a baby. For all I knew, the man holding me had been my father—she’d never said either way, and the one time I’d asked, she’d told me to shut my fucking mouth. Maybe he was just another in my string of “daddies.” Impossible to know.
Now Puck wanted me on the back of his bike. I remembered my arms wrapped tight around his stomach that day we’d left California, face buried in his back, trembling in pain and fear. I’d cried for hours, not that it mattered. We started riding and kept riding, stopping only for gas and the occasional smoke. They’d wanted to get the hell out of Longnecks territory before someone decided to come after me.
Not that the Silver Bastards were running scared.
Never.
But they’d had better things to do than get into a war over a random girl they’d picked up at a party.
“Get on,” Puck said, turning to look at me. His face was shadowed, but I swore his eyes burned like coals. What had I been thinking, agreeing to go anywhere with him? Had I lost my mind?
Maybe.
But maybe I was just being a giant wuss. Danielle and Blake deserved some time together.
“Okay,” I said, throwing my leg over the bike. I took a deep breath and wrapped my arms around his stomach, trying not to think about how tight and hard it still was. No beer gut here. Puck pulled out of the parking lot and onto the blacktop.
Then we were flying through the night.
—
It’s funny how you build the things that scare you up in your mind.
I’d been flinching every time I heard a bike for years. They represented everything bad about my childhood—the pain, the fear . . . Sometimes they represented the good. The Silver Bastards. Puck watching over me.
But good or bad, I’d completely blocked out one critical reality—flying down the highway on a bike is fucking amazing.
The night air was still warm, although in a week or two that would change. Puck smelled good and he handled the big machine like a master. I closed my eyes, focusing on the feeling of his back against my chest, his bulky strength in front of me.
Damn, he was sexy.
Of course, the fact that a powerful Harley engine roared between my legs like the world’s biggest vibrator didn’t exactly hurt. Whatever the reason, by the time we’d gone that first mile I’d forgotten all about being afraid. There’s something completely liberating about riding behind a man, because they control everything. You can only hold on and follow their lead. Trust they know what they’re doing. That they’ll bring you home safe.
That’s what fucked me up.
I forgot I shouldn’t trust Puck.
When we started out, I’d held him as impersonally as possible. Granted, any time you’re on a bike it’s pretty personal, but that’s no excuse for what I did next. Gradually I let my fingers spread out, widening across his stomach. I found the ridges of muscles, savoring the gentle play of them under his skin when he leaned into a curve.
My body leaned with his, following his lead perfectly.
That gave me the excuse to tighten my arms around him, one hand sli
pping up just a little higher, the other dropping until I felt the metal of his belt buckle under my fingers.
Doesn’t mean a thing, I told myself. Anyone would hold him like that. Just part of riding the bike together.
But it wasn’t.
All I could think about was dropping my hand lower, exploring the length of his cock through his pants. Would he be hard? A thrill ran through me at the thought, and my nipples perked up. I knew I had to be growing wet down below, but somehow it didn’t feel real. Not here in the darkness, with the wind roaring around us and his face safely turned away from mine. I could just hide my face against his back and pretend none of it was happening, right? By the time we reached Callup and he slowed, I was squirming. Why the hell couldn’t I feel this way around Joe?
Puck drove down the empty main street, slowing as we reached my corner building. He turned around the side and pulled into the alley, stopping gradually. Then he turned off the engine, the sudden silence hitting me like a slap in the face. What was I doing? I’d plastered myself against his back, I had one hand halfway up his chest and the other across his belt buckle.
“Thanks,” I said abruptly. His hands clamped down over mine before I could escape, silently calling bullshit.
“You still like riding bikes,” he said slowly, his voice a low growl. I tried to shrug, which was impossible given our position.
“I guess it can be fun,” I admitted.
He didn’t respond, at least not with words. Instead he slowly pushed my hand lower.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
“You wanted to touch me,” he replied. “But you’re too scared.”
My hand found the hard ridge of his erection, tight against the worn fabric of his jeans. Need and desire hit me like a blow, curling up along my spine, pooling between my legs.
Puck wanted me. Bad.
My fingers clutched him. It wasn’t planned but oh, it was good . . . Puck stiffened, his head leaning back with a sigh. My other hand dug into the hard, firm muscle of his pec. His fingers wrapped around mine, squeezing himself with my hand harder than I would’ve had the nerve to do.
My body had turned into a quivering mass of pure lust, and when he started jacking my hand up and down across his length I nearly died. Not like I should have almost died. You know, from shock and horror? Nope. The emptiness between my legs screamed out for more because despite the fact that I was spread wide around him, there wasn’t a hint of friction for me to get off on.
Puck shuddered and I felt a rush of power mixed with my own aching need. Here was this big, strong man at my mercy, all because I was rubbing his cock through a layer of denim in the dark.
Then he spoke, and I remembered that Puck was never at anyone’s mercy.
“I think about you,” he said, his voice agonized. “I’ve jacked off a thousand times, remembering that night. I’ve fucked a shitload of women, too. Tried to find one to replace you. I swear to fuck, Becca, if you were anyone else I’d just take you and be done with it. You’re lodged in my brain like a bullet and it’s poisoning me.”
I froze, reality washing back in. My hand stopped moving, but he tightened his fingers around mine, forcing me to start again. He was harder now—bigger—and I wondered how much it had to hurt, keeping that monster all penned up in his pants.
He wanted to fuck me. Bad. I wanted him, too, but his words were like cold water, reminding me this wasn’t a game.
“So,” Puck continued, his tone so intense it scared me. “I think it’s time we cleared this shit up. I like your hand on my dick. I’d like your mouth on it better. I want your cunt, your ass—everything. No more games, Becca. You know who and what I am, and you know that when I fuck you, it won’t be pretty. I don’t do pretty. I’ve held off because of what happened and I felt guilty but that shit is in the past. I’m done. You got thirty seconds to say no, then I’m taking you upstairs and all bets are off.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. My hands tightened reflexively and I shuddered, because I’ve never wanted anything more than I wanted to go upstairs with him. I managed to break through the fog of lust for an instant, asking him the million-dollar question.
“What do you mean, all bets are off?”
Puck gave a harsh, humorless laugh. “I mean I’m done dancing around you. You got hurt, I felt bad. But tonight you grabbed me and now I’m out of patience. We didn’t have history between us, you’d be under me already, Becca. And I won’t pretend to be something I’m not. I want a woman, I take her. I keep her until we’re finished and I call the shots while we’re together. No games. This is your last out.”
My thighs clenched and I knew what I wanted to say. Then my mother’s voice cut through my head.
Little slut.
Had she felt this way about Teeny? How many times had she let her body do the thinking for her?
“I call the shots while we’re together.”
Puck let my hand go and I stilled, clutching him for an instant longer. Then I let go and pulled back.
“Thanks for the ride home,” I managed to say, my voice unsteady. “And thank you for clearing things up. I’ve got to get to sleep. It’s been a long day and I have school tomorrow afternoon.”
He froze, a cold and frustrated statue. I clambered off the bike, forced to lean a hand against Puck’s shoulder to steady myself because my legs had turned to rubber. Then I made for my door. I kept expecting him to say something, or maybe come after me.
A part of me wanted him to.
Wanted him to take away the decision, to force me so I wouldn’t have to own up to the fact that I needed him so badly it hurt. Life would be so much easier if I wasn’t responsible . . . But who am I kidding? My life has never been easy. Puck stayed silent until I reached the stairwell door, then spoke one last time.
“I took your choice away five years ago. Tonight I gave it back to you. Consider us even.”
FIVE
My bed felt like a pile of rocks.
No matter how I twisted and turned, I couldn’t get comfortable. Puck’s words ran through my brain, twisting around and fucking with my nerves. Mom’s phone call echoed through me, too. She hadn’t called back, but I knew better than to try and call her myself. Not if Teeny was on a tear. Part of me almost wished she wouldn’t call, and I know that makes me sound like a shit person. But she destroyed everything she touched. I hated how talking to her made me feel, then hated myself for picking up the phone when she called again. Most of all, I hated all the hope and excitement I felt every time I thought she might actually leave him—it always led to disappointment.
By five I realized the whole thing was pointless. Might as well just get up.
Coffee couldn’t replace sleep, but it helped. So did my favorite playlist. By the time I fired up my Singer sewing machine the first light of dawn was streaking across the sky. I still had some silk from the kimono I’d used to make my makeup bag. Danielle’s words came back to me—maybe I really could sell some of them? They were certainly unique . . .
Two hours later I put the finishing touches on an entirely new bag design. The sun was up and my eyes were heavy, but I stumbled back toward my bed feeling satisfied and settled. I’d catch an hour of sleep before school—that should tide me over. Maybe I couldn’t control Puck or my job or my mom . . . but when I sat down in front of that machine, beautiful things came out. Things nobody else could make—things straight from my heart.
That had to count for something, right?
—
Usually I only heard from my mom every couple of months.
Her phone was deactivated half the time because she was always behind on her bills. She’d disappear for five or six weeks, then I’d get a call out of nowhere from a strange new number. Other times she’d email me from a public computer, or give me a quick call using someone else’s phone.
Like so many things about our lives, I grew up without realizing there was another way to exist. Most people would find it stran
ge or uncomfortable, going without a reliable connection to the outside world. With me and Mom, that’s just the way things were. When the bills got paid, life was good. The rest of the time we made due.
Mom had always been a motorcycle club groupie, so I couldn’t remember a time when I wasn’t surrounded by big men and loud bikes. It sounds bad, but I wasn’t entirely unhappy growing up. Before Teeny I remembered traveling and doing fun things with other kids.
Then everything changed.
Before she met him things were good, even though we’d been living in our car for a while after the last man she’d hooked up with dumped her. We’d slept in the car lots of times over the years, so I wasn’t scared. She used to make a game of it and that was fun. Then one day Mom dropped me with a friend and disappeared for a week. When she came back, she told me I had a new daddy, his name was Teeny, and that we were all going to be a family together. That’s when we moved into his house.
I loved it at first—I had my own room and everything.
When school started that year, I’d gotten to ride on a big yellow school bus with a bunch of other kids, and I even made some friends. At eight years old, kids tend not to notice the fact that a girl in their class hasn’t had a bath in three days, or that her clothes are too small. The teachers were onto us, of course—I remember strange people in suits coming to the house, checking our cabinets for food, and asking my mom a lot of questions—but I still felt like I fit in.
Then slowly I realized something wasn’t right.
For one thing, I didn’t get invited to play with other kids after school, or to their birthday parties. For my tenth birthday I had a party and only one girl came. Her mom didn’t drop her off. She just stood around, watching nervously while my mom fussed with my cake, and then they left before we even had a chance to play games. Slowly I learned that I was biker trash, and even if the kids didn’t know it, their parents did.
By the time I hit middle school, all the kids knew it, too.
There was normal and then there was us.
But when I left California, I left Biker Trash Becca behind. Regina and Earl looked at me and saw who I really was—a young girl who needed help. They opened their home and their hearts to me, and the rest of Callup followed suit. For the first time in my life I really belonged. Not only that, I was safe, surrounded by layers of protection. First Regina and Earl, then my new friends at the school. Their families adopted me, too, and standing guard over all of us were the Silver Bastards, who considered the town and its inhabitants their own.
