by Joanna Wylde
The room sobered, because it was true. It might’ve been nearly twenty years ago, but the horror of that fire still hung over the valley. It didn’t matter that I was still a kid in Montana. You couldn’t breathe the air here without feeling the memories press down.
“How confident are you in this kid’s intel?” Hayes asked. “I agree that something needs to be done, both for the valley and to protect The Line. But we’re only going to get one shot. We go in and miss Jamie Callaghan, they’ll tighten things up and we might not get another chance.”
“Puck’s talked to McDonogh in person,” Boonie said. “Tell us your thoughts.”
I considered my words carefully before speaking. Lives hung on what I said next, and the responsibility weighed on me.
“He’s young,” I said finally. “But he’s not stupid. He’s fighting for his life and he knows it. They may not be able to kill him outright, but they’ll turn him into a vegetable and lock him away forever if they can. He knows we’re his best shot for help locally . . . us and the union, but the ties are close enough at this point that you don’t get one without the other. I can’t see any reason for him to lie to us about this. He has more to lose than we do.”
Hayes and Boonie shared a look, and I felt tension tightening around the room. Sure, we’d talk about it some more and vote in the end, but the issue was settled in that instant.
“So tomorrow we fight?” Gage asked. “If that’s the case, I should get my people ready. Don’t want them caught in the cross fire if we can help it.”
“Who all do you have inside?” Boonie asked.
“Bartender,” he said. “Maryse. One waitress, Lisa. Milasy and Renee are dancing—both scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. I know we’ll need intel tomorrow but I want them out of the line of fire. They’ve put themselves on the line for the club in a big way.”
“Let’s send men in early,” Deep said. “Pretend to be customers. Figure out who’s loyal to Callaghan, and who’s just bystanders. We have five or six inside before we make our move, that’ll even the odds quite a bit.”
“Okay,” Hayes said. “Who hasn’t been over there yet?”
Several men raised their hands, including Painter. That surprised me. I shot him a look and he raised a brow, challenging me.
The Prince of Pussy wasn’t getting out quite as much these days . . . interesting.
Hayes pointed to eight men in turn, including my best friend. “We’ll start sending you in around noon, one at a time. Drink slow. Don’t sit together, talk, nothing. If they spot one of you, the others ignore it unless you get a sign, got me? We’ll coordinate from outside using your reports, send a text right before we go in. That work?”
The room filled with grunts of agreement.
“We’ll have those selected stick around for a few, make sure we’ve got it figured out,” Boonie said. “The rest of you can go back out and enjoy some of our hospitality. Some of the local ladies have been working hard to provide you with food and entertainment, so don’t be afraid to take advantage. Anyone needs a place to stay tonight, let me know. We’ll get you fixed up.”
Just like that it was over. I walked out of the room, down the hall, and out into the main room. We’d taken over an old bar a few years back after it went under. Real estate was cheap in the valley and the place made a hell of a clubhouse. We’d fenced in the back with six-foot chain-link topped with razor wire. Throw in a fire pit, music, and Darcy’s flare for smacking down drama? The place was almost perfect.
The only thing missing was Becca.
I passed through the door and nodded at the prospect watching over the bikes, throwing a leg over my Harley. It was time to go grab my woman.
ELEVEN
BECCA
It was nearly nine before Puck knocked at the door. He’d told me he might be a little late, but for some reason around eight I’d become convinced that he’d changed his mind—that this whole thing had been some sort of weird, crazy dream.
Given how unsure I was of things between us, you’d think that would have made me feel better. Instead it felt like a cancer eating at my gut. I wanted him. Bad. Not just in the sack, either. I just liked the thought of his big frame standing in my door, all solid and sexy and mine.
I’d long since finished getting ready and was sitting in front of my Singer when he finally showed up. I’d had a couple drinks by then, because despite the whole “want bad” thing, I was still a little nervous about my first biker party in five years. I decided that uncertainty was a good enough excuse to throw myself at him through the open door. Puck didn’t blink, just caught me and started kissing me, letting me know powerfully and without words that he was happy to see me, too.
By the time we came up to breathe, I’d forgotten all about the party. I just wanted to drag Puck back into the bedroom and go at it like a couple of animals.
“Settle down,” he murmured, cupping my cheeks with his palms. “You know I’m all about the thrust and repeat, but tonight I want to show you off. You’re special, babe. Want them to see it for themselves.”
His words warmed me all the way through, so I didn’t protest too much. Instead I grabbed a lightweight jacket and followed him out the door, hoping he was right about me. I’d been torn about what to wear—I knew we’d be riding his bike, so that limited my options. Still wanted to look good for his friends, though.
Thank God for Danielle.
I’d gotten home from school at five to find her waiting for me inside (she had a key of course). Spread out across my couch were seven different options, ranging from “biker whore fantasy” to “Sunday school teacher visits the club.” I’d gone for a middle option—“biker slut dresses for church.” Or maybe it was “church lady wants to get laid”?
It’s a fine line.
Thus I found myself wearing tightly fitted skinny jeans low on my hips, with dark black boots that were stylish but functional. They had a nice heel and black lacing up the back. Combined with the jeans, they made my legs look long and slender, but also promised to protect me from the Harley pipes. They had the additional benefit of covering a lot of skin while still screaming sex. Anyone trying to cop a feel would get a handful of denim.
Up top we took a different approach. Danielle put me in a black tank top with a scooped neck that showed off my boobs. She’d wanted me to tug it down to show the top of my bra, which I decided was too much. We compromised by putting me into a beautiful red bra with black lace, just in case the shirt dipped on its own. It was sexy as hell but still decent. My shoulders were bare and she braided my hair back.
Then I threw on some smoky eye makeup and dark plum lipstick. Shazam. Now I felt sexy and comfortable without being half naked.
Puck obviously agreed, because when we stepped out into the alley, he turned and pushed me up against the wall, kissing me again. My arms went around his neck and I felt his cock grinding into me through our clothes. When we broke free, gasping for air, I found myself pleading with him. “Let’s blow off the party and go back upstairs. Just you and me.”
Puck stilled, then pulled back to frown at me.
“You don’t have to be scared, Becca,” he said. “Hell, you know most of the club already. Darcy will be there, and probably Carlie. We’ve got some of the Reapers over, too, and Painter. These aren’t scary strangers, babe.”
Unfortunately, the first thing that popped out of my mouth was a little too revealing.
“Carlie is not one of my friends.”
“Jealous?” Puck whispered, kissing the side of my neck. Hell yes, I was jealous.
“Like I care who you’ve been with.”
Puck’s face darkened. “I care who you’ve been with. I used to lie in bed thinking about it. Whether you were fucking someone, how he made you feel. If he’d hurt you. I didn’t want you falling for anyone and I hated the thought of anyone bothering you. Couldn’t make up my mind which idea I hated most—you alone and unhappy or with some asshole enjoying life.”
“I might’ve been a little jealous of Carlie,” I admitted.
“We keep this crap up, we’ll miss the party.”
“It’s not that late,” I protested, surprised.
“Yeah, but it’s a Wednesday night and I’ve got shit to deal with tomorrow,” he said. “Club business. We usually get together on Wednesdays, but a lot of the guys have to work on Thursday. It’s over by midnight.”
As he pulled me toward his bike, something he said stuck in my head. Something I’d been wondering about.
“Puck, what do you do for a living?”
He stilled, then turned to me.
“Why would you ask that?” His voice was soft, but his tone was harsh. Suddenly Scary Puck was back—so different from the man I’d seen over the past couple of days. How did he switch off modes so fast, and which was the real man?
“Everyone has to pay the bills,” I continued, my voice quiet. “I wait tables. Blake tends bar. Joe works in the mine. What am I getting into with you?”
“You know I can’t answer that,” he said, his tone still harsh but a hint of compassion in his eyes. “You grew up around a club. I’ve never pretended to be something I’m not.”
“You said the Silver Bastards were different.”
His lips twitched in what was supposed to be a smile.
“Not that different. C’mon. Let’s go.”
—
The clubhouse was only ten minutes away—an old bar just outside of town. I’d driven by a thousand times, of course, but I’d never been inside. It was known for wild parties. Once or twice before every election, the sheriff would raid it—I’d always wondered why nobody got arrested. Then one day Blake filled me in.
The sheriff did the least he could to appease the county commissioners, and not one thing more. According to Blake, the commissioners didn’t care for the club one bit. At the sheriff’s department they were a little more pragmatic. With the club in charge, the “criminal element” was somewhat contained and self-policed. That kept down crime overall, which was what really mattered.
I suspected there were strategic payoffs in place, too. Seemed like there’d been some hefty anonymous donations to the law enforcement benefit fund each year that nobody wanted to talk about.
The system worked.
I hopped off Puck’s bike and helped him back it into the line of Harleys. Things were so familiar and so foreign at the same time. Three prospects lingered outside, two Silver Bastards and one Reaper. They avoided staring at me. I’d gone to high school with one of them.
There had always been prospects hanging around the Longnecks, too.
Suddenly I wished I’d had a little more to drink, because I was alarmingly sober. Loud music poured from the bar, and when Puck wrapped an arm around my neck and started toward the building my feet didn’t want to move.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, giving me a squeeze. “Remember, these are my brothers. They’re the same people who saved you. They’ll protect you and so will I. This should be easy—you already know all the rules. I’ve seen how hard it is for girls coming into the life. You’re way ahead of them.”
I nodded, hoping it was true. Closing my eyes, I took in his scent with the predictable response. My nipples tightened, my thighs felt restless, and when he slid a hand down to my ass for a quick squeeze, suddenly my world was full of color.
“I’m ready,” I whispered.
—
The party wasn’t what I’d expected—for one thing, it wasn’t nearly crazy enough. When I thought of MC parties, I thought of strippers hanging from the ceiling, rivers of booze, and people shooting up everywhere. The Longnecks were trashy, loud, and always fucked up on something. Make that fucked up on everything.
Intellectually I knew the Reapers and Silver Bastards were somewhat different. The Bastards partied, of course—that’s how it all started—but they were also more functional and less brutish. Less of a gang and more of a unit.
I couldn’t miss the difference tonight.
Were people drinking? Yes, no question. And there were girls wandering around showing plenty of skin. It wasn’t a free-for-all, though. There was an air of purpose, and the men weren’t getting particularly drunk. They formed small clumps, Reapers and Silver Bastards talking quietly. What the hell kind of party was this?
Fuck. Something big was up.
I wrapped my arms around Puck, and squeezed in close to whisper in his ear.
“You sure you’re busy tomorrow? I’m thinking of going in to school late . . .”
“Sorry, babe,” he replied absently. “I’ve got shit to do.”
Crap crap crappity.
They were planning something, probably something bad. I’d felt this kind of tension in a club too many times not to spot it. Puck would be in danger tomorrow and I couldn’t know any of the details. He might die. That was the way of this world and I’d sworn I’d never let myself get drawn back into it, yet here I was.
And I was here, no question. If I’d doubted that before, I couldn’t deny the truth any longer. If something bad happened to Puck tomorrow, it might kill me.
I’d fallen for the asshole—like mother, like daughter.
“Painter, you know Becca,” Puck said, snapping me out of my dark thoughts. I looked up to see the tall, lean biker with the chiseled face and spiky blond hair that I’d first met at Teeny’s house. I knew he’d spent more than a year in jail with Puck. Now they were best friends. The man gave of an aura of scariness that couldn’t be denied, so I forced myself to ignore it.
All the men in Puck’s world were scary. Time to pull myself together and deal with it.
“Good to see you again,” I said, deciding to face my history head-on. “I don’t think I ever thanked you for California. Hope you won’t hold it against me.”
He nodded his head, eyes assessing. I hadn’t been able to read him back then and I couldn’t read him now. He didn’t seem overtly hostile. That had to be a good sign.
“So you’re Puck’s property now?” he asked. “Interesting. You’ll take good care of him.”
I smiled nervously, because his words weren’t exactly comforting. One, I’d never agreed to be Puck’s property, yet obviously he’d told the clubs otherwise. Two, the “you’ll take good care of him” hadn’t been a question or an encouragement. More like a threat. I’d take care of Puck or Painter would take care of me. Obviously he didn’t fuck around when it came to his friends.
That was a good thing, I decided. Tomorrow they’d be in danger—I wanted someone strong at Puck’s back.
“You’ll take good care of him, too,” I said, smiling at Painter. “That’s what brothers are for, right?”
His eyes widened, and I got the impression I’d surprised him. Good. I wasn’t the same little girl he’d met five years ago, and he needed to know it.
Puck gave a laugh, smacking my butt again.
“You want a drink?” he asked. I nodded, wishing Painter would stop staring at me. “Over here.”
We moved toward the bar, which was manned by yet another prospect. How many of those guys did they have, anyway? I’d never really learned how many Silver Bastards there were in Callup. They seemed to sort of rotate in and out, which made keeping track of them harder.
Probably not an accident.
A minute later I held a beer as I followed Puck across the room toward Boonie and the man I recognized as the Reapers’ president. He was old enough to be my father, but still strong and sort of sexy in a weird way. He’d had a funny name . . .
“Pic, this is Becca,” Puck said. “She’s with me now.”
Picnic Hayes. That was it. I smiled at him, wishing I’d chugged the beer already. Seeing him made me think of the Longnecks and our crazy ride north.
“Good to see you again,” he said. “I heard Puck had finally claimed you. Hope it works out for you.”
“She’s tough,” Boonie commented. “Shoulda seen her at the Breakfast Table last week. Some asshole jumped Puck an
d she went after him with a coffeepot. Lost her job over it.”
Picnic raised a brow, clearly surprised, and I felt a small smile curling my lips. I had jumped right in and it felt good. I’d been a small, weak victim when he’d met me before. Now I was strong. Holding my own.
“Good for you,” Picnic said. “Puck, you got a minute? I wanted to go over a couple things with you.”
“Sure,” Puck said. “Let me get Becs settled.”
My new confidence disappeared. We’d never said anything about him leaving me alone at the party. I surveyed the party again, everything looking more sinister and scary this time. The girls skittered around like they might get smacked if they weren’t careful. The men seemed larger. Angrier.
I gulped my beer, forcing myself to calm down. The real menace was in my head.
“Hey, would I leave you?” Puck asked softly as we walked away.
“I think you read my mind,” I said nervously. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“We’re going to find Darcy. You can stay with her until I’m done, then I’ll come back for you. Remember, when you hooked up with me, you hooked up with the whole club. We’re all here for you, Becs. This might not seem like a safe place, but it really is. Nobody can hurt you as long as we’re together. Every man in here is my brother and someday the women will be your sisters. Darcy’s probably in the kitchen.”
Puck started toward the back, threading through clumps of men and women littering the room. Quite a few of them were old ladies, I realized. Some wore vests and others just gave off the aura of confidence that came from belonging. I saw some of the men I’d met down in Cali, too. A great big Reaper whose name I still remembered. Horse. He had a short, bubbly little brunette woman glued to his arm. She laughed at something, the sound friendly and happy.
