Silver Bastard

by Joanna Wylde

  Puck stepped toward me, but I held up a hand. He ignored it and I fell into his arms, tears breaking free. Then he rubbed my back softly. God, why was he being so nice? It made everything harder.

  I wanted to fight, not cry.

  “Okay, let’s figure some stuff out,” he said finally. “First—and I have to ask this—do you have any real proof she’s dead? He might be lying to you.”

  “My cell phone,” I whispered. “It’s back at my car, but he sent me pictures. From the morgue. Also a death certificate. It’s real.”

  “Okay,” he replied. “And how do you know he’s the one who killed her?”

  “Because she said he would. She begged me to save her and I wouldn’t. This is my fault.”

  “No,” he said. Suddenly he was looking me right in the eye, holding my shoulders in both his hands. “You didn’t cause any of this. This is not your fault—she made her own choices and they included hurting and using you. If you told her no, it was because you were smart enough to save yourself. About fucking time, too.”

  “You just had to add the last part, didn’t you?”

  He didn’t respond, although I saw his mouth tighten. Good. I’d gotten to him.

  Silence fell in the room.

  “So why did you need money for California?” he asked finally. “Is he having a funeral?”

  I shook my head bitterly. “No, but he said if I wanted her ashes, I had to pay him. A lot.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me.”

  “Three grand. If I don’t send it, he’s dumping her out.”

  Puck’s face darkened, and I saw the little muscles in his jaw clench. “So he called to say your mom’s dead and then shake you down. You weren’t going to earn three grand at that club, Becca. Not in a day—and you had to know I’d come looking for you when I heard what happened. What’s really going on?”

  I considered the question. If I stalled him, sooner or later I’d get my car back. I could still go after Teeny.

  “Answer the fucking question, Becca.”

  “I wanted to get her ashes.”

  “You know I’d help you.”

  “Your help comes with strings.”

  “I get it,” he said suddenly. “You think if you attack me enough I’ll give up. Answer. Now. Why were you going to California?”

  “I was going to kill him,” I admitted. “I don’t feel like I’ll ever be free unless he’s dead. Maybe it sounds crazy, but he’s an evil, evil man and he doesn’t deserve to live. That’s why I didn’t talk to anyone—I didn’t want to turn you into my accomplices.”

  Puck growled, then pushed away from me to stalk toward the window. He leaned forward on it, fingertips turning white as he squeezed hard. I supposed I should be glad he wasn’t squeezing my throat.

  “Did it occur to you that I could take care of this?” he said, teeth clenched. I looked at him blankly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You asked once what I do for the club. I fix problems. Teeny is a problem.”

  I swallowed.

  “You can’t do that.”

  “Yeah, I can,” he replied, turning back to look at me. His eyes darkened, and I shivered. I’d only seen him like this once before, the morning he’d stolen me away. All hot anger burning under a surface of cold purpose. So dangerous. “If you want him dead, I’ll make it happen. But you have to fucking talk to me about it.”

  “You sound like a sociopath,” I blurted out. Shit. “I can’t believe I said that.”

  Puck came over and caught the back of my neck, jerking me into his body. The air had changed between us—there’d been anger before. Now there was more.

  “You belong to me,” he growled, cupping the side of my face with his other hand. I felt his fingers wrap around my jaw, oh-so-close to my throat. “That means I take care of you. I thought you were safe from your stepdad. He’s still hurting you, though, so you’re not safe. Now I’ll solve that problem so he never hurts you again. That doesn’t make me a sociopath—that makes me your old man.”

  Then his mouth took mine, tongue thrusting inside brutally. The horror of the day, all the adrenaline, everything hit me all at once. I’d been dying slowly inside all afternoon, but now I felt alive again. I reached up and caught his hair in my hands, pulling him into me with a force I’d never used before. Puck groaned, then shoved me down and back onto the bed.

  The mattress was spongy and soft. The blankets were old and faded. God only knew the last time they’d changed the sheets.

  I didn’t care.

  All that mattered was the feel of him as he shoved my legs apart. Then his hand was down between us, digging under my thong. His fingers found my center like a target, shoving deep inside.

  My back arched and I convulsed against him. It wasn’t an instant orgasm, but it was something damned close. Like all the tension I’d been carrying that day was desperate to escape but couldn’t quite pull it off without his help.

  Puck broke free from my mouth, then dropped his head and grabbed my bra with his teeth. My breast popped free and he sucked it in almost painfully. Need exploded between my legs, a tension that ran from my breast to my clit, where his thumb started working me.

  “Puck,” I moaned.

  He pulled back and gave a harsh laugh.

  “Nothing like an angry fuck, huh?”

  His words struck me.

  Angry fuck. That summed up what I wanted perfectly . . . Something dark and rough and free from any kind of concern for his needs.

  I pushed up, catching his chest with my hand and shoving him over. The move caught him off guard and he went down.

  Then I was on top of him, straddling his body as I tore at his shirt. Puck was a smart man—didn’t take him long before the fabric was up and over his head. I reached behind my back, trying to find my bra hooks but my fingers turned awkward. Finally I just pulled the whole thing up and over my head. Then I was down across his chest, rubbing my nipples into his as I ground my clit against his cock.

  “You aren’t my old man,” I growled, staring into his eyes. Puck bared his teeth at me as his hands caught my ass, fingers digging deep into the flesh. His hips bucked up.

  “You’re mine. Pretend all you want, but this is my cunt, my ass, and I don’t share you with anyone. I’ll protect you and you’ll take care of me and there’s not a goddamned thing you can do about it.”

  My back arched when his fingers stabbed me again. Then I was flying over and onto my back, legs up and around his body while his hips ground me down into the mattress.

  “This,” he said, thrusting his fingers again. “This belongs to me.”

  Puck’s other hand started burrowing and I shuddered. He’d found my asshole, wiggling against it with savage pleasure.

  “This is mine, too,” he added. “And if I want your mouth, I’ll fuck you there. You want more. Admit it.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Nope,” he said, pulling his hands suddenly free. Then he spread them on either side of my head and pushed up. That pressed his dick down hard into my pussy. Nice.

  But why wasn’t he moving?

  I needed him in motion, pressing against my clit and making me scream. The tension inside me needed to get out. I was going crazy—had been going crazy all day. This was the first thing that made sense, the first thing that didn’t hurt my soul.

  “Goddammit, Puck!” I need you. I couldn’t say it, though. Couldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  “Admit you’re my old lady,” he growled again. “Just say the words and I’ll fuck your brains out.”

  “No.”

  Puck took a deep, shuddering breath and started to lift his body off the bed.

  “Yes,” I gasped, reaching for his butt, pulling him into me desperately. “I’ll be your old lady. Whatever. Just fuck me!”

  Puck’s eyes flared, and then he was reaching between us, ripping open his pants. Seconds later he thrust inside. My entire body shuddered and I screamed, the relief was
so intense.

  I wasn’t there yet, of course. I need more motion, more penetration, more of everything.

  Damned good start, though.

  Puck’s hips drove deep, over and over again. I tried to match his rhythm at first but it was hopeless. He was too heavy, too hard. Too fast. It was all I could do to hang on as he pounded into me.

  We were so close now.

  Sweat broke out all over my body, a light mist that slicked our flesh and made every touch that much more exquisite. Puck paused. I moaned, digging my fingers into his flesh, and he laughed.

  Then he dropped his head and gave me a long, slow kiss.

  “I like fucking my old lady,” he said, eyes taunting me. I squeezed him deep inside, payback for that little cruelty, and he laughed. “Just keep punishing me like that, babe. I’ll suffer through, somehow.”

  I slapped his ass and he bucked, but it got the job done. He started moving again, long, slow strokes now. The angle was exactly right and his pelvic bone pressed hard against my clit each time, right to the point of pain.

  Then he’d pull back, starting the cycle over again.

  Each time I got closer, but not close enough. An eternity passed as I twisted beneath him, gasping for breath.

  “Please . . .” I moaned, although I wasn’t sure who I was moaning at. Did it matter?

  Then he changed his pace, pushing inside before pausing for a twist. By the second time it was all over. I blew apart with a gasp of relief, my mind clear for the first time since I’d gotten the phone call about my mom. Puck came with me, groaning and shaking as his seed pulsed into my depths.

  Then he collapsed over my body.

  “We should fight more often,” he managed to say after a long pause. I nodded.

  “Yeah, definitely.”

  “You’re still my old lady.”

  “If I say yes, will you listen to me?”

  “Sure.”

  “I don’t want you to kill Teeny.”

  Puck stilled.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, his tone guarded.

  “I want to kill him,” I whispered. “You have no idea how much he’s made me suffer. I need to do it, Puck. I want to see the look in his eyes right before he dies. I want him to feel as much fear as I did. Give him a taste of what he did to my mom. Then I want him to beg for mercy right up to the instant I shoot him in the head.”

  Puck rolled to the side, throwing an arm across his face.

  “And you called me the sociopath,” he muttered. “You got no idea what you’re talking about, Becca. It doesn’t matter how much someone deserves to die—when you take a life, you lose some of yourself, too.”

  “I’m going to do it,” I told him. “Do you really think you could stop me? Sooner or later I’ll find a way if you don’t help.”

  He sighed.

  “Let me think about it.”

  That was it. In that instant I knew I’d won. I couldn’t wait to see the look in Teeny’s eyes when I shoved the gun into his mouth.

  Three thousand dollars.

  He just had to get greedy.

  PUCK

  “Boonie, you got a minute?”

  I’d found my president downstairs, arms crossed as he leaned against a cement pillar. I’d been down here enough to know it wasn’t a pleasant kind of place. This was where the Reapers took their prisoners. Some came back out. Some didn’t.

  I had no idea which category Jamie Callaghan fell into and I didn’t care.

  The metal door leading to one of the rooms opened, and Picnic stepped outside.

  “We got a problem,” he said to Boonie. “Or at least a complication.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Callaghan says he’s got something on Shane McDonogh. Something big. He’s taken precautions—if he disappears, it’ll blow up in his face.”

  “Kill McGraine,” Boonie said. “That should settle Jamie down.”

  Pic shook his head.

  “I think there’s an opportunity here,” he said. “We broker a peace between Callaghan and McDonogh, it could buy all of us the time to find a long term solution.”

  “The valley can’t afford to let Callaghan live.”

  “He’s just one of them,” Picnic said. “You kill him, another one will pop up in his place. Changes nothing. If we let him go now, he’s willing to shut down the Vegas Belles. Not only does that take out our competition, but it sets him back in terms of ability to siphon cash off the mine.”

  “We should run it by McDonogh,” Boonie said thoughtfully. “I can see the value, but we need his buy-in.”

  “Why?”

  Boonie sighed, looking tired. “Because it’s about more than your fucking strip club, Reese. We’re playing a long game here and the entire valley’s at stake. I want to talk to him before we make a decision.”

  “Email Malloy,” I suggested. “McDonogh’s tough to reach, but maybe they can sneak you in like they did me.”

  “I don’t think I’ll blend in quite as well,” Boonie said, his voice dry. I shook my head.

  “Doesn’t matter. You meet him in the woods behind his building, nobody will see you anyway. That’s where I went before. Anyone could’ve done it.”

  “I’ll give it a shot.” Boonie pulled out his phone and turned it on.

  “Hey, I still need a minute,” I said, wishing I didn’t have to interrupt him. “The situation with Becca. It’s serious.”

  “What’s up?” Picnic asked.

  “Her mom’s dead. That’s why she lost her shit earlier today. Becca’s convinced her stepdad killed her, and she’s decided to hunt him down and put a bullet in his head.”

  Suddenly I had their full attention.

  “What the fuck?”

  “She went to the Vegas Belles to try and make some quick cash. Was planning to drive down to California and shoot him. Obviously she’s not thinking straight . . . Don’t know how the hell she imagined she could pull it off.”

  “Don’t underestimate a desperate woman,” Pic said, his voice grim.

  “I told her I’d do it,” I said. “I don’t want her carrying that burden the rest of her life. Not sure she could handle it.”

  “She’s stronger than you think,” Boonie said. “But I hear you. What’s the plan?”

  “Figured I’d start by making sure I won’t touch off a war if I put this guy in the ground. He’s a hangaround with the Longnecks and his brother’s a patch holder.”

  “They’re nothing,” Picnic said dismissively. “I’ll let Shade know at national, but he won’t care. They’re weak and they’re cowards—we’ve got no respect for them.”

  I felt some of my tension lift. One less thing to worry about.

  “In that case, I’d like to drive down there and take care of things myself,” I said. “Becca wants to come with me and I said she could. Figure I can round up one of the nomads to help keep an eye on her while I finish the job.”

  “Sounds good,” Boonie said. “Keep us posted.”

  “You got it.”

  He leaned forward and gave me a rough hug, slapping my back. Picnic followed suit, and then I was heading back upstairs.

  I found Becca in the kitchen, talking to London. She wore a loose pair of jeans and a faded Reapers support shirt. It had to be the least sexy outfit I’d ever seen her in, but she still made it work.

  Funny, that.

  I came to stand behind her, slipping my hands around to feel her stomach. London watched us, sipping a cup of coffee.

  “You need anything for the road?” she asked. “Sandwiches? Snacks?”

  “How’d you know we’re headed on a trip?” Becca asked.

  “I smelled drama,” London said, her voice dry. “Drive safe.”

  I pulled Becca close, hoping London was wrong. Taking out Teeny shouldn’t be any more dramatic than smashing a bug. He wasn’t worth the emotional energy—hopefully I’d get Becca to see that for herself.

  FIFTEEN

  BECCA

&nbs
p; Puck refused to leave until the next morning, despite my begging and pleading. He said it was already too late in the day and he was right.

  Still pissed me off.

  At first he’d tried to get me back to Callup for the night, which I flatly refused to do. I wasn’t ready to face Regina and Earl, not after what I’d done. He didn’t trust me to stay by myself, though, so I ended up hanging in the kitchen for a few hours at the Armory with London Hayes, Reese Hayes’s wife. Darcy had called over—apparently she wanted to come check on me. After she saw the look of horror on my face, London convinced her to stay home.

  I hadn’t been brave enough to tell Danielle where I was, although I texted to say I was safe and with Puck. She was a tough girl, and with Blake at her back I had no doubt she’d try to invade the Armory. Odds were good she’d do it, too. Danielle was many things, but cowardly wasn’t one of them.

  Regina and Earl also wanted to talk.

  I couldn’t do it. They had to know what I’d done by now—Callup wasn’t a quiet kind of town. I begged Puck to call them and let them know I was all right.

  He frowned, but he did it.

  Then he drove up to Callup to pack a bag, stopping off at the Moose to let them know my mom had died. Teresa was wonderful about it, making me feel even guiltier that I hadn’t called her earlier.

  In fact, the longer I sat in bed (and no, not the nasty one on the second floor—once Puck decided to leave me there, he arranged for a real room), the more my guilt grew. There were people who cared about me. People who’d given me everything, yet when things fell apart I didn’t reach out.

  After this was all over, I’d go to them. I’d make sure they knew how much I loved and appreciated them.

  Well, unless I was in prison.

  Of course, that was probably less likely now that I had Puck with me. Sure, he’d been caught before—but only once. He had to have learned something about covering his tracks along the way, right?

  God, I hoped so. I didn’t want him going to prison on my behalf. He didn’t seem particularly worried about that happening, though—I knew this because when he finally crawled into bed after returning to the armory, he told me.