Silver Bastard

by Joanna Wylde

  “What should I do?”

  “You find a way to apologize and hope he finds a new place to go drinking,” she replied. “Not much else you can do.”

  “Find a way to apologize.” Easy for her to say—she wasn’t the one being ignored. I stalled for a few minutes at the bar, but then the drinks were ready and waiting for me.

  Showtime.

  I carried them back over to the bikers’ table, trying to catch Puck’s eye. Carlie sat between him and Deep, and I wondered which man she’d come with. She’d clearly been with Puck the other morning at breakfast . . . I forced myself to smile at her brightly despite the fact that I wanted to poison her. Puck was mine.

  Wait. Where did that come from? Puck wasn’t mine. Not even a little bit. I didn’t want him, either.

  Liar.

  Over the next half hour I caught myself checking them out, trying to determine whether or not they were a couple. Puck wasn’t paying much attention to Carlie, though. If anything she seemed attached to Deep. Good. I hoped they got married and had fifty babies until she got fat. Still, she was sitting next to Puck and she’d been with him the other morning, too. As if to rub salt in my wounds, Carlie was annoyingly friendly and nice to me when I came back to collect the empties.

  “You’re Becca, right?” she asked. “We didn’t get a chance to talk the other day—”

  “She’s nobody,” Puck said, cutting her off. Carlie gaped, glancing between us. The others watched silently as my heart clenched. I wanted to run away. Hide. Pretend none of it had ever happened.

  No.

  Time to end it.

  I set my tray down on the table and stood straight, looking directly into Puck’s face.

  “I have something to say to you,” I told him, pitching my voice loud enough to be heard over the music. “What I said last night was wrong. I’m sorry about that. It wasn’t true. You aren’t a rapist.”

  Carlie gasped and Darcy blinked. The men just watched silently. I closed my eyes briefly, wishing I could open them and find myself somewhere else. Anywhere else. No such luck—when I opened them again, Puck was staring at me, his eyes boring through me like two hot coals.

  Well. Guess I’d caught his attention.

  “I think I need to make something very clear,” I continued. “Five years ago, when I met you in California, I did everything I could to make you think I wanted to be with you. Teeny set it all up and I played along, and you were as much a victim as I was. You didn’t rape me, and once you figured it all out you could have just left. Instead you saved me and I’ll appreciate that for the rest of my life. I called you a rapist last night because you were telling me things I didn’t want to hear and I got angry. In fact, I get angry a lot. It’s sort of a problem for me, so I apologize. Thank you again for bringing me to Idaho and saving my life.”

  With that I grabbed the tray and walked away, feeling my hands shake. Danielle waited for me by the bar, searching my face.

  “You did it?”

  “Yup.”

  “Seriously? Right there in front of all of them?”

  “Yup.”

  “You okay?”

  I considered the question. “No, I think I’m about to freak out.”

  “Go back into the kitchen and sit in the walk-in,” she said quickly. “I’ll cover for you. Stay in there until you calm down.”

  “Can you see him?”

  “Puck?”

  “Of course,” I hissed. “Is he looking at me? He didn’t say anything. None of them did.”

  “Yes, he’s watching us,” she replied, eyes darting. “But he’s not getting up or coming over. He’s just drinking his beer and watching. The look on his face is kind of scary. Go sit in the walk-in. The cold air will make you feel better. No matter what happens, remember that I’m here. Blake, too. We’ve got your back.”

  I nodded and ducked around the bar, slipping past Blake as I darted into the kitchen. Gordon—the short-order cook—had shut everything down hours ago, although the faint smell of fried food hung in the air. I opened the big cooler door, flipping on the light as I stepped inside. The door closed behind me, cutting out the sound of the bar, and I grabbed the little stool next to the wall shelf to sit on.

  There’s something wonderful about a walk-in cooler.

  It’s cold, of course. In a commercial kitchen that’s a very good thing, because it’s always hot when you’re working over a massive grill. In the summer it’s even hotter, which made the walk-in an oasis. Tonight it was my sanctuary, although I already felt the light sweat I’d built up in the bar chilling on my skin. The faint goose bumps grounded me. I inhaled deeply, savoring the silence.

  I could do this. I could go out there and look at Puck and smile and serve him and his friends. I’d hold my head high while I did it, too—I didn’t have a choice. Callup was a small town and unless I decided to leave, I’d run into them.

  Of course, I could leave Callup.

  Like every other time I’d considered moving, my mind instantly rejected the idea. I loved Callup and I felt safe here—that hadn’t changed.

  The cooler door opened.

  “You okay?” Blake asked. “Anyone I need to kill?”

  I smiled, because I knew he wasn’t entirely joking. He was the reason I needed to pull myself together and go back out there. Him and Danielle and Regina and Earl and everyone else who made up my world. So what if Puck hated me?

  I’d been hated before.

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” I told him. He reached out and caught my hand, pulling me to my feet.

  “Teresa’s asking where you are,” he told me. “I said you were grabbing fresh lemons.”

  I glanced around, finding the clear plastic container of sliced lemons on the shelf and grabbing it. Blake smiled at me, his face reassuring.

  Holding his hand, I walked back out into the bar.

  EIGHT

  PUCK

  My hand gripped my pint glass so hard it was a miracle the damned thing didn’t break.

  “Thank you for bringing me to Idaho and saving my life.”

  Becca’s words kept running through my head. For a while last night—the first hour after she called me a rapist—I’d wanted to kill her. After all I’d done for her, all I’d given . . . Then I’d finally had her right where she needed to be and she pulled that shit on me.

  Crazy bitch.

  It worked, too, because deep down inside I still felt guilty as fuck about that night. I felt even guiltier because I’d spent the last five years trying to figure out ways to make it happen again. I’d watched her over in her apartment after our fight—close your goddamned shades, Becca—working away on her fucking sewing machine. There I was, my soul ripped right the fuck apart, and Becca was making some bullshit craft project.

  That’s when I’d grabbed my keys and took my bike out along the river until I hit the highway. I’d stopped there, looking east toward Montana, wondering if I should just start riding in that direction. I could leave all of it behind. The club, Becca, everything. I’d take my bike and fly with the wind until life made sense again.

  I didn’t, of course.

  I still wasn’t sure why.

  Becca walked by carrying a heavy tray, ass twitching in a way that cried out for a smack. Christ, but I still wanted to fuck her. She was serving those academy fucks, all crowded around two tables along the wall. The girls acted like self-centered little twats, playing at being grown-up. I saw one flipping Becca shit, which pissed me off.

  This made no sense—I was still pissed at her myself, so why I would care about someone else treating her right I couldn’t imagine. I guess deep down inside there’d always be a part of me that considered her mine?

  Fuck if I knew.

  While the girls gave her crap and whined about their drinks, the boys were checking her out like she was a stripper working a pole. I half expected one to tuck a dollar bill into the front of her low-cut T-shirt.

  Hmm . . . If that happened, I’d have to take
the little cocksucker out. No help for it.

  “Think you should handle things with Malloy,” Boonie said, startling me. “He wants to talk. Can’t make it too obvious.”

  I glanced over at him. Deep had pulled Carlie into his lap, and was making a show of feeling her up. She eyed me, maybe wondering if it’d make me jealous? I ignored the look, because Deep had plans for her, even if she hadn’t figured it out yet.

  “Let’s go to the restroom,” Darcy said, catching Carlie’s arm. Carlie nodded, slipping out from behind the table. Then the two women disappeared down the back hallway, leaving us free to talk business.

  “So why do you want me handling it?” I asked Boonie quietly, leaning forward.

  “Makes more sense, you’re closer in age,” Boonie said. “Kid like that steps out to talk with an old man, people will be more likely to notice. Want you to feel him out, tell me what you think.”

  I shrugged. I didn’t quite buy the excuse, but Boonie obviously had his reasons. Hell, anything that got me away from Becca for the moment had to be good, right?

  “Okay.”

  Ten minutes later, Rourke stood and worked his way toward the front of the bar, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

  Fucking great.

  Now I had to go out there and pretend to smoke. Deep smirked at me, and for a moment I wondered if they were setting me up just to fuck with my head. Then Boonie nudged me with his boot, and I caught his gaze again. The man was all business—nope, he wasn’t fucking with me.

  “Gonna grab a smoke,” I announced, then stood and walked toward the front of the bar. I opened the door and looked around, spotting Rourke on the corner of the porch, casually lighting up.

  “You got an extra?” I asked him.

  “Sure,” he said, holding out his pack. I pulled one out. It felt so good in my fingers that it hurt. Fuck, I wanted that smoke. Almost as much as I wanted Becca.

  Both would kill me.

  “Light?” he asked. I considered it, then shook my head. If someone came out I’d light it, but we were alone for now. I’d talk to him, save the smoke for when I actually needed the cover.

  That’s me. Regular fucking saint.

  “So what’s up?” I asked him. “Boonie said you wanted to meet.”

  “I think we’ve got a situation the club can help us with,” he said slowly. “The Vegas Belles—that new strip club that opened near the Washington-Idaho border. I hear they’re pulling business from the Reapers’ strip club.”

  I shrugged, wondering where he was headed with this. I’d heard from Painter a few days ago, and Malloy was right. Profits at The Line had been suffering ever since the new place opened just down the street. So far they hadn’t taken action, but that wouldn’t last forever. Sooner or later the Vegas Belles would either get pulled into the Reapers’ fold or shut down—that’s the way things worked in north Idaho.

  “Haven’t heard much about it,” I said.

  “They’re a front for the Callaghans,” Roarke said, leaning forward against the rail. “Jamie Callaghan is moving in, getting ready for Shane McDonogh’s twenty-first birthday. That’s when everything comes to a head for us. If Jamie wins, they’ll put Shane away and control of the Laughing Tess will move out of the valley forever. You don’t want Jamie in charge. Trust me on that.”

  “Why do you care?” I asked. “Lay it out for me—a show of faith would go a long way here.”

  “They sent me to Northwoods to keep Shane in the fold,” he replied. “He’s supposed to be one of us, you know. The Callaghans always planned to bring him in but he’s never been very good at following orders. I guess I’m not, either.”

  “What about your dad?” I asked bluntly. “He’s not a man to cross. What will he think?”

  “He’s not a Callaghan, either,” Rourke replied, shrugging. “They may think he is, but Dad cares about himself and nobody else. Not me, not my mother. None of it. I could give two fucks about that asshole.”

  Interesting. That didn’t match our intel.

  “So what’s the plan?”

  He eyed me speculatively.

  “Is the MC in or out?”

  “I don’t speak for the club,” I said. “The brothers vote. You want me to bring something to the table, you need to give it to me first.”

  “Fair enough,” he said, stubbing out his smoke. He’d hardly touched it and I wondered if he was even a smoker. Fucking waste. Christ, I wanted to light up. My fingers literally itched for it. “Shane needs to hold on until he’s twenty-one. That’s when his court-ordered house arrest ends and he takes control of the Laughing Tess. Sounds simple enough, but they throw new shit at us constantly, trying to wiggle out of his grandfather’s will. Bullshit legal filings, mental competency hearings, you name it. We think they tried to poison him last week, although it’s hard to know for sure.”

  “Thought they needed him alive?”

  “Define ‘alive,’” he muttered. “They find a way to turn him into a vegetable, that’d suit their needs just fine. His mom will file for permanent guardianship and take over the Laughing Tess. That’s a win for the Callaghans—when Christina’s mouth moves, Jamie’s voice comes out. I’m here to tell you that it’s time to take sides, and the club needs to back Shane. Otherwise the valley is fucked.”

  I nodded, thinking he was probably right. They’d siphon off everything until there was nothing left. Hell, they’d already managed to fuck the miners in the ass. The local union had been screaming about safety equipment for years, but the nationals pretended not to hear. We had the Callaghans to thank for that.

  “So what do you want?”

  “Shane wants to meet you,” he said. “We’ll sneak you into the school tonight. We’ve set up a party—lots of local kids coming. That’ll be your cover if anyone sees you around. Just another asshole looking to get drunk up at the academy, chasing after a girl or a fight or whatever.”

  Explained why Boonie picked me, I decided. At twenty-six I wasn’t exactly a kid, but I was the youngest full member of the club.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll come talk to him. But I want something to give my president for now.”

  “We’re natural allies. You want the valley safe, Shane wants the valley safe. Short term, your club and the Reapers MC need the Vegas Belles out of commission. Jamie Callaghan will be coming up this week to look things over—might be the best shot we ever have to get him. We’ll provide the intel on his visit, you provide the muscle. Everyone wins.”

  I considered it, then nodded.

  “I’ll talk to Boonie,” I told him. “Then I’ll head up to the school. Just remember, we’re not playing games here. You get that?”

  Rourke laughed, sounding older and more cynical than any kid his age had a right to be.

  “We already have a long list of people who want to take us out,” he said. “Trust me, we aren’t looking to add to it.”

  “Fair enough.”

  I rolled the unlit cigarette in my fingers. I should crush it, throw it off the porch. Tucked it into my pocket instead.

  Fuck smoking and fuck Becca.

  Maybe a good fight with the Callaghans would clear the air. Not like I had much to lose, no matter how it played out. Rourke Malloy was right about one thing, though. We definitely didn’t want Jamie Callaghan taking over the Laughing Tess.

  BECCA

  After my little time-out in the cooler, things got better. Puck still didn’t talk to me, but all things considered, that was a lesser evil. I felt his eyes following me but I forced myself not to pay attention.

  It helped that the bar was hopping and the students were running me ragged, bitching about their drinks and insisting I was fucking things up. By the third time Blake had to remake a Sex on the Beach—“It’s just not quite right, you know? What kind of vodka did he use? And is that pineapple juice? I wanted pineapple juice”—I was about ready to poison them.

  Just keeping up with their shit was a full-time job. I had to watch them c
onstantly. That’s why I noticed that when the scary-looking one strolled outside the bar for a smoke, Puck followed him.

  “You see that?” I asked Danielle quietly as we passed each other at the service bar. “Puck went after that guy. You think there’s something going on there?”

  “Nope,” she said firmly. “And if there was, you wouldn’t want to know about it anyway so let it go.”

  Good point.

  Unfortunately, the rest of the students were still thirsty and when I hit their table again, a guy with muddy brown hair tried to cop a feel. I dodged him, my smile hardening. He offered a drunken smirk, which pissed off the very tipsy redheaded girl sitting next to him.

  “Could you move any slower?” she sniped.

  “Sorry,” I managed to grit out, but when I hit the service bar again I leaned across toward Danielle, who had taken a break serving drinks to wash glasses.

  “I’ve had it with those fuckers,” I hissed. “One just went for my ass.”

  “Let me handle it. What did they order?”

  “Couple more pitchers.”

  With a wink, she grabbed a pitcher and dunked it quickly in the soapy water, capturing about three inches of the liquid. Then she started filling it with beer.

  “You’re gonna get fired!” I hissed, looking around to see if anyone noticed. Nobody was paying attention except for Blake, who raised a brow but said nothing.

  “I’m not even officially on the clock,” she replied, grabbing a second pitcher and doing the same. “Just doing my part to help some friends. Not my fault if Teresa hasn’t taught me the proper procedure for washing dishes yet. Go bring those assholes their beer—it’s your job to provide excellent service, regardless of whether you like them.”

  I grinned at her.

  “I love you.”

  “I know,” she replied, using her best Han Solo voice.

  Two minutes later I was setting the pitchers in the center of their table, biting my lip to keep from giggling. Did this make me a bad person? Absolutely, but when the asshole caught my leg again and groped the inside of my thigh, any lingering guilt disappeared. That douche deserved whatever he got and then some. Fucker.