by Joanna Wylde
“I’m your old man,” he said. “You need to trust me. I’ll handle it.”
“How will you handle it?” I asked, my head tucked against his chest. “I’m part of this—I need to know what the plan is.”
“Your job is to follow my lead,” he replied. I opened my mouth to protest, but he rolled me over on the bed. Then his fingers were inside me and I totally forgot about the question.
—
The drive was supposed to take around twenty hours, which we’d do over two days. I’d suggested that if we weren’t going to leave right away, we should consider driving straight through on Friday. Puck pointed out that arriving all exhausted wouldn’t help our cause, but he was on board with leaving at six the next morning and putting in a long day.
We’d pulled away from a truck stop after dinner when Teeny called Friday night. I stared down at my phone, paralyzed.
“What should I do?”
“Answer it,” Puck said. “Tell him that you’re getting him the money—you can say you’re working me for it. Then ask about your mom’s ashes or something. Anything to get him talking. Maybe he’ll give us something we can use.”
Nodding, I answered. “Hello?”
“Becca, I expected to hear from you by now,” my stepfather replied, his voice all smooth and smug. “You make any decisions yet?”
“I’m working on getting the money,” I said, parroting Puck. “Um, there’s this guy . . . We haven’t been together very long. He’s not sure he wants to help me out. I need a little more time to convince him.”
Teeny gave a knowing laugh.
“Little slut.”
I wanted to throw the phone out the truck window. Instead I looked at Puck, all strong and silent next to me. He reached over and gave my leg a squeeze. Just that little touch steadied me.
“I’m doing what it takes,” I told Teeny. “How are you handling things? I would imagine this is kind of crazy . . .”
“Call me when you have the money,” he said, ending the call. So much for pumping him for information. I put down the phone, staring ahead at the yellow stripes splitting the road.
“I take it he didn’t feel like chatting?”
“Nope. He’s all business. Wants his money.”
“It’s not too late,” Puck said.
“Too late for what?”
“To end this,” he replied. “Just walk away. I can still take care of him for you.”
I considered his words—shit was getting real now. Did I really want to kill a man? Would it actually solve anything? The more I turned it over in my head, the more certain I was of my answer.
“I want to look in his eyes and tell him that he’s dying because of me. I want him to beg for mercy and say he’s sorry . . . I want him to cry. Then I’ll shoot him anyway and it’ll be a very good thing.”
“Remind me not to piss you off,” Puck said lightly. I turned to look at him. His eyes stayed fixed on the road, one hand casually draped across the steering wheel. His hair was rumpled, he wore a faded shirt and even more faded jeans, and every inch of him was hard, strong muscle. An inappropriate tendril of lust wound through me.
“You know, it’s really creepy that my mom’s dead and I still want to have sex with you.”
Puck glanced at me.
“Not really,” he said. “When shit falls apart it’s a distraction. Adrenaline does it, too. I never want to fuck more than I do after a good fight.”
“I remember,” I murmured, shivering. He’d been so intense when I’d first met him, tangible hunger in his gaze as he took my hand.
“Don’t worry,” he continued. “No matter how tired we are, when we hit the hotel I’ll find the energy to screw you. You’ll get better sleep that way.”
“That has to be one of the most arrogant things I’ve ever heard you say,” I sputtered. “God, what am I? A chore?”
Puck laughed.
“Love fuckin’ with your head.”
I smacked him. Annoyingly, he didn’t even flinch. Could’ve been a gnat for all he noticed. “You’ll pay for that. Maybe I’ll demand a room with two beds and make you sleep on your own.”
“You don’t get to pick the room,” he said. “I’m paying for it and I want a king-sized bed. But even if you were paying, you’d still be in my bed. That’s how it works, babe. You belong to me now.”
He wasn’t joking.
“When you talk like that it makes me nervous.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve worked really hard to build my own life. I don’t want to hand off control to anyone—and I’m a person, not a thing. You don’t get to own me.”
Puck nodded his head, but didn’t respond. I watched him for long minutes, waiting for something. Finally he flipped on a turn signal. We pulled off the road and he put the truck in park, turning to look at me. His eyes were dead serious, not a hint of smile touching his mouth. Silence filled the truck.
“You need to get this straight, Becca” Puck said slowly. “You’re mine. You seem to think that’s still up for debate—it’s not. I’ve claimed you and the club agreed. That’s how it works in my world. End of story.”
The words cut through me and I felt my blood pressure rise.
“That doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.”
“I’m driving to California to kill a man for you. Are we really arguing about which bed you’re sleeping in?” he asked, leaning toward me. I pulled away but Puck was too fast for me. With a snap, my seat belt came free. Then he caught my neck, jerking me across the seat until our noses all but touched.
“You’re mine. I fought for you five years ago and then I let you go. That was your free pass. Now you’ve invited me back in and I’m here to stay. I’ll kill for you. Die for you, too. But I will not fucking let you go, Becca, and I won’t let you distance yourself, either. Get that straight.”
I shivered, because I could see just how serious he was. It was scary . . . and sexy. That just seemed so wrong—what kind of woman gets off on a threat like that?
Me, apparently.
Puck’s lips found mine, his tongue sweeping along the seam. “Open.”
When he pushed inside I melted, one hand coming up to twist into his hair. The other slid lower, catching on his thigh and squeezing it. Puck groaned and guided it higher, toward the bulge of his cock. I caught it and squeezed. Puck shifted, lowering his butt so that I could reach more easily.
Sliding my fingers up and down, I started jacking him through the jeans. A part of me was vaguely aware that he was using sex to distract me, but I didn’t care. I just loved the way he shuddered under my touch.
Finally Puck pulled away from my mouth, leaning his head back against the headrest. I looked up at him, still working his cock, and he met my gaze. Then I licked my lips. He groaned.
“Suck me off.”
Nodding, I held his eyes as my hands fumbled with his fly. Impatiently, he shoved them out of the way, lifting his hips long enough to shift his jeans. Then his hand—still on the back of my neck—pushed me toward him.
This was where I should’ve stopped to make a spirited, well-thought-out argument about whether a woman could or should be owned. Unfortunately I was way too turned on. My nipples had hardened and the space between my legs clenched.
I pulled out his dick slowly, then leaned over and licked the underside of the head. Puck groaned, raising his other hand to tangle his fingers in my hair.
“Inside.”
My mouth opened and I obeyed, pressing the bottom of my tongue against his length. My hand found his shaft, working it as my head started to bob, Puck’s hands guiding me and setting the rhythm.
Men had held me this way before—bad men. I knew how easy it was to lose control of the situation. Normally just thinking about it was enough to scare me. Now it turned me on in a big, unhealthy way that I decided I really shouldn’t think about. Nothing good could come from facing my own fucked-uppedness.
Puck had been right about one thi
ng—we’d crossed a bridge somewhere along the way and things were different now.
His breathing came faster and I found his hands tightening, growing rougher. He wasn’t hurting me, but he wasn’t giving me much in the way of control, either. Strangely, there was something liberating about that—I didn’t have to debate how I was doing or whether it was a mistake. We were past that point. All that mattered now was the taste of Puck in my mouth, the slick length of his cock between my fingers.
He was close. I could tell from the way the ridges in his cock hardened, and the catch in his breath every time I drew him back into my mouth. My tongue was getting sore but I kept going, mindless in my determination to get him off.
Maybe then he’d get me off.
I certainly wanted it. My legs shifted restlessly under the flowing cotton skirt London had given me that morning. We’d gone and picked up my car, so I had my own clothing in the back, but there hadn’t been any reason to change.
Too bad we were twisted across uncomfortable truck seats, because I wanted to reach down under my skirt, touch myself while I touched him.
Not exactly practical under the circumstances.
“Becca, you’re so fucking hot,” Puck groaned. “When I think of all the shit I’m going to do to you . . .”
That should’ve scared me. Instead—when his hand pushed my head down just a little harder—I found myself sucking him even deeper. The tip of his cock reached the back of my throat. I started to gag and he loosened his grip immediately.
This caught me off guard.
Not the fact that I’d gagged, but that he’d given me a little too much, realized it, and let me go. He hadn’t hurt me for real. I didn’t start to panic and I wasn’t even scared he’d push it too far. Hell, I was still turned on.
Holy shit.
I started to laugh, which is a damned awkward thing to do while you’re giving a blow job. I caught myself and refocused, but a weird kind of giddy glee kept threatening to overtake me.
A man pushed his dick into my mouth until I gagged and it wasn’t scary!
More giggles broke free in awkward little bursts. Finally Puck tugged on my hair, pulling my mouth free.
“It’s creepy as fuck when you laugh at my dick like that. You wanna share the joke?”
I pushed myself up, looking at his face. Poor Puck. I smiled at him.
“You didn’t scare me.”
“Huh?”
“Just now—you shoved your dick too hard down my throat, you had your hands on my head and everything. Then I gagged and you let me go.”
“Not exactly my goal to kill you,” he replied, obviously confused.
“But here’s the thing—I wasn’t scared when you did it. I knew you wouldn’t hurt me. That’s a first for me.”
Shock covered his face.
“You tellin’ me you’ve been afraid every time we’ve fucked?”
I shook my head quickly. “No, but it’s the first time a man’s ever stuck his cock down my throat and held my head that I haven’t been afraid I’d die.”
Abruptly my smile faded.
“Wow, that sounds so fucked up when I say it out loud.”
Puck nodded slowly, his eyes still wary. The truck rocked as a semi blew past.
“Shit,” I said, pulling myself up. “I think that guy saw us.”
“So?”
“He’ll think I was giving you head!”
“You were giving me head.”
Jesus, the man was impossible. I glared at him and he sighed.
“Okay, the fact that me fucking you isn’t scary is great. Having said that, my dick’s still stickin’ out and I’m starting to wonder if I should put it away.”
He said it all tough and badass, but the question in his eyes was real. Poor guy—I’d probably given him blue balls. Fortunately I knew how to fix that . . . Smiling up at him, I licked my lips and leaned back down.
After a few minutes his hands found my head again. Then his breath grew tight and his hips strained upward. Triumph filled me because in that moment one of us definitely owned the other—Puck was mine, pure and simple.
—
An hour later I still felt triumphant. I couldn’t stop smiling, and I found myself babbling about anything and everything until Puck wanted to strangle me. I knew this because he told me. Not that I cared—nothing could kill this mood.
“I still can’t believe it,” I told him. “I wasn’t thinking about Teeny at all!”
Puck scowled.
“Do you usually think about your stepdad while I’m fuckin’ you?” he asked.
“No, it’s not like that,” I explained, rolling my eyes. “It’s just that he . . . well, he got off on that. Choking me.”
Puck’s face grew dark and I saw his finger tighten on the steering wheel. “Why the fuck haven’t you told me that before?”
“Um . . . It’s not really something I start all my conversations with, Puck. ‘Hi, I’m Becca. My favorite color is red and I hate being choked with cock.’ Um, no. That’s not how it’s done.”
His death grip on the steering wheel tightened.
“You started laughing in the middle of sex because I wasn’t hurting you,” he snapped. “If you’ve got shit that’s going to fuck with your head, I should know about it. What if I’d really scared you?”
“You won’t,” I said, smiling because it was true. “I finally figured it out. That’s why I was laughing—it wasn’t a bad thing. It’s wonderful.”
Puck glanced at me with something like pain in his eyes. I reached out to catch his biceps, squeezing it.
“I trust you, Puck. This may sound fucked up, but I just realized that and it’s kind of exciting.”
He didn’t respond for a while, then he dropped his right arm down and caught my hand.
“Not sure what to say,” he admitted finally. “I can tell you this, though. You’re my woman and I’m not going to hurt you. We can play all the games you like and I won’t lie—rough sex gets me off. But I’d never knowingly hurt you, Becca.”
“I know. I never thought I’d find someone like you . . . It means Teeny didn’t win. He beat my mom, but he hasn’t beaten me. I still hate him and I still want him dead, but he didn’t win. That means everything.”
PUCK
Becca was snoring.
Not loud, annoying snores. More of a soft, snuffling irregular purr. We were a few hours outside Las Vegas in some shithole little hotel that we’d found after sixteen hours of driving. The place was a dump but neither of us cared. We were wiped. Becca had passed right out, but I found myself wide awake, staring at the ceiling.
She’d started laughing because I hadn’t choked her with my cock.
I held her hand and said all the right things, but every time I thought about it, killing rage started pouring through me again. Becca’s stepdad was garbage—this wasn’t a revelation. I’d seen him beating her, known he’d raped her. Known he’d pimped her out to other men . . . I’d even known he still haunted her. I just hadn’t realized she thought about him during sex.
I wasn’t sure how I should feel about this, but I was pretty sure my actual feelings were wrong, because I felt jealous.
Becca’s mind should be on me when I was balls-deep inside her. Only me. Always me. I’d disliked the fucker the minute I met him, a dislike that transformed to hate when I found him beating her. When I’d offered to kill him for her, it’d been sincere. Teeny Patchel was using up valuable air, something that someone should probably fix.
Now, though. Now I had a whole new motivation.
I couldn’t wait to see the life drain out of that fucker’s eyes.
The burner phone I grabbed before leaving Coeur d’Alene buzzed next to the bed. I reached for it, finding a message from Diesel, one of the nomads I’d reached out to.
DIESEL: You awake?
Typing awkwardly with one hand, I replied.
ME: Yes
DIESEL: Call?
ME: Give me five.
“Hey,” Diesel said when he answered.
“Thanks for getting back to me—got a situation I could use some help with. I heard you’re in the San Diego area?”
“Yeah, had some business down here,” Diesel replied. He was a Reaper and we’d met two or three times at different events. Not a friendly guy, but a solid brother.
“Picnic said you might be the man to talk to,” I said. “My old lady’s mom died. Now her stepdad wants money or he won’t give my girl the ashes. I think we may need to take action.”
Diesel grunted.
“What kind of action you thinking?”
“Could be serious.”
“I hear you,” he replied. “I can be around. When do you get into town?”
“Tomorrow,” I replied. “Guy lives in Santa Valeria. We’ll hit town around two or three. Figure I’ll get Becca settled and then we can go hunting.”
“Sounds good.”
“One more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“She thinks she’s coming with us.” Diesel gave a startled snort of laughter.
“Uh, no.”
“No shit,” I replied. “But she won’t see it that way. If we’ve got any allies around, I’d love to have someone keeping an eye on her.”
“I’ll see who I can drum up,” he replied. “Maybe call Shade—I know there’s some Devil’s Jacks in town. He could reach out to them for me.”
“Thanks.”
We figured out where to meet and then I hung up the phone, feeling better. I had no doubt I could handle Teeny on my own, but backup was always our friend. Becca needed a babysitter, too. If I’d learned anything, it was that she never did what I expected.
She was still sleeping when I slipped back into the room. I locked the door behind me and wedged a chair up and under the handle. I climbed into the bed and pulled her over my body like a blanket, soft hair feathering around my chest and under my chin.
