Silver Bastard

by Joanna Wylde

  Brought back memories.

  It felt strange sometimes, knowing so much about the MC world without being part of it. I’d grown up in motorcycle clubs, plural. Mom was always moving, right up to the day she met Teeny. When I was little, I’d loved the big, loud machines that ran fast. Now hearing them was like Russian roulette—sometimes they brought bad memories, sometimes they made me feel protected. I used to dream about Teeny every night, Teeny and the men he’d given me to. I didn’t anymore, thank God. At least not often. Much as I hated to admit it, the Silver Bastards had created my safe zone. They were close, they scared Teeny, and they would protect me.

  How’s that for fucked up?

  “You like the new job?” Boonie asked me, as if none of this was bizarre and uncomfortable. Hell, maybe it wasn’t for him. “Get in any fights yet? You handled yourself well yesterday morning. I was impressed.”

  “Um, thanks. It’s fine so far,” I said, edging closer to Joe. He threw a casual arm over my shoulders and I could’ve kissed him. Clearly he wasn’t afraid of the Bastards—a definite point in his favor. Boonie snorted, obviously seeing right through me and finding it entertaining.

  Puck seemed less entertained . . . If he’d been menacing before, now he’d moved back into full predator mode. My stupid body thought that was sexy as hell.

  After what had to be the longest walk in history, we reached the wide half flight of stairs leading up to the bar’s front porch. It was a double-decker, and once upon a time there’d been a hotel upstairs. Well, either a hotel or a brothel—the answer depended on who you asked. The door opened and bright light hit us. Then I was inside. Joe gave me one last squeeze, then let me go. I turned toward the bar and nearly ran into Puck, who was standing way, way too close.

  “Careful,” he said.

  Danielle—God, I loved that woman—came over and grabbed my arm, jerking me away from the men toward the service bar.

  “Those academy fuckers are a pain in my ass,” she hissed, oblivious to my drama. (That’s how good a friend she was—she actually sensed my problems and fixed them without conscious effort.) “Blake wants to kill them, but I’m holding him back. D’you think you can take them over for a few before I lose my shit?”

  “Sure,” I said, ducking behind the bar to snag my apron.

  “You good?” Joe asked, grabbing a stool. Not ten feet behind him was Puck, watching us with narrowed eyes, arms crossed over his muscular chest. I had a sudden urge to grab Joe’s shirt, pull him down, and kiss him hard. Just to piss off Puck. Real classy there, Becca. I forced myself to give Joe all my attention, ignoring the grumpy biker glaring at us.

  “Sorry,” I said, and he cocked his head.

  “For what?”

  “For being fucked up,” I answered, ducking my head. He reached forward and chucked me under the chin, grinning.

  “Well, as your friend, I’m sure I’ll learn to live with it,” he said. “You know, this is good in a way.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Now I can burp and fart around you.”

  I wrinkled my nose and Joe laughed. “Should get back home. I have to be up early.”

  “Take care,” I told him.

  “You, too.”

  Joe winked at me, then turned and walked out the door. Puck still stood there, watching it all, and the darkness in his expression made me shiver.

  It wasn’t a shiver of fear.

  PUCK

  “You’re pathetic,” Boonie declared, smirking at me. We’d taken one of the high tables in the back of the Moose, which made it easy to keep an eye on the whole place. Collins was gone. Good thing, too. When he’d put his arm around Becca my blood pressure exploded. Found myself fingering the gun in my pocket. Boonie seemed to think this was funny, the cocksucker. “You want her, take her.”

  “Yeah, ’cause it’s that simple.”

  He snorted, exchanging looks with Deep and Demon. Deep shrugged.

  “If you’re a real man, you’ll do what needs to be done,” he muttered, reaching for his beer.

  “Sort of like what you’re doing with Carlie?” I asked him, raising a brow. “Couldn’t help but notice whose bed she wasn’t in last night.”

  Deep’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, but Demon elbowed him in the ribs. Hard. The two were Irish twins—born ten months apart—and I’d never seen brothers who enjoyed fighting with each other more.

  “He’s right,” Demon said. “Shut your fuckin’ mouth.”

  “This is nice,” Boonie announced. “We should do this more often, don’t you think?”

  Ignoring him, I settled back on my stool and surveyed the room. We sat in Becca’s section, and what I saw wasn’t making me happy. I knew she was a good waitress, but she’d just started here and it showed. Not only had she fucked up several orders, she didn’t quite seem to get the rhythm of the bar. That wasn’t my problem, though.

  My problem was that despite these fuckups, nobody seemed to mind. I had a nasty suspicion this was due to her perky tits, friendly smile, and tight little ass that seriously just needed a bite taken right out of it.

  She really, really needed to get a new job—every man in the place wanted her. Including me. Especially me. I hated them. All of them. I shifted uncomfortably, because just like every time I shared a room with her, my pants had gotten tight.

  Torture. Becca was just so fucking fine on every level, and not just her looks. There was something about the way she carried herself . . . I couldn’t put my finger on it. Like she was dancing through life to some song nobody else could hear. Never met another woman like her—she wasn’t just sexy, she was a survivor and I admired that.

  She’d grown up so much since the first time I’d met her. Bigger boobs, a nice fullness to her ass that was nowhere close to fat but would be perfect to hold tight while I fucked her. Her lips had plumped, too, and over the years she’d gained a sparkle in her eyes that turned her from pretty to 100 percent spectacular.

  Not to mention how she’d tasted.

  Nearly blew in my pants when I’d taken that mouth. Just the memory got me hard. Make that harder. Fucking basket case.

  When I’d pulled up to find her sitting outside with Collins, a thousand murder scenarios ran through my mind. And yeah, I know I covered that already, but if anything ever deserved emphasis, this was it. Collins needed to die. I didn’t care how nice he was. After that I’d throw Becca on the back of my bike and make a run for the hills . . .

  Okay, so there were a few problems with the plan, the top one being she hated me. Or she should—I’d certainly given her cause. Boonie nudged me.

  “Did I mention you’re pathetic? You want her, take her. Otherwise let it go because you’re an embarrassment to all men in general and to the Silver Bastards in particular.”

  “She’s scared shitless of me,” I pointed out.

  “She used to be,” he acknowledged. “But yesterday she threw herself into a fight when she thought you needed help. When shit got real, she didn’t run. She got pissed—I admire that. Stop being a fucking pussy.”

  I didn’t respond, because this wasn’t a conversation I wanted to continue. Nosy fucker that he was, Boonie couldn’t let it go. Instead he caught her eye and waved her over.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked brightly. Not to me. Of course not to me. If she ignored me any harder, she’d strain something.

  “A round for the table,” Boonie replied. “Then we’re gonna want some privacy.”

  “Sure thing,” she replied, understanding flickering in her eyes, reminding me just how well Becca knew the life. Or at least, how well she knew one fucked-up, sick little corner of our world . . . She started back to the bar, detouring when the group of students started yelling at her for service. I tensed, but Boonie caught my arm.

  “You can’t be around to protect her all the time,” he said. “They’re just being little pricks. Won’t be the first or last time she’ll have to handle that type. Unless you plan to claim her
and take her away from all this?”

  I flipped him off and he laughed. One of the students stood up and lurched toward the bathrooms, pulling a blonde girl behind him. He was tall, with the smooth look of a spoiled preppy twat. All dark, floppy hair and standard-issue tribal tattoos because clearly he couldn’t think of anything better to put on his skin.

  Fucking pussy. His little girlfriend giggled and shot glances back toward the rest of the kids, clearly scandalized and full of excitement that they were sneaking off together. He probably had a new one every night, or he would if he wasn’t trapped up at that school for cockwads too rich to wipe their own assholes.

  The diamonds sparkling on the bitch’s ears were real. I’d bet my bike on it.

  Becca would look real pretty wearing earrings like that . . . Although if I owned her she’d never find out—just one more reason to stay the fuck away.

  She came back with our drinks, handing them around the table. When she turned to go, Boonie stuck his leg out and she tripped right into me. I caught her, of course. Her body was soft and she smelled good, like flowers or something. Flowers and mint? Fuck if I knew—made me want to eat her, though. Memories flooded me, everything from the sweet, salty taste of her cunt to the noises she’d made when she came. Heat shot through my cock as she pulled away, glaring at us.

  “Thanks, asshole,” I muttered at Boonie, but I didn’t say it to his face—too busy watching Becca strut off toward the bar. I was so busy perving on her ass that I almost missed what happened next. The blonde girl stumbled out of the back hallway, hair rumpled and lipstick worn off. Thirty seconds later the preppy asshole followed, his shirt pulled loose and a satisfied smirk on his face. None of this would’ve been noteworthy if he hadn’t lurched straight into our table.

  “Fuck off,” Deep muttered, but the kid straightened and I realized he wasn’t drunk at all. He might be carrying himself that way, but his eyes were sharp and speculative. Interesting.

  “Brought your money,” he murmured. “Shane said you’d have something for me. Outside in ten.”

  Seconds later he was off again, stumbling and laughing at his friends. Boonie’s face stayed completely neutral, but when he reached for his drink and took a long pull, I sensed smug satisfaction.

  “What was that about?” Deep asked.

  “Little project I’ve been working on,” Boonie said. “We’ll cover everything at church. Wasn’t sure he’d pull through, consider this something of a test.”

  “Who? That little prick?” Deep asked.

  “That little prick’s dad was a contract killer for the Irish mob,” Boonie said. I raised an eyebrow.

  “No shit?” I asked. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

  “Trying to stay alive,” Boonie answered. “Or rather, he’s protecting the one trying to stay alive. Shane McDonogh, who used to be a genuine mob prince. His mom, Christina, married Jamie Callaghan. Raised him down in Vegas. Nobody knows for sure who his father was.”

  Interesting. Even I knew the McDonoghs had owned the Laughing Tess for five generations. Five violent, angry generations where the miners, the union, and the McDonoghs had fought with one another for control of the valley.

  Not long after I’d gotten out of prison, the old man had died. Hadn’t left the mine to his daughter, though. Went straight to the grandson.

  “Doesn’t that make him about the richest kid in Idaho?” I asked. Boonie snorted.

  “Might make him the richest kid in North America,” he replied. “Not that it’s doing him any good. They’ve been fighting the will for years. Mommy wants her mine back.”

  “What’s he want with us? Drugs? Gotta be boring as fuck up at that school.”

  “Protection,” Boonie said, his voice satisfied. “He knows we run the valley. He’s rich on paper, but funds are limited and he has no manpower. Now he’s cooling his heels at the academy.”

  “Nice family,” I said. “If he’s worth so much, why doesn’t he just find a lawyer to take them out? You hang that mine out as bait, they’ll be swarming to help him.”

  “Don’t know the whole story,” Boonie said. “Don’t really care. All that matters is that in ten minutes we’re going to get paid a fuckload of money for a few guns so the young prince can sleep a little easier at night. Our discretion justifies a slight markup, of course . . .”

  I grinned, because Boonie had a gift for finding money-making opportunities.

  “That goes through, told him we could talk about a more long-term solution,” he added. “He’s got big plans. Blackthorne thinks he could be good for the valley. Hard to say.”

  Deep raised his beer bottle, silently saluting him as my eyes drifted back toward Becca. She was leaning over a table, ass twitching as she wiped off the spilled beer. Mentally I was already shoving her down face-first before fucking her right the hell into oblivion.

  “Might want to close your mouth,” Boonie said, nudging me. “Don’t want to drool in your beer. Now bottoms up, because we’ve got a meeting outside. Deep, you take the porch—maybe have yourself a smoke and keep an eye out. Puck, you’re with me, unless you’d rather have the smoke?”

  I dropped my hand from inside my cut, where I’d reached for my cigs automatically. Boonie gave a snort of laughter, which I deserved for being so fucking predictable. I’d stopped smoking six months back, yet I still caught myself going for them at least ten times a day.

  —

  The dark-haired kid met us back behind the bar, his giggling girlfriend nowhere to be seen. I studied him in the darkness, trying to place his age. Twenty, twenty-one? He had a hard look to his eyes, and his body language had changed. Inside I’d pegged him for a pussy, but now?

  I could see him as a contract killer’s kid.

  “You still want all six?” Boonie asked, hefting a leather saddlebag. “They’re clean.”

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice quiet. “Shane said it’s a done deal?”

  Boonie nodded. The boy pulled out an envelope and tossed it to me. I opened it, flipping through a very nice wad of cash. A quick mental tally confirmed the amount, and I gave my president a nod. He opened the saddlebag and pulled out one of those cloth grocery bags, all rolled tight around a hard ball of what I knew were handguns.

  The kid took them.

  “Want to check them over?” Boonie asked. The kid shook his head, flashing a grin at us.

  “Your reputation is good,” he said. “We respect that. Otherwise we wouldn’t be looking to work with you more. Send me a message when you’ve made your decision.”

  “And if we want to talk to your boss?”

  He shrugged.

  “That’s trickier. Electronic tether up at the campus, for one thing. And it’s not our way to expose him. We’ll see.”

  That struck me as off, but I held my tongue. Had to trust that Boonie knew what he was doing, save my questions for church. You don’t undermine a brother in front of outsiders. No fucking way.

  The kid took the guns and put them into the trunk of a very sporty little BMW convertible that’d been parked in the shadows on the side of the building. It had “princess” written all over it, and I sincerely hoped it belonged to his girlfriend.

  Then he turned back to us.

  “Looking forward to doing more business,” he said, holding out his hand to me. Interesting. His shake was firm and strong. “I’m Rourke Malloy.”

  “Puck.”

  He nodded, clearly committing me to memory, then walked away, his body casual confidence. I glanced at Boonie.

  “We done?”

  “Yup,” he replied. “Let’s get Deep and head back to the clubhouse. We’ll go over everything at church tomorrow. You want to go back inside, maybe say good night to your girlfriend?”

  The question annoyed me, because I’d planned on doing something very much like that. Not saying good night—of course not. But I’d figured I’d check her out at least one more time, maybe make sure she was doing okay.

  Now I couldn�
�t, and Boonie knew it.

  Christ I needed a smoke. Couldn’t have one of those, either.

  “I hate you.”

  “Stop being a little bitch and take care of business,” he said, laughing. “Claim her or get over it.”

  Fuck, I wished it was that easy.

  BECCA

  “Hold up, I’ll walk you out,” Blake said. “Just have to grab something out of the back room first.”

  I pulled out a chair and collapsed, because my feet were killing me. I appreciated the fact that he didn’t want us girls wandering around a dark parking lot at three a.m. on our own, but standing and waiting for him simply wasn’t an option.

  “So how did you do?” Danielle asked, grabbing the seat next to me. “I made out better than I expected—not half bad for a first night. Says something good about the place. Of course that table of little fuckwads stiffed me on the tip, but no surprise there. I knew they would, from the minute they came in. Think they’re the shit, don’t they?”

  I shrugged, because she wasn’t really expecting an answer.

  “You ladies ready?” Blake asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. He laughed and reached out to catch our hands, dragging us to our feet.

  “Don’t you ever get tired?” I muttered.

  “Nope,” he replied, his voice disgustingly fresh and smug. “Endless energy. Be afraid.”

  “I live in fear.”

  Danielle giggled and popped up on her toes to kiss him. When he tried to catch her and kiss her back, she ducked around and jumped on his back without warning.

  “Jesus!” Blake muttered, staggering, but he looked happy. Joe had been right—Blake was into Danielle for real. Shit. I hoped she didn’t destroy him . . .

  “Take me to my car,” she announced, bouncing up and down. “If you’re a good boy, you’ll get a reward.”

  He started toward the door and I followed, feeling like the third wheel. Usually that wasn’t a problem with these two, but it was late and obviously Blake wanted her at home and in his bed. The fact that I needed a ride complicated that, seeing as it took her in the wrong direction.