Puck

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Puck Page 9

by Marata Eros


  My exhale is shaky.

  Mom comes around the table and sits beside me, taking my hand.

  “I know you’re scared, darling.”

  So, so scared. I hate guns. Since him, I’ve always hated guns—though I'm a great shot.

  “But we’re scared too.” Her eyes search mine. “We didn’t rear you to be afraid. We taught you to be mindful of yourself. To keep your wits about you.”

  “I do,” I say, slightly indignant.

  Mom squeezes my hand. “Then find someone who you feel comfortable with to help you shoot again.”

  Puck comes to mind.

  I wonder what my parents would think about Puck. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t like the inside scoop. Or they might love it since I’ve never advanced beyond three dates with any man.

  Technically, Puck and I aren’t dating.

  Yet.

  We’re just having sex. Delicious, wonderful sex. And the things he did to me with his mouth.

  Mom’s giving me an odd look.

  “Sorry,” I say, flushing, and put my hand on the table.

  Dad takes my slightly damp palm in his own.

  “I met someone,” I admit with deliberate and painful shyness.

  Mom begins to cry, and Dad’s eyes shine. “Not all men are monsters.”

  “Oh, Daddy,” I say, letting go of Mom and scooting the chair back. I go to him, and he stands to meet me.

  We hug.

  “My daughter,” he says in Korean.

  “Father,” I answer formally.

  Mom stands too and moves toward us. “Tell me you’re happy.”

  I turn in Dad’s arms and nod. “I have some things to work through, but I think we might be serious.”

  Don’t let the cart get ahead of the horse, Temp. But I’m feeling brave and continue, “He’s an ex-cop and the older brother of one of my clients.”

  I rehash Calem Morgan, and when I’m through, Dad whistles low. “So he’s kind of famous,” he says, switching back to English.

  I shrug. “The dad was a rich man. A psychotic rich man.” I suppress a shudder.

  Mom’s brows pinch. “Be careful, Charlotte. A man from that background might have an entire graveyard of skeletons.”

  Or just one really big one, like mine.

  After inhaling deeply, I answer on the exhale. “I will.”

  “Does he make you happy, Temp?” Dad’s nearly black eyes study my face.

  “He makes me feel alive, Dad.”

  His smile is soft at the edges. “That’s nearly the same thing.”

  They’ll worry more now.

  Because there’s hope where there was none before.

  Chapter 12

  Puck

  The black ribbon of road appears to roll out before me without end. But that’s all optical illusion.

  Noose is just ahead of me and to my right in classic step formation. We’re on our way to catch some grub. There’s a dive of a Denny’s in the valley. We can hit that, and I’ll load up on chicken strips. Shit for the gut, but heaven on my tongue.

  Whenever I meet with my shrink, I’m starving afterward. Something about spilling my guts makes me hungry as fuck. Candi and I don’t put on weight easily, by some miracle of genetics.

  So I eat whatever. For now. But since I’m right up the ass of forty, that might change.

  Noose caught up with me at the club, and I mentioned needing to fuel up. He’s always down for food.

  Heading down James Street, we take the five-hundred-foot drop in low gear, enjoying a rare warm August day. The heat breathes around us like a snoring giant, and I’m damn glad I only wore my cut.

  We pull into the pulverized parking lot of the Denny’s.

  It’s more potholes than asphalt, and we find a decent space to park side by side.

  Hitting the kickstand on my Road Glide, I shut off the engine then swing my leg over the seat. The scarlet paint glitters like captured rubies in the paint job I hand rub about every three months.

  Noose is already off his ride, legs planted firmly on the scarred asphalt, head tipped back as he surveys the sky, shooting crisp smoke rings.

  I shake my head. I don’t smoke, and that’s not really typical inside club culture. Lots of guys smoke. “That’s going to kill you,” I comment casually, tipping my brain bucket upside down and settling it on the wide seat.

  Noose squints through the haze, placing his free hand above his heart as his eyebrows slowly rise. “You worrying about my health, Puck?”

  I grunt. “Sorta, ya dick.”

  We grin.

  “Not getting away with my nasty-ass habit at home. With the twins, Charlie, and Ari—Rose put the kibosh on that.” He snorts.

  “She got you by the balls?” I quirk a brow.

  His gray eyes narrow on me. “Fuck yes,” he growls. “And I like it that way.” Noose winks.

  We laugh.

  Noose squashes the smoldering butt on the ground, tramping hard until the glowing eye of red blinks out.

  Walking inside the glass-fronted entrance, Noose automatically seeks the exits. He breezes past the Please Wait to be Seated Sign, commandeering a booth that faces the front and rear exits.

  Love the way his mind works.

  We plop on the cheap booths covered in slick vinyl and take a mutual sigh.

  Noose spreads his considerable body across the seat, planting a long arm across the back, and lifts his chin. “Tired as fuck,” he announces without preamble.

  I grunt. “Still?”

  “Hell yeah. The twins are not even two. They’re murdering me. Dig Rose’s jugs, though.” He shakes his head and inserts a low-voiced, “Damn.”

  Feel the corner of my lips turn up. “Fetish shit, man.”

  Noose drops his chin, giving me a deadpan stare. “Fuck it. I like what I like. Purity, my brother.”

  He raises his fist, and we bump.

  “So?” he asks just as a waitress named Tiffany sidles up to the table.

  There’re two types of women. There’s the type who are all titillated to be around a club man, and the other type who are scared to be around one.

  Tiffany flutters eyelashes, and I’m instantly bored. A sharp image of Temp rises to the surface of my tired brain, lighting the synapsis on mental fire.

  “What can I get you guys?” She leans forward so the collar of her shirt where she just undid a button showcases her cleavage.

  Since Noose was just bragging about Rose’s tits, I imagine Tiffany’s don’t hold a lot of sway.

  “Coke,” Noose semi-barks.

  Tiffany gives a startled hop, smoothing down her Denny’s uniform skirt and straightening from the cleavage prowl.

  Recovering quickly, she turns to me, and I almost feel sorry for her.

  “Two,” I add, holding up middle and index fingers for a visual cue. Seems like Tiffany needs it.

  Looking between us, she asks a little more tentatively, “Do you guys know what you want?”

  Noose glares up at her from beneath his sooty eyelashes. “Not yet. Why don’t you give us some time, tootz.”

  “Ah, okay.”

  Tiffany beats feet out of our general vicinity.

  “God you’re an asshole. She’s just starstruck, Noose. You used to get that type of shit when I was a cop, back when I was a uniform.”

  He lays his palm flat on the table, gaze scanning the restaurant in a sweep that’s as un-orchestrated as the rest of him. He meets my eyes. “Hate the bitches that get a swollen clit over the biker thing.”

  I chuckle, tapping a finger to my head. “Nice mental picture.”

  He nods in his noncommittal way and waits. An air of expectation swirls between us.

  Fuck. I guess as the unpaid shrink of the brotherhood, I get to close the loop of me and Temp with Noose. He gave me his ear and now it’s time to update.

  I tense up with dread.

  Noose, who’s been watching me carefully, says, “Hey, man, not gonna drill ya. Just wanting to k
now how things shaped up with the girl.”

  “Temp.”

  He flips his palm over like “Yeah, her.”

  “Well, she got beat up again.”

  Noose straightens, from casual to en pointe in a millisecond. “Something ain’t right.”

  His eyes go to razors as our waitress takes that opportunity to come back with the drinks and places a straw down in front of each of us.

  Noose cranes his neck in her direction. “Double Denny’s deluxe,” Noose barks like machine gun fire. “Onion rings and a chocolate shake.” He leans forward, and her pencil trembles a little in her hand as he stabs her with his gunmetal gaze. “And I want that extra bit in the metal container.”

  Tiffany gulps.

  A smile ghosts Noose’s mouth then vanishes.

  “Don’t pay any attention to him,” I say, shooting him an “eat shit” look.

  Noose leans back, spreading both arms on the back of the booth, playing with a toothpick he tore out of the wrapper at the beginning of our talk. His tongue shifts the tiny sharp stick of wood around.

  “Okay,” Tiffany says slowly and turns to me. “What will you have?”

  I rattle off my order of chicken strips, fries, and ranch on the side.

  Then she skedaddles.

  Noose waits until Tiffany is out of earshot, then he plants his forearms on the plastic diner table, never taking his eyes from my face. “Tell me.”

  The story takes about twenty minutes, and the tell of some stuff that happened makes me damn uncomfortable.

  “Feel like that story’s full of Swiss cheese. Can’t lie.”

  I leave out all the personal deets about Temp and me. Noose scents those voids in my story like a bloodhound.

  “You hook up?” he asks, easily spearing the truth with the saber of his perceptions.

  “Yeah,” I answer easily.

  He shakes his head. “Fucking complicated pussy, Puck.”

  I nod. A pandemic in the club.

  He taps his fingers on the table. “Seems like—”

  Tiffany interrupts him, piling the plates, and slides the tall frosted-metal container at Noose first.

  Peering inside, he grunts, moving the extra-long spoon to scope out the contents better, and mumbles his thanks.

  Tiffany silently leaves, the luster of Tiffany’s excitement over bikers apparently waned.

  At least as far as we’re concerned.

  Noose squelched any potential there like stomping on a scurrying bug.

  He smirks, dipping an onion ring in his shake and slurping the entire thing down.

  “That’s damn impressive,” I note with a chuckle.

  He smiles. “Could eat a fucking rhino.” Noose picks up another and folds it into his mouth, chewing with gusto.

  I laugh. “Yeah. Me too.”

  We eat for a few minutes in silence, and when the edge of our hunger is polished off, he continues. “Like I was saying, doesn’t seem like coincidence. This abusive fuck gets a few licks in on your girl.”

  My girl now.

  He shovels another huge bite of burger, washes the entire thing down with a swallow of shake, and daintily wipes off the corners of his mouth. “Then nary twenty-four hours later, some chump appears in the parking lot of her girlfriend’s complex.” He shakes his head. “Kendra, right?”

  I nod.

  “Yeah, followed up with Rose. Naomi’s friends with Kendra, says she’s a straight shooter.”

  I think about how she put Perry in his place in short order. “Yeah, you could say that. Let’s hope she never runs across Storm.”

  Noose’s golden eyebrows shoot high. “No shit?”

  I dip my chin. “Yeah, she’s a fucking firecracker.”

  “Nice.” Noose says with an approving nod.

  “So, I have resources,” I say.

  Noose gives me a sharp glance, and I see the intelligence he buries by design. Noose might be rough around the edges, but he’s sharper than a tack.

  He’s smart enough to not wear his intellect on his cut. People are complacent around those they assume don’t have brains.

  Better to employ stealth around those elitist types. They never see him coming.

  “My resources are better.”

  Inclining my head, I say, “I don’t want to lean on Perry. He’d help, but I’m not cool with putting him in a tight spot.”

  “Gotcha,” Noose says, fist to mouth as he camouflages a belch.

  “Temp’s got an important role, but I can’t say I’m thrilled. Hate what she does.”

  Noose cocks his head. “I hated the social workers when I was growing up. Bunch of worthless fucks that just shuffled us kids from one slummy foster family to the next.”

  I know Temp’s not like that.

  Noose holds his palm up off the back of the booth for a second then slaps it lightly. “But there’s always good people, balances the shit birds.”

  “Fuck,” I say.

  His gaze roams my expression. “You’re not a readable dude, but I’m seeing the struggle, Puck. You’re falling fast, and there’s nobody to catch you but you.” He thumbs his own chest. “Not me, and certainly not the chick.”

  He’s so right, and I hate it.

  “And there’s some shit in her background. Don’t know what it is.”

  Noose kicks back the tall metal cup and taps the bottom to get the last of the shake remnant. His throat works as he swallows, then he eyeballs the inside and, with a sigh, sets it down.

  “Shit,” he says, shaking his head, then kneads his temples with his fingers.

  “What?” I frown.

  “Fucking brain freeze.”

  “Hog,” I say casually.

  His middle finger sprouts from his fist. “I’m not some wasteful prick.”

  Can’t help my sudden grin. Noose is so vital, such a raw human specimen. “They broke the mold with you, Noose.”

  “Yeah,” he says without denying a shred. He arches an eyebrow. “Did we solve the world’s problems, man?”

  “Didn’t even scratch the surface,” I admit, feeling vaguely defeated.

  “But I’ll look into her.”

  I push the plate to the edge of the table and stack the shit on top of it, all OCD.

  Noose watches this development with obvious amusement. He twirls the salt shaker with his fingers. “You say your girl is skilled.”

  “She is.”

  “But she was on the losing end with this second time around.”

  “Like I said, she was hammered. And she’s a tiny thing. Could put her in my back pocket.”

  That gets a microscopic smile out of him. “Ah-huh,” Noose thumbs his chin, his fingers rasping over day-old stubble. “Seems outta character. Her being shitfaced.”

  So does the one-night stand we had.

  “Not a loose-cannon type.” He ducks his head forward, clearly waiting for my reply.

  I shake my head. “Don’t think so, but like I said, I don’t know her that well.”

  Noose’s eyes hood. “Well enough.”

  My silence is my only answer.

  “All right,” he says after a full minute, “I’ll do some checking on Temp.”

  “I know you’re not being nosey, Puck.”

  I shake my head again. “No. I’m... fuck, I’m worried. And a small part of me feels like I need to protect her.”

  “Because she gave you Calem, or because you’re fucking her?”

  God, Noose. “Both,” I answer slowly.

  “Probably the fucking is more important at this stage?”

  “Fucking is always a priority,” I say.

  He nods. “Except this isn’t just fucking.”

  No, it’s not, goddammit.

  “I was too worried about Temp to leave her with Kendra and go get that perp. Perry’s right—I dropped the ball.”

  “Couldn’t leave the girl.”

  My face swivels to him. “Not even for a second.”

  Noose whistles low. “Yeah. Y
ou’ll have to exhaust whatever this is.”

  Hanging my head slightly, I talk to the table. “I knew that.”

  “When did you know?” Noose asks.

  I raise my eyes and meet his. “Knew when I met her. Before minute one was over.”

  Noose flat-palms the table and shoves off. Stretching tall, he taps the ceiling and drops back to the heels of his shitkickers, digging in his back pocket for his wallet. He slaps a hundred-dollar bill on the table.

  “What?” I ask, checking out the big bill.

  “It’s conciliation for my assholeness.”

  A rough laugh shoots out of me. “So you know you’re a prick?”

  “Yeah.” He shrugs then slings an arm around my shoulders. “Come on, Romeo, let’s figure shit out before Vipe gives me my next gig.”

  Noose releases his bruising embrace, clapping my back, and punches open the door. We stride into the bright sun, sliding on shades to cut the glare, seat ourselves like it’s choreographed, and roll out of the parking lot, heading back to the club.

  I keep my eyes on the road, but my mind is traveling somewhere else. In one direction.

  Toward one woman.

  Chapter 13

  Temp

  My eye is dead center in a starburst of healing bruises, but on the bright side, my eye is completely open.

  Kendra peers critically at my face. “I think your eyes look more blue with all the bruising.”

  “Nice.” I bob my head. “So let’s keep me all fucked-up so that my eyes look more blue.” My brows move to my hairline.

  Kendra turns with a chortle.

  “Bitch,” I say good-naturedly.

  She nods, her back to me as she roots around in the fridge looking for God knows what.

  “So you have to do facetime with Harvey?” Kendra asks over her shoulder.

  I fold my arms, leaning my butt against the kitchen counter as I watch her rummage. “Yeah.”

  “That’ll be an asston of fun.”

  “Yeah.” I sigh. “I’m just hoping I can vet the place Tabby’s been placed. The foster homes that are really great stand at about thirty percent. And they’re always filled to capacity.”

  Kendra turns, spinning off the cap on a fresh bottle of OJ. Tipping her head back, she chugs about twenty percent.

  “What if I wanted some of that?” I try to keep my bubble of laughter contained.

 

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