by Joanna Wylde
“Melodramatic, much?”
He swatted my butt affectionately (I was sensing a pattern there) and we grabbed a couple of paper plates, filling them. Then we found a spot to sit at another table, one closer to the fire.
“Puck,” a man said. “Tell us about your girl.”
The brothers who looked almost like twins, Demon and Deep, came to sit facing us across the table. I’d seen them around town and served them before, but we’d never really talked.
“You know Becca,” Puck said. “Works at the Moose, remember?”
“Hey,” I said, hoping I didn’t have anything disgusting in my teeth.
“Heard you had a run-in the other night,” Demon said. “You doin’ okay?”
Run-in? Oh yeah, the handsy student. Ugh.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” I replied. “One of the assholes from the academy tried to cop a feel. I took care of him.”
The memory of him screaming and rolling on the floor brought a smile to my face. Puck gave a frustrated snarl, and Deep burst out laughing.
“Darcy said she nearly took his balls off,” he said. “You’d best hold yours tight, Puck. Hate for you to have an unfortunate accident.”
“Fuckin’ hysterical, both of you. Seriously, that guy ever shows his face there again, you call me. I’ll kill him.”
Puck wasn’t joking.
“Teresa kicked him out permanently,” I said. “Even if she hadn’t, I don’t think I’d have to worry. There was another kid there—he has dark hair. I think you’ve met him.” Puck stiffened. “He seemed pretty pissed off about it. He even apologized for his friend’s behavior. To Darcy. Isn’t that interesting?”
“Fascinating,” Puck growled.
“Good thing your woman had someone there to protect her,” Deep said companionably. “But don’t worry—she’ll be okay. Probably. The Moose might be rough, and the guys who come in there like to fight, but . . . Nope, it’s just like that. You got a gun, Becca?”
“Fuck off,” Puck said, standing abruptly. “Becca, you want another drink?”
“Yeah,” I said, wondering if I’d get in trouble for kicking Deep under the table. Might be worth it.
“I’ll be right back,” Puck said. “Deep and Demon will make sure you’re fine out here, won’t they?”
Demon nodded, smirking as Puck walked away.
“You scared him off,” I accused.
“Yup,” Deep said. “Wanted to ask you about Carlie.”
I shook my head. “I don’t have anything to tell you.”
“You know she used to fuck him, right?”
“This isn’t a conversation I need to have.”
“I think you do,” he replied, “Because I hear you’re BFFs now, and that’s weird. Girls don’t do that. What the fuck is going on?”
Was this really happening? I’d forgotten how fast gossip spreads in clubs . . . and since when did bikers call people BFFs? Common wisdom said it was women who liked to talk, but it’d been my experience that the guys were even worse.
Case in point.
“Is it so odd that two women would exchange a friendly hug?”
“Yes, especially when one of them’s fucking the guy the other one used to fuck.”
“Why do you care?”
“Carlie is mine. I want to figure out what’s in her head. Maybe you can tell me.”
That stopped me, and I frowned.
“What?” I asked.
“She’s mine.”
“But she was sleeping with Puck.”
“I’ve banged half the women here tonight, even some of the old ladies. Doesn’t change the fact that Carlie’s mine. I want to know if she’s over Puck. What did she say to you?”
This was possibly the strangest conversation I’d ever had. I knew one thing for sure, though. Sharing what Carlie had said to me violated the Code.
“She just wanted to say hello.”
Deep stared at me and I stared back, neither of us blinking. That’s when Demon started laughing. “You’re fucked, bro. Get over it.”
The moment broke and I decided to focus very carefully on my sandwich. This discussion needed to end. Fortunately, another man came and sat at the table, joining the brothers. He didn’t bother talking to me, which was fine. Those potato chips weren’t going to eat themselves. I needed to focus.
“You hear the news?” the new guy asked.
“What’s that?”
“Bozeman chapter—president’s old lady kicked him out. Caught him screwing around on her.”
“She’s a bitch,” Demon said. “Always has been. He’s better off without her. Not sure why they were still together anyway.”
“Money,” Deep chimed in. “You know her family’s loaded, right? He shoulda left a long time ago—she’s been trying to lock his balls up for years. Man can’t live that way.”
Great. Not only had Puck left me alone, he’d left me in a nest of sexists. Of course, most of the guys here probably fell into that category . . .
“Women should stay home,” the stranger declared. “Money gives them ideas. Bitch has her own money, she talks too much. Thinks she’s the boss.”
“Excuse me,” I said abruptly, standing. “I need the restroom.”
“Puck said to wait,” Deep told me, reaching out and catching my arm. His voice was serious, and while he wasn’t squeezing my arm, I realized he wasn’t playing around, either. “So you wait.”
The fear I’d thought was gone hit me in a rush. I was surrounded by big men. Scary men. They could do whatever they wanted, and I couldn’t stop them. Puck wasn’t here.
“Okay,” I whispered, swallowing.
“Jesus, don’t be a dick about it,” Demon said to his brother. He looked at me, face serious. “Not everyone knows who you are yet, Becca. Puck just wants you safe. That’s why he asked you to stay with us. Deep’s just pissy because you won’t tell him what Carlie said.”
I swallowed, trying to convince myself that Deep might be big and tough, but on some level he was still a whiny little boy who wanted a toy. Not that it changed anything. Boys broke toys all the time.
“Here’s your beer,” Puck said, settling down next to me. “Everything okay?”
Locking eyes with Deep, I nodded.
“Peachy.”
—
I hadn’t been drunk earlier, but now? Yeah, the room was definitely swaying. I was in a ridiculously tiny bathroom, furiously washing my hands. I’d been stupid enough to touch the toilet seat, and while I had no doubt it had started out cleanish (Darcy didn’t strike me as a woman who tolerated filth), I wished I’d just peed outside. Some of those guys weren’t so great about their aim . . .
Puck waited for me in the hallway. I’d just finished wiping my hands on my jeans (the paper towels were out—should I mention that to someone?) when I heard the shouting. Opening the door, I peeked out cautiously. Puck was gone. More shouting, coming from the main room, then a loud crashing noise.
Shit.
I crept out, trying to make myself small. I didn’t want to get in the middle of a fight, but if Puck had left it was for something serious. Hiding in the bathroom just wasn’t an option.
A group of girls stood at the end of the hallway, watching and chattering in excitement.
“What’s going on?” I asked before realizing one of the girls was Bridget. She was too excited to play bitch, thankfully.
“One of the Reapers is fighting with Clay Allen,” she said. “He’s a hangaround. He showed up with some girl and the guy went crazy.”
“Is Puck out there?”
“Oh yeah . . .” she replied, her tone somehow dirty.
Great.
“Excuse me,” I said, pushing through. A wall of big, beefy backs covered in leather blocked my view so I ran over to the bar and climbed up to see if my man was fighting. I really hoped not. I hadn’t scoped out any coffeepots around here to rescue him with.
I saw Puck right away. He wasn’t fighting. He just stood in
the center of the ring of bikers, watching Painter beat the shit out of the unfortunate Clay Allen, whose name was new to me. Not a Callup man.
A woman shrieked, and I realized that the Reapers MC president was holding someone prisoner in his big arms. She kicked and screamed, obviously enraged.
“You asshole!” she shouted. I couldn’t tell if she was shouting at Painter or Picnic or the guy on the ground. The big man just held her tighter, his face grim.
Painter kept punching Allen viciously, the blows sending painful, wet smacking noises echoing through the room. After what felt like an eternity, Puck waded in, grabbing Painter and pulling him back. He shrugged him off, ready to go at it again, but when Puck said something the big blond man stopped, panting heavily.
“Get him out of here,” Painter ordered. Nobody moved. “Get him the fuck out of here before I kill him!”
“Fuck,” Horse said, stepping forward to grab Allen under the arms. A path cleared for him to drag the man out of the clubhouse. Painter turned on the girl, stalking toward her purposefully with an air of menace. Picnic abruptly swung her around behind his body. Then he turned to face down Painter, arms crossed.
“Not happening, son.”
“It’s none of your business,” Painter snarled. “She’s the one who came here.”
“I didn’t even know where we were going!” she yelled from behind the other Reaper. “It was just a date, you asshole.”
“He’s a fucking biker. You broke the rules, Mel. Get your ass over here.”
“Not happening,” Picnic repeated, his voice firm. “I am not dealing with this shit tonight. Painter, get your ass home. Melanie, you’re with me.”
Painter growled and then the girl shoved Picnic out of the way, stunning me. How the hell had she done that? In an instant she was in Painter’s face, shouting at him so loud it hurt my ears.
“You need to get the fuck out of my life! What I do is none of your goddamned business.”
“Fuck it,” Picnic announced. “I’m done with both of you.”
With that he turned and walked away. It took an instant to sink in, then the girl got a strange look on her face. Painter started to smile—not a nice smile.
“I’ll give you a ride home, Mel,” he said, his voice full of soft menace. “We can talk when we get there. Privacy, you know?”
The unfortunate Melanie looked around, then realized she was surrounded by men who took their lead from the Reapers president.
“Fuck . . .”
“Maybe we’ll do that, too,” Painter said. Then he caught her arms and started dragging her toward the door. She screamed again, this time in fear. I saw Darcy push forward, face determined. Boonie caught her. Melanie started slapping at Painter and he laughed. Then he picked her up in a firefighter’s carry and walked out the door.
Silence filled the room. After an eternity, Darcy spun and glared at Boonie until he let her go, then she glared at the rest of us, too.
“The kitchen is fucking closed,” she announced. “I’m going home.”
Then she stalked out the front door without looking back. Boonie shook his head and I heard several of the guys laugh.
Jesus. What had just happened?
“Becca?” Puck stood below me, his expression serious. “You need a hand down?”
“No,” I said quickly. What I needed was to get the hell out of this clubhouse. I had no idea who that woman was or why Painter had been fighting, but I knew a bad thing when I saw it. I dropped to my butt and slid off the bar. “Can we go home?”
“Yeah,” Puck said. “Night didn’t quite go the way I expected.”
No shit.
He took my hand, stopped off to say good-bye to Boonie, Picnic, and a few others. I didn’t look at anyone—I was way too busy trying not to freak the hell out. Then we were on Puck’s bike and he kicked it to life, roaring off down the road. I held him tight, burying my head in his back, wondering what I should say to him when we got home.
PUCK
“I think you should go back to your place tonight,” Becca told me. We stood outside her apartment, which she had taken care not to unlock. Message received. “I need to think about what happened.”
“Let’s talk about it,” I replied, knowing I was fucked here. Becca was all kinds of screwed up in her head. That little show Painter put on with Melanie obviously set her emotions spinning.
“I think I saw everything pretty clearly.” Her face had closed off and she wouldn’t look at me.
“No, I think you saw something so far out of fucking context you couldn’t possibly understand it,” I argued. “Just tell me this—before the fight, were you having a good time?”
She glanced away, then nodded.
“You know I was.”
“Don’t judge what you don’t understand. That’s between them, and believe me—it’s complicated and it’s nobody’s business but theirs. Not yours, not mine, not the club’s.”
“Doesn’t it bother you that he just hauled her out of there? It’s kidnapping!”
Becca turned on me, eyes full of fire again. Excellent—I could handle her anger. That creepy, silent indifference was a thousand times worse.
“Picnic Hayes is practically that girl’s stepdad.”
She froze. Fuck. Stepdads weren’t the good guys in her world.
“Make that her foster dad,” I explained. “More like you and Earl. Shit. He’s married to the woman who helped raise her. London. Look, this is all coming out wrong. Just believe me when I say he wouldn’t let her get hurt. He’s just tired of getting caught in the middle because they’re determined to fight with each other. They have shit they need to work out—a lot of shit. Maybe now they’ll do it. That’s what was really happening last night. Painter would die before he hurt her.”
“He sure as hell hurt the guy she was with. What was that all about?”
“Like I said—complicated,” I said, rubbing a hand through my hair. “Let’s go inside.”
“No,” Becca said, but she didn’t sound angry anymore. Just tired. “I need some time to think. This has all happened way too fast.”
Bullshit. So what if we’d gotten together fast—we had five years of history between us, the kind of history that accelerated things.
“Are you blowing me off?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I mean, kind of. Just for tonight. I need a break, Puck. Think how much my life has changed this past week. I want some time alone.”
More bullshit. I wanted to grab her like Painter had grabbed Mel, throw her over my shoulder and teach her who she belonged to. Me. Now and forever. But Becca wasn’t Mel, and she needed space. I could do that for a night. One night. Then I’d set her straight.
“I probably won’t see you again until you get off shift tomorrow night,” I said, thinking of our raid on the Vegas Belles. “Got shit going on all day.”
Her face twisted, and for an instant I thought she might cry. Then she shook her head again, even as she leaned into me, wrapping her arms around my body.
“I’m just really tired,” she said. “I want to sleep by myself. Why don’t we meet for dinner on Friday, talk things through then. Or maybe—if you aren’t busy tomorrow night—you could stop by the Moose?”
I hugged her, kissing the top of her head.
“Go to bed,” I said, hating the words. “If I can’t make the Moose, we’ll talk on Friday.”
There was another problem. At some point we’d need to figure out a better schedule. Between work and school, she hardly had anything left for me. Maybe she’d let me help her out a little? Becca nodded, then turned and dug a key out of her pocket. I’d have to get her a better lock, I decided. This piece of shit was way too easy to pick.
“Night,” she said quietly. Then she stepped inside and closed the door.
God damn it.
Painter needed his ass kicked. Maybe I’d have time tomorrow after the raid, because this was fucking bullshit.
BECCA
Strangely enough, I actually slept really well that night.
I couldn’t chalk it up to peace of mind or feeling like I’d figured things out. Not at all. But the combination of alcohol, sex, and an adrenaline crash were enough to knock me out, which was a very good thing.
The next morning I woke up early enough to take a shower and sew for a while before heading out to school. Sewing had always been my therapy—now it calmed me down. Unfortunately it was way too early to talk to Danielle about the Puck situation. She’d still be asleep.
As for Puck, he was probably gone already. Would he come back safe from whatever the club was doing today? It was a valid question, which said something scary about our relationship. Suppose we stayed together, turned into a couple like Boonie and Darcy. Did I really want to know the details of his life?
How could I be with someone if I couldn’t face the reality of who he was?
I wrestled with all of these thoughts while carefully guiding a strip of bright red silk through the Singer. The tension was off, and I couldn’t quite find the sweet spot. The machine kept crumpling and twisting the delicate fabric.
Fucking metaphor for my life.
Ten minutes later I nailed it, right as the phone rang. I stopped the machine and stretched my neck as I walked over to answer it. That was the only thing I didn’t like about sewing—sometimes I got so caught up in what I was doing that I forgot to move.
I answered the phone and my world cracked wide open.
“Becca?”
Teeny. I hadn’t heard his voice in years, but just that one word—my name—threw me right back. My back hunched and I melted into myself. God, but I hated this man. Wait. No. I refused to let him do this to me. Never again.
“What the hell do you want?” Nice. I’d never had the nerve to talk to him like that before. I gave myself a mental shoulder pat.
“I have some bad news, honey,” he replied, his tone touched with what I suspected was supposed to be sorrow. It sounded smug, though. Smug and self-satisfied. I could almost see the expression to match the voice on his pointy, ferretlike face. “It’s about your mother.”
“What about her?” I asked, stiffening.
“She left me,” he said, his tone hardening. “And then she had an accident. Two nights ago. Drove right off the side of a cliff. She’d been drinking of course, and now she’s gone. It’s very sad.”