Silver Bastard

by Joanna Wylde

  Ten minutes later Puck and his new friend came back inside. He spoke to Boonie, then caught my eye. We stared at each other across the bar, and I’d have given my sewing machine to know what he was thinking.

  He shook his head and walked out again.

  That’s when I caught a break, because the alpha-type student waved at me. I walked over to him, startled to realize how big he was. He wasn’t quite as young as I’d thought, either. Probably my age.

  “Can you close everyone out?” he asked. “We’re headed back to the school for a party.”

  Like I cared what they were doing? I just wanted them gone.

  “Sure thing.” I ran the credit cards and brought their checks, forcing myself to smile even though I wanted to flip all of them off. Then I grabbed their empties in a not-so-subtle move designed to hint that they should get the fuck out. Hopefully they wouldn’t short me on the tip but I wasn’t willing to stick around to see.

  That’s when Handsy Boy snapped his fingers at me like a dog.

  I spun on him, fully intending to hit his head with my tray, dirty glasses and all.

  “Let me handle this,” Danielle said, her voice grim. “Take a minute to calm down out back—if Teresa has a problem, I’ll let her know. Now give me the tray and get your ass out of here.”

  Handing it over, I made tracks for the back, passing by the bathrooms and through the “Staff Only” door to the porch. As soon as the door swung shut behind me, my chest loosened. God, I hated jerks like that. The sounds of the bar were muffled out here. I sat on the steps, wrapping my arms around my knees and breathing deep, trying to settle myself down.

  The world was full of assholes. Pissed me off.

  I heard a motorcycle engine roar to life out front—sounded like Puck’s. I couldn’t tell for sure from here . . . Maybe not—he was probably gone already. Why did I feel so weak around him, yet some stranger groping me in a bar just made me mad?

  Probably because the little prick inside couldn’t have been a real threat if he tried. He wasn’t a biker or a badass or even a real man. Just a spoiled brat who thought having rich parents made him better than other people. Five minutes later I’d managed to calm down, so I stood and dusted off my butt before stepping back inside. I passed Teresa’s office and then pushed back through the “Staff Only” door into the bathroom hallway.

  Prince Handsy was waiting for me, a shit-eating grin splitting his face.

  “How about a kiss?”

  Oh, no fucking way.

  No. Fucking. Way.

  He lunged for me and I lifted my knee, catching him in the balls with the fury of an avenging angel. He screamed like a baby. Darcy burst out of the women’s bathroom, eyes wide.

  “You okay?” she demanded, taking in the scene.

  “I’m great,” I announced, wishing I’d taken him down an hour earlier. Prick.

  “What the fuck is going on back here?” Teresa demanded, crowding into the hallway. Behind her were Danielle and Blake and a whole bunch of other people, including the drunken redhead. She squealed and dropped to her knees next to her writhing boyfriend.

  “She attacked him! Call the cops—have that little bitch arrested!”

  That’s when the black-haired alpha-type student pushed his way through and grabbed her arm, jerking her back.

  “Go wait by the car,” he ordered. She started to protest, but a death glare from him silenced her like a switch. Damn.

  “We’ll talk in my office,” Teresa said to me firmly. “I’ll handle this.”

  “Sure,” I said, the adrenaline of the attack fading just enough that I realized what I’d done. I was about to lose my second job in a week for fighting. How was that even possible? Every day for the last five years, I’d asked myself the same question—what would my mom do? Then I’d do the opposite . . . yet here I was. Fighting. Again.

  “Everyone back off,” Darcy announced, her voice loud and full of authority. “This is none of your business, so get back to drinking.”

  “He’s drunk and he’s been eyeing her all night,” the black-haired guy said to Teresa. “He’s already groped her at least once. I’m sure she was just defending herself.”

  “I know,” Teresa said, meeting his eyes head-on. “I’m done with your shit. You can take your friends and get the hell out.”

  Handsy moaned and sat up.

  “Call the cops. I want to press charges.”

  “You can talk to my shotgun,” Teresa replied flatly.

  “No need,” Alpha Guy said smoothly. “He’s sorry for his behavior, and he’d like to leave a generous tip to apologize. He won’t be back. Get your ass up, fuckwad.”

  He gave his friend a kick to emphasize the point, and we all watched as the asshole stood up slowly. To my astonishment, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, sorting through the bills inside before he took out a fifty and held it out toward me.

  “Try again,” Dark Hair snapped.

  The asshole opened his wallet again, finding a second fifty.

  “Now say you’re sorry.”

  “I’m sorry,” he hissed.

  “Go wait in the fucking car.”

  With that, he gave me a nasty glare and started walking away painfully.

  “I’m very sorry about that,” Dark Hair said. Strangely enough, he seemed to be directing the words toward Darcy, which didn’t make any sense but then again, none of it did.

  “I’ll talk to Boonie,” she replied. “He’ll be in touch.”

  “Thanks.”

  I met Danielle’s gaze, my eyes wide. What the hell was that? she mouthed at me. I shrugged, because I had no clue.

  “In my office,” Teresa repeated. The sinking feeling hit my stomach again. At least I’d made enough to keep my phone on before I got fired . . . “Everyone else, get back to drinking. It’s over.”

  “Okay, tell it to me straight,” she said when we were inside, the door shut behind us. “What the fuck happened out there?”

  “He’s been grabbing at me all night,” I said slowly, trying not to sound defensive. “The last time it happened, he stuck his hand between my legs. Danielle sent me outside to calm down, and when I came back he was waiting and made another grab at me. I had to defend myself.”

  Teresa stared me down, her face thoughtful. Shit. This was it—she’d figured me out and now it would come . . .

  “Okay,” she said finally. “So can you finish your shift? We can cover if you need to go home.”

  What?

  “I attacked one of the customers,” I reminded her, confused.

  “No, a customer attacked you,” she replied, eyes hard. “I know we’ve got a reputation as a tough bar, but nobody fucks with my people. That boy’s lucky you got to him before I did.”

  “Oh . . .” Wow. Hadn’t seen that coming. “Well, uh . . . I guess I can go back to work? I mean, I’m okay. He didn’t hurt me.”

  “Great,” she said. “Get yourself a shot to smooth out the rough edges and then back at it. And don’t worry about that shithead bothering you again. Darcy will take care of it.”

  “Why . . . ?” I closed my mouth, cutting off the question, realizing I didn’t need or want to know the answer. Nope. Best to let it go, so I left her office and got my shot.

  Then I started waiting my tables again.

  Darcy and Boonie were still there, and Darcy offered me a concerned look. I decided to pretend nothing had happened. Danielle came over to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “You okay?”

  “Fine,” I replied. “No big deal. I think I like this place, though.”

  Danielle smiled, nudging me with her shoulder.

  “Me, too.”

  Thankfully, we were only a few minutes from last call, and the rest of the night had slipped by without any more drama. I dragged into my apartment at three in the morning, exhausted but satisfied. I put on some music, grabbed a glass of water, and sat down at my table to count my tips. It wasn’t a fortune, but I’d be able to
pay the power bill and eat for another week if I was careful.

  Working at the Moose might be okay after all.

  I glanced over at my Singer, feeling hopeful for the first time that day. The sleek, black machine with its gold filigree and etching called to me, and I laughed. Maybe tomorrow I’d start that quilt I’d been thinking about. I knew just the pattern, too. Jacob’s Ladder.

  So what if Puck hated me? I’d fucked up but I’d done my best to fix it. I had no idea what might happen with my mom, but if she pulled herself together and left Teeny, I’d be ready for her. If she didn’t, at least I’d proven I could take care of myself.

  SUNDAY

  PUCK

  “You should’ve fucking called me,” I told Boonie, wishing I could hit him. We’d gathered at the clubhouse for the club’s weekly meeting. Darcy had been cooking pancakes, eggs, and bacon for us when we’d pulled up, so I’d offered her a hand because I’m a giver like that.

  Also wanted to know if Becca had mentioned me after I left last night.

  Not that I’d cop to it. Hell no . . . yet there I found myself in the kitchen, helping cook breakfast on the off chance that Darcy might take pity on me, throw me some information. That’s when she told me about Becca, the prick in the hallway, and Roarke Malloy’s response.

  Thirty seconds later I was in Boonie’s face, demanding some answers.

  “Why would I call you?” he asked, his voice taunting. “You’ve said more than once that you’re not claiming her. She handled the situation just fine on her own—tough little thing.”

  “We’ve always protected her,” I protested. “We need to send a fucking message.”

  Boonie’s eyes hardened.

  “We’ve kept an eye on her, sure,” he said. “But she’s not club property. You want us to treat her like an old lady, claim her. Shit or get off the pot.”

  I wanted to protest. Punch him, or argue, or even just tell him to fuck off. My president stared at me blandly, because he was right and we both knew it. She wasn’t mine. Would the club still protect Becca? Absolutely. We’d protect anyone in Callup if we had to . . . But she’d protected herself last night and there’d been no direct insult to the Bastards.

  “Claim her or let her go,” Boonie added, his voice deadly serious. “This halfway shit doesn’t cut it. We all heard her at the Moose. Either what she said works for you or it doesn’t. Ball’s in your court.”

  I glared at him, because he was right. I was still frustrated with her, though. She fucked with my head, something I’d had ample time to consider while savoring my scrounged cigarette last night before pulling out of the parking lot.

  Yeah. That’s how pathetic things had gotten. I’d actually sat alone in the darkness lusting after a girl like some fucking Robert Pattinson wannabe.

  At least I smoked instead of sparkled.

  Boonie shrugged.

  “It’s time for church. C’mon.”

  —

  I took my place around the battered old table we’d set up in the back room. Twelve of the brothers joined us, while five more hadn’t been able to come. Two were retired, although they still held their colors. Another had to work, and the final two were in Montana visiting another chapter.

  I’d never actually planned to stay in Callup. I was a Montana boy, born and bred . . . But somehow I never got around to leaving after I got back from prison. Becca was part of it. The Reapers were an element, too—Painter and I were tight, usually got together at least once a week. Less lately, since shit went down with him and Melanie, but that’s the way of the world.

  “So we’re here to discuss the Shane McDonogh situation,” Boonie announced. “There are new developments. Puck, you want to share?”

  “So I talked to Rourke Malloy last night, outside the Moose,” I said, forcing myself to focus. “It was an eye-opening conversation. We know that McDonogh has been in some sort of power struggle with his stepdad, Jamie Callaghan. We didn’t have the details but I learned a lot last night. Seriously fucked-up shit. Malloy told me that they’re determined to keep McDonogh from claiming his inheritance—he’s supposed to take control of the Laughing Tess next year, when he turns twenty-one. Malloy says the local union supports him.”

  “True,” Deep said quietly. “Although it goes against the grain to back a McDonogh. We’ve been hanging on, hoping he’ll take after his daddy, not his granddad. Kade Blackthorne insists that blood will run true. Until then, most of us are carrying our own rescue equipment. I don’t trust the shit underground. Needs replacing.”

  I frowned.

  “What blood?”

  “Blackthorne’s,” Deep said. “Rumor is, Shane’s dad was Bull Blackthorne. He was president of the local back when Christine McDonogh decided she wanted to piss off her daddy—she ran around with him for a while. Then Bull found himself dead and Christine found herself knocked up. Suddenly she’s marrying Jamie Callaghan and moving to Vegas. Hasn’t been back since, unless she needed money.”

  “It’s just a rumor,” Boonie said, frowning. “Hell, doesn’t matter who the kid’s dad was. All that matters is whether he’ll be better for the valley than his mom and her husband.”

  “He’ll be better,” Deep said. “Can’t be worse.”

  “We’re hoping the safety equipment will get replaced when Shane takes over,” Demon added quietly. “At least, that’s the party line down at the local. The national guys could give two fucks. I bought my own self rescuer. If there’s another fire I don’t want to die down there because the McDonogh corporation won’t pay for upgrades.”

  “The national guys are controlled by the Callaghans,” Boonie said.

  “Well, Malloy says that Callaghan and his bitch wife are trying to get Shane declared crazy, lock him up long term,” I continued. “I guess there’s a loophole—if that happens, his mom would be taking over.”

  “They’ve got the money and lawyers to do it,” Boonie said.

  “He wants an alliance,” I continued. “After I talked to Malloy, I went up to the academy. The students had some party going on back in the woods. Malloy used it as an excuse to sneak me in and I met with McDonogh himself.”

  Deep perked up.

  “He look as much like Bull as they say?”

  I shrugged.

  “Hell if I know—I’m not from around here, remember?”

  “Christ,” Deep muttered. “Fucking useless.”

  “He backed up what Malloy had to say,” I continued, flipping him off. “According to them, the Vegas Belles strip club is a Callaghan front. Not a huge surprise—Painter tells me the Reapers have suspected as much all along, so that’s a point in McDonogh’s favor. He said that they’re using the club to launder money taken from the mine, and that when they have full control they’ll suck the valley dry.”

  “I believe it,” Demon said. “They’re feeding us bullshit over there already—things don’t add up. Word is, the corporate trustees are on the Callaghan payroll.”

  “So what do they want from us?”

  “McDonogh says that his stepdaddy will be visiting next week. He doesn’t have a time yet, but he’ll be at the strip club, which means we can get to him. McDonogh and his people will provide the intel, the Bastards and the Reapers are the muscle. With one raid, we slap down the Callaghans and take out the strip club. Win-win.”

  I fell silent.

  “What do you think?” Boonie asked. “Is it a setup?”

  “I don’t see what McDonogh’s motivation would be,” I answered, running scenarios through my head. “The kid has an ankle monitor and can’t leave the campus grounds. Some sort of fancy computerized system, never seen anything like it. There’s no question he’s pissed off—scared, too, probably. If what he says is right, there’s about a thousand different ways he can lose at this game.”

  “We should do it,” Demon said, his voice final. “That new strip joint is causing trouble for the Reapers. Reason enough right there. If there’s a way to save McDonogh and retake co
ntrol of the Tess, the miners stand behind us.”

  “One thing throws me off,” Boonie said, his voice thoughtful. “Why is Rourke Malloy double-crossing his family? I understood the guns—that’s just self-preservation, and I’m sure they’ve got plenty of enemies. Malloy pulls this and they find out, they’ll put a hit on him no matter who his father is. In fact, that might make it worse. The dad’s been with the Callaghans for decades. It’s a serious betrayal.”

  “Malloy says his dad’s no good,” I replied. “Family shit.”

  “He seems like a smart kid,” Boonie said. “You really think anyone with half a brain turns on the Irish mob just because he’s got daddy issues? Sounds like suicide.”

  “Only if he loses,” I pointed out. “Sometimes you have to choose a side and fight. Malloy’s obviously picked his.”

  The words hung over the room.

  “We know which side we should be on, too,” Deep said. “Not everyone in this room has worked underground, but this is our community. The Laughing Tess is what keeps us alive. If we’ve got a chance to protect it, we need to take it. Otherwise we aren’t the men I thought we were.”

  “Guess that sums it up,” Boonie said slowly. “Anyone else want to talk?”

  Nobody spoke.

  “All right, then. All in favor?”

  I voiced my “Aye” with the others, then we moved on to new business. Something about a missing keg pump. I zoned out, wondering why the hell I had to fall for a chick who hated me.

  Penance, maybe.

  Touching the scar on my face, I considered how my life might’ve been different if I’d been a girl. Both me and Becca were born to the life . . . I’d grown up surrounded by hard men and instability, just like her. Now I was one of them. My dad always watched out for me but I’d had to stand my ground and had paid the price in blood. Blood and time.

  Becca never got that opportunity.

  If I ever had kids, they damned well better be boys. Yeah, like I’d be that lucky. I pictured a little girl with Becca’s big eyes, smiling up at me. Then I pictured her the same age Becca was when we’d met. Young. Way the fuck too young, yet I’d lusted after Becca like some kind of sick asshole.