by Joanna Wylde
“That’s an understatement,” Regina said. “Now just because you dropped a bomb on us doesn’t mean you can stop scooping the pie. Maybe you’re not ready yet.”
“To date Puck?”
“No, to be in charge of huckleberry pie,” she replied, biting back a smile. “Can’t say I’m surprised about Redhouse. I saw him watching you at the Breakfast Table the other day. He’s always had it bad for you. I just didn’t realize you felt the same way.”
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” I admitted. “It’s kind of scary—but he makes me happy, too.”
“You’re stepping out of your comfort zone,” she replied. “That’s always scary. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it. You make sure he treats you right and it’ll all work out fine.”
Ten minutes later I sat back in my chair, stuffed nearly to the point of popping.
“You want another piece?” Regina asked. I shook my head—I’d be able to go without eating for a week after that meal. Thank God I didn’t have to work afterward, either, because just standing up to clear the table almost killed me.
“Can you do the dishes?” Earl asked Regina, startling me. “I’ve got that thing for our girl out in the garage. Probably even more important now, all things considered.”
Regina glanced at him, an entire conversation taking place silently between them.
“Sure thing—you two take care of your business.”
He winked at her, then stood and stretched, looking pleased with himself.
“So what’s going on?” I asked once we were outside.
“This business with your mom—it’s bad news,” he said. “And you still don’t know how it’ll play out. Say she really did decide to leave him, come up here. Would you be safe?”
“She’s not coming,” I said flatly. “You didn’t hear her. She’s just playing me for money. Again.”
“If that’s the case, she’s obviously desperate,” he replied. “And desperate people are dangerous. I’ve got a bad feeling about all of this. Proud of you for standing up to her, but I don’t think it’s over. Got something I want you to start carrying.”
My eyes widened as he walked over to the huge, custom-welded sheet metal cabinet he kept his tools and guns in. It’d come from the Laughing Tess back in the day, where he’d spent close to thirty years underground before McDonogh Corp. laid him off two years back. Working for the school had been a big step down for him, but he’d handled it with grace.
Earl fiddled with the padlock, something that’d always seemed out of place to me because they didn’t even lock their front door. Then he opened it and pulled an old cigar box off one of the shelves, carrying it back over to his workbench.
He lifted the lid, revealing a small revolver inlaid with mother-of-pearl on the stock.
“This belonged to my mother,” he said, his voice strong and plain. “My dad gave it to her when he left for World War II. She’d married him the day before. I’d like you to have it.”
My eyes widened.
“I can’t take that,” I whispered.
“Yes, you can,” he said. “This is a great weapon, and still in beautiful condition. It’s small and light, designed for a woman’s hand. Not only that, it’s completely untraceable. I hope you never have to use it, but if Teeny Patchel ever shows his face up here, I want you to take this and put a bullet in his brain. Then you call me and we’ll figure out what to do with the body. You keep Puck Redhouse in line, too.”
My mouth dropped.
“You can’t be serious.”
“You know me better, little girl. I never joke about guns.”
This was true. Earl had hunted his entire life. He’d shot the deer we’d eaten for dinner, and he’d taught me how to dress and butcher a kill the first year I lived with them, because “anyone who owns a gun should know exactly what a bullet can do to a living creature.”
“I don’t think I’ll need to shoot anyone.”
“Good,” he replied, smiling. “Let’s hope it never happens. But know this—we’re here for you. No matter what. You’re like our own flesh and blood, and there’s nothing you could do that’ll make us stop loving you.”
Tears welled up in my eyes and he coughed uncomfortably.
“Let’s go out and put her through her paces,” he said gruffly. I smiled and followed him out of the garage. They lived ten miles outside of town, straight up a mountainside, so Earl had his own little target range set up in the meadow.
He and I spent the next hour shooting, him telling corny jokes and me laughing as the light slowly faded. We’d spent so many evenings like this over the years. I’d never be a hunter and I could care less about guns, but I loved shooting with Earl.
Eventually it got dark enough that we couldn’t see the targets, so we called it quits. We strolled back to the house, where I saw Puck’s motorcycle parked right next to my little Subaru. That slowed me down. What was he doing here?
He was eating pie.
I discovered this when I walked into the kitchen, cigar box in my hand.
“Hey, Becca,” he said, nodding at me. Regina sat next to him drinking coffee like they’d been best friends for years. “Sorry to crash your dinner, but I had no idea what time you’d be back and I was in the area.”
I opened my mouth to call bullshit on him, then realized it might actually be true. Boonie and Darcy lived a couple miles down the mountain from here.
“He didn’t just barge in,” Regina chimed in. “He drove by and saw your car, and I found him tucking a note under the windshield wiper. Of course I invited him in.”
Puck smiled at me, then finished off his pie and stood up. “You ready to leave?”
“Yes,” Earl said. “I’m ready for bed. Remember what I told you, Becca. I may be an old man, but I mean what I say.”
Puck cocked a brow at me and I shrugged, because no way was I going to tell him that Earl had sort of offered to dispose of his body if he got on my bad side. Instead I gathered my things, and then Regina was handing me a plate full of leftovers, along with stern instructions to come again as soon as I could.
“So Earl didn’t break out the shotgun. That’s a good sign,” Puck said as we walked out. Oh, Puck, if you only knew . . . “I’ll follow you back to town on the bike. We’ll sleep at your place again.”
“You seem awful sure of yourself.”
“Yup,” he replied, and I had to laugh.
It’d been a crazy, fucked-up emotional roller coaster of a week, I thought as I pulled out of the driveway, but at least I still had Regina and Earl. The motorcycle roared to life behind me, and I glanced back to see Puck’s headlight in my mirror.
So now I had Regina and Earl and Puck. Well, I had Puck so long as I didn’t have to shoot him. If I did, I had no doubt that Earl would come through for me.
He always had.
—
Puck’s hand slid between my legs, pushing them apart. I didn’t know what time it was—felt like five in the morning. Cracking an eye I looked at the clock. Eight a.m. Impossible, it couldn’t be later than six . . . I moaned because I was tired and wanted to sleep longer. Then a mouth covered my clit and I started moaning for a better reason. An hour later I rolled off Puck and flopped down next to him, pleasantly awake and alert for the day.
“You’re a pretty good alarm clock.”
“I like to make myself useful,” he said. “What time do you need to be at school?”
“Not until eleven today.” I glanced over at the clock. Nine in the morning—I still had an hour to get ready before I had to leave. Time for breakfast and a shower, and I should probably pack a dinner, too. My shift didn’t start until seven, but Teresa had left a message asking if I could come in early. I could definitely use the money. Between my shopping trip to Walmart and paying the electric, I was down to fourteen dollars. Just enough to get me through, so long as I caught rides with Blake and didn’t eat too much. I started to sit up, but Puck caught my arm and pulled me back down.
<
br /> “Just a minute,” he said. “Wanted to talk to you about something.”
“What’s that?”
“You work tomorrow night?”
“It’s Wednesday, so yeah,” I replied, curious. “Why?”
“We’re having a thing at the clubhouse,” he said. I wrapped my arm around him, snuggling down into his side. I had a feeling I knew what direction this was headed. I didn’t like it.
“I have to work,” I said again, firmly.
“If I talked to Teresa and got you the night off, would that be all right? She owes me a favor or two. Wouldn’t be a regular thing, but we’ve got guests coming in from out of town. I’d like them to see you.”
His words struck me as odd.
“I’d like them to see you.” Not “I’d like them to meet you.” Puck wanted them to look at me, like I was a thing to be owned and used . . . That brought up memories, and they weren’t all pleasant ones.
“I don’t like biker parties,” I said. “I should probably just work—I haven’t been there long enough to be asking for favors. I can’t really afford it anyway.”
He fell silent, tracing a small circle on my shoulder.
“You are aware I’m in a motorcycle club, right?” he finally asked, a touch of humor in his voice. “Biker parties are a big part of my life, and they’ll be a big part of yours, too, if you’re my old lady.”
I pushed up and glared at him.
“I am not your old lady. We’re sort of hooking up in an undefined way. That’s it.”
“Hooking up exclusively,” he pointed out. “You’re on the back of my bike and you’re under my protection. That’s pretty damned close to old lady territory.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head hard. “I’m serious, Puck. I don’t want to go there. We can date, have sex, whatever. I’ll never be anyone’s old lady. Been there, done that.”
His eyes snapped up from my boobs. “The fuck? Did you just say you’d been someone’s old lady?”
I sighed, flopping down next to him. “Sorry, I was talking about my mom. I’ve seen what it is to be an old lady, not just with her but with other women. It’s all fun and games until someone smacks you across the face for not fetching a beer fast enough. Pass.”
“You’re being a bitch again.”
“Fuck off,” I said, rolling out of bed. I walked toward the bathroom, grabbing clothes as I went. I didn’t need this shit, not from Puck. Not from anyone.
“You’re essentially saying I’m gonna start hitting you, but when I call you on it, I’m the dick?” he asked, his voice hard. “Christ, Becca. Got that head shoved pretty far up your ass. I haven’t done shit to you and I’m getting tired of pointing that out.”
I spun around, opening my mouth to tear into him when it hit me.
Puck was right.
I’d insulted the hell out of him. Again. I closed my mouth and blinked.
“You make a good point,” I finally said slowly. “I’m not ready to make a commitment, but that wasn’t a very nice thing to say, either.”
“I call it like I see it.”
We considered each other, then I shook my head. “I don’t think this is going to work. My life is busy. Crazy. I don’t have the mental energy for a relationship.”
Puck stood and walked toward me, all loose-limbed and predatory. Then he leaned in close, catching my head and whispering in my ear. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be. I asked you to a party. I want to show you off because you’re beautiful, and I’m proud that someone like you would put up with someone like me. Is that such a terrible thing for a man to feel about his woman?”
I shivered, because he still smelled like sex. I wanted more.
“All right,” I replied softly. “But only if it’s okay with Teresa. And no crazy shit.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” he said. “You show me respect, I’ll show you respect and we’ll have a good time.”
I reached down and caught his hardening cock in my hand, squeezing it lightly.
“We’ll have a good time,” I agreed, hoping it was true. Worth a shot, and I was sure he could get me out of work. The club was as deeply embedded in valley life as the mine or the union—when they asked a favor, people said yes. Not out of fear. Out of respect.
That was the difference, I realized suddenly. The difference between the club I’d grown up around and this one.
Respect.
Maybe we could work this out after all . . .
“Hey Puck?”
“Yeah, Becs?”
“I’m sorry I blew up at you. It’s not an excuse, but sometimes my temper gets away from me,” I admitted.
“I’m startin’ to figure that out,” he replied. Then he kissed me and I forgot why I’d gotten upset in the first place.
WEDNESDAY MORNING
PUCK
Painter gave me a half hug, thumping my back in greeting. I stepped back, looking him over. The years had treated both of us well, although I couldn’t say the same about prison. It’d made us harder. Also made me appreciate life more. Painter had gone the other direction—I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him smile, let alone laugh.
I guess there was the time we took his kid Izzy to the park?
After he landed back inside the state pen, things got worse. At least he’d been in Idaho, so I was able to go see him regularly. He’d served the club in prison and did what he had to. It changed him, though, in a way our time in California didn’t.
One thing hadn’t changed, though. The bond we’d forged in that cell together? Stronger than blood and utterly unbreakable. He was my brother, now and always.
“Good to see you,” I said lightly, as if there weren’t more than six years of history hanging heavy between us.
“Same here,” he replied. The rest of the Reapers were inside the clubhouse already, but we always took a few minutes for ourselves to check in. Went back to prison—never knew where you’d find yourself, so you had to be ready at all times.
“Anything I should know about?” I asked him. He shrugged, his face closed off. Fair enough.
“So you been to the new strip club?” he asked. “I hear that’s what we’re talking about today.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Went last week to check it out. The Callaghans sure aren’t afraid to spend money, are they?”
“We had a few girls jump ship,” he replied. “I’m not too involved, but I guess they’re coming back now. Apparently it isn’t all love and sunshine at the Vegas Belles. We put some people in place, too. Their reports back up your information.”
“Not a huge surprise,” I replied, reaching for my cigarettes. “Fuck. Forgot I quit.”
Painter snorted.
“So, I heard a rumor.”
I bit back a dumbass smile, because I knew where he was going and I felt like one of those idiots we always made fun of when they shuffled off to the visitors’ room to see their girlfriends. But hell, just thinking about Becs made me happy.
“Oh?”
“You got an old lady now?” he said. “That pretty little thing we brought up from Cali? How’d that happen?”
“I guess I just got tired of waiting.”
“Didn’t know you were waiting.”
“Wasn’t entirely sure myself,” I replied. “Now I know. Ever since that night, it’s been there.”
“If you start writing poetry about her, I’ll slit your throat myself.”
“Were you always such a dick?”
“Yes.”
“Funny, don’t remember that part. Guess I was too busy saving your ass.”
“Tell yourself whatever you have to. Let’s go inside. I want to finish this shit up and have a beer. You got any good pussy around here?”
“You never change, do you?”
“Got no reason to,” he replied.
“Probably shouldn’t give you shit about that, under the circumstances.”
“Don’t worry—I’ll get you back. Can’t
wait to see your girl again. All kinds of things I should probably tell her about you. Nothing quite like honesty in a relationship.”
“You do, I’ll shoot you,” I warned him, and he grinned.
“Get in line. Mel’s got first dibs.”
—
“Thanks for the hospitality,” Picnic Hayes said, looking around the room. The Reapers’ president caught my eye, giving a brief nod. Hayes was a father and when shit went down with Becca, he’d taken my back in a big way. Since then he’d treated me like a true brother. People noticed, too. I owed him for that.
“Glad to have you here,” Boonie replied. “You know we always got your back. You want me to start?”
Picnic grunted his agreement, although we’d all known Boonie would be the first to speak. Like so many things in our world, this was a show of respect. Respect governed us and held us together, and God help the man stupid enough to misunderstand.
Fortunately, Shane McDonogh seemed to get it just fine, something that had come through loud and clear in his dealings with us.
“I’ve already shared this with Pic,” Boonie said. “But we’ve talked to McDonogh and Malloy again this morning. According to their sources, Jamie Callaghan will be visiting the Vegas Belles Gentlemen’s Club”—he said the title with a hint of mockery—“tomorrow afternoon. That’s why we called this for midweek. They don’t know how long he’ll be there, but he’s flying in at ten a.m. and plans to go straight to the club after a business lunch.”
“You all know receipts are down at The Line,” said another of the Reapers, a big man named Gage. “We’ve lost some girls, too. Not that big of a deal, but the loss of customers complicates things. Cops like to watch how many cars come and go. The more traffic we have, the more money we can push through without setting off alarms. Obviously the Callaghans are looking to do the same thing. That’s a problem for all of us.”
Deep raised a hand, and Boonie nodded at him.
“Management just shot down another union request for safety upgrades at the Tess. Not sure how much everyone knows about the situation there, but this is bigger than just our clubs. The Tess provides more than two-thirds of the valley’s income—well, documented income . . .” Several guys laughed at that. Deep continued, “The Callaghans run the national union and it’s pretty obvious by now that they’re poised to take over the mine. We have to shut them out. Otherwise—sooner or later—we’ll have another major accident of some kind. The last one almost took Callup with it. We got a good thing here. Don’t want to lose it.”