Puck's Property: A Bad Boy Biker Romance (The Demon Squad MC Book 5)

by Monique Moreau

  Outside, in the crisp winter air, she released the girl’s body and clicked her fob to open the car doors. “Come on, let’s get some bubble tea.”

  Chapter Three

  A CO pulled Puck out of the hole, snapped cuffs on him, and walked him over to see the social worker, where he was supposed to “talk” about the fight. For fuck’s sake, he didn’t know what was worse: being locked up or forced to talk to a shrink. Sure, he was glad to be out of solitary. He’d been dealing with heart palpitations, lying on the plastic-covered cot that crackled every time he moved when the lock to his cell disengaged. He swiped a few beads of perspiration along his hairline with the thumbs of his shackled hands as the CO knocked on the closed door. A muffled voice instructed them to come in. The officer pushed the door open for him, and he sauntered in, ready to get this bullshit over with, when his feet froze in their place.

  His breath caught in his throat.

  Ava.

  Motherfucker.

  Sitting behind the desk, one hand primly laying on top of the other, she raised her gaze to his. Wide hazel eyes went round, and her mouth parted slightly. Her dark mahogany hair cascaded down the sides of her face, much longer than when he’d last seen her. Eight long years ago. She wore a brown plaid suit jacket that engulfed her slim form, but she had the same build. Who could forget a tall, lithe body like hers? Or her high, round tits topped with delicious berry-tasting nipples?

  His head cocked to the side as he observed her carefully. She’d always been the hippest person in a room, but her suit was…drab. Where was the party girl dressed in sexy little dresses, stripping nude any chance she got? Cocky, arrogant, sassy. Here, she was dressed in an androgynous suit that didn’t flatter of her slim figure, with her subtle but definite curves. Her hair was the only sign of her femininity.

  A frown creased his forehead. This woman had no laugh lines around her big eyes or her lush, sensual lips. The glint of mischievousness and humor was gone from her large doll-like eyes. Instead, they stared out at him, serious and grave.

  “Ava?” he questioned.

  She jerked slightly; calling her name had pulled her out of her own reverie. Instantly, her eyes shuttered, changing the color of her irises and sealing off the windows to her soul.

  Officer Dipshit, as Puck had coined him, handed her his file and said, “You know this inmate? He just got into a fight. Want me to stay?”

  “No, I’ll be fine, Derick,” she mumbled. “He’s a kid from my old neighborhood.”

  Derick? His eyes swung to the CO and then back to her. She’s on a first-name basis with this jackass? Guess it was to be expected since they worked in the same facility. Still, Puck didn’t like it. He didn’t like the man or his proprietary manner.

  Eyes roving over her, the CO asked, “You sure?”

  Dipshit was checking her out. Oh, hell no. Fucking NO.

  She tilted her chin toward Puck’s hands in cuffs. “I’ll be fine. Would you please uncuff him?”

  Dipshit looked at her hesitantly.

  “I know Mr. Rossi, Derick. Come back in thirty minutes to take him back to his cell.”

  Damn, the husky tone of her voice had always turned him on. Apparently, today was no exception.

  Dipshit continued to hesitate.

  “We don’t have another social worker available. Until the county allocates enough funds to pay for a second social worker, we don’t have a choice. God knows we need one,” she muttered.

  Officer Derick Dipshit pressed his hand on Puck’s shoulder. His muscles tensed with the urge to resist, but he wasn’t going to fuck up his one chance at seeing Ava. Even though he’d recuperated fast, he was still reeling from the shock.

  His eyes roamed over the room for other clues about her. What she lacked in personal appearance she more than made up for on her walls. One was plastered with motivational posters in soft pastels, calling for compassion, feelings, and promising confidentiality. There were knickknacks scattered on her desk, on the low bookshelf behind her, and on the institutional filing cabinet against one wall. A large dream catcher hung above her head, facing him. Christ, if only it’d catch the bad dreams that plagued him at night in this hellhole.

  Under Ava’s watchful gaze, he consciously relaxed his body and allowed himself to be pressed down into the seat facing her.

  “Behave yourself,” the officer tossed out before leaving and softly shutting the door behind him.

  Asshole. He wasn’t a fucking kid, and he sure as hell didn’t hurt women.

  His gaze returned to Ava. Damn, she was as stunning as ever. There was her long hair, which he knew glittered red in the sunlight, her multicolored eyes, and her lush, plump lips. He knew what it felt like to have those lips pressed against his. Or wrapped around his dick. Fuck, he was getting hard, thinking about it. Sex with Ava had been spiritual, and it wasn’t because they’d been high half the time. It was phenomenal no matter what they’d drank, smoked, or snorted. Hell, stone-cold sober and fucking her brought him to the highest of heights. Their bond just was, like the sun rising at dawn or setting at dusk. Like the turn of the seasons. Their lovemaking had been a phenomenon, like the Northern Lights. That’s what fucking Ava was like. Spectacular. One of a kind.

  It’s the reason he didn’t have an old lady, a baby mama, or even a steady fuck. After he broke up with her, he’d kept tabs on her for years. Many a time, he’d been tempted to show up on her doorstep after he got his head on straight. In the end, he decided it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. Did he regret it? Fuck yeah, he did.

  Now—all bets were off. Ava was back in his life, and like catching sight of a deer in the crosshairs of his hunting rifle, she was his.

  Sweeping her soft, burnished chestnut hair over her shoulder, she inspected him with eyes that blasted “stay away” in flashing neon red lights. Hell, she might as well have been wrapped in yellow police tape with “caution” stamped in block letters.

  Another emotion swam in her eyes. One he’d seen only a handful of times. One she kept carefully under wraps. Swirling in the yellow, copper, and green shards of her irises were currents of sadness. The corners of her mouth drooped slightly, reinforcing the sorrow in those soulful eyes of hers.

  Breaking the silence that had descended between them, she politely inquired, “Damien, how are you?”

  “I go by Puck,” he replied. A notch formed between her perfectly arched brows as she shifted in her seat. “I patched into the Demon Squad MC seven years back, and my road name is Puck. That’s the only name I answer to.”

  “Puck.” His name rolled softly off her tongue, and swear to God, it was like listening to a fuckin’ angel calling his name. He wanted to hear her say it again. Better yet, he wanted to hear her scream it out loud while creaming on his cock.

  Glancing down, she opened his file and read the details of his arrest. “Alright then, why don’t you tell me what happened in the cafeteria?”

  “I’m not gonna tell you about beating a man’s ass in the fucking cafeteria, Ava. How have you been? How’s your mom? Your sister?”

  Her body stiffened, starting with the word mom. Her fingers curled around the file. The crunch of the heavy paper stock sounded loud in the small office. He saw a flurry of thoughts race in her mind, and he bet none of them were nice.

  She took in a slow breath through her nostrils and firmly stated, “That’s the past. We’re not here to catch up on the past. You’re Puck now, not Damien. I’m Ms. Evans, not Ava. After so many years, we’re basically strangers to each other, so let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

  He deserved that slap on the wrist, but it didn’t stop a red haze from blanketing his vision for a brief moment. They’d never be strangers. Impossible. A deep well of experience existed between them, and nothing would sweep it away.

  “Bullshit. You’ll always be Ava to me.” He leaned back in his seat, the top of the metal chair digging into his back. “Don’t care how many years have passed.” His eyes raked over her. “You l
ook good. More than good. You look fucking beautiful. I know you stopped using long ago. Went back to school. Became a shrink.”

  “Not a shrink. I’m a social worker with a master’s degree in Criminal Justice.”

  “Yeah?” A corner of his lips tipped up. “There you go. You did good. I’m fucking proud of you, Ava. You always had a smart head on your shoulders. Knew you’d get out of that situation. Grow up. Become someone.”

  “Then, why’d you—” She cut herself off with a slashing motion of her hand. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Though,” he continued, undaunted, “can’t say I like what you’re wearing. You’re fucking gorgeous.” He paused, his eyes gliding over her once again. “Gor-ge-ous.” He enunciated the syllables. Angling his head, he changed his mind. “Nah, come to think of it, I’m glad you’re all covered up, working around these fuckin’ assholes. I didn’t like the way Officer Derick Dipshit looked at you.” His eyes sharpened. “You’re not dating that fucker, are you?”

  Her mouth gaped open. “Are you kidding me? You haven’t seen me in eight years. Eight. Years. And you have the audacity to comment on the way I dress or how a colleague speaks to me? Are you out of your mind?”

  A smile broke on his face. “There’s the Ava I know.”

  “Shut up, Damien. I mean Puck. Just shut your mouth before you say something unforgivable. Do you know what I’m doing with Derick?” His jaw tightened. Damn, how could he forget her attitude, or that smart mouth of hers, when she got heated? She tapped her chin with her index finger. “Hmm, let me think.” Her eyes flared wide. “Oh, wait, it’s none of your business, because you aren’t part of my life and haven’t been for eight years.”

  “Watch your tone of voice.”

  “Don’t say something stupid, and I won’t have to watch my tone, Puck.” She spat out his name like it was a curse. “Unfortunately, I’m the only social worker at Duchess County Jail, but if I weren’t, I’d transfer you in a heartbeat.”

  His lips flatlined. He was feeling possessive toward her, but she was right. He had zero claims on her. He’d forfeited any rights he once had. Tell that to his fuckin’ heart with her sitting not three feet away from him. Usually, he was laid back when it came to chicks, but he’d always been possessive of her. She had that rare effect on him.

  Picking up a ballpoint pen, she scribbled something into his file. “I’m ordering you to attend an anger-management class. You always were a hothead. Clearly, you lost your temper when you pistol-whipped that poor innocent man who got you in here. Then you get into a fight the day after your arrival. That’s a shot on your record. Since your drug test came back clean, I can safely assume you were neither drunk nor high. So, temper it is.”

  He snorted. “That poor innocent man was a fucking wife beater, and I wasn’t pissed off when I beat him up. Did that shit to teach him never to hurt a woman.” Ava’s head shot up. “As for the fight, I was protecting a brother. He’s a kid and a pretty boy. Had to back him up.”

  By the look on her face, she believed him. “You used to have a temper.”

  “Still do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a handle on it.”

  Ava swiped at her creased brows.

  He leaned forward. “You okay?”

  “Fine, fine” she muttered. It was an obvious lie. She pressed her forefinger and thumb hard into the middle of her forehead and her temple.

  “Migraine,” he asserted knowingly. She’d struggled with them when they met. One of the many reasons that put her on the path of using drugs the way she did.

  “You bet. Seeing you can bring one on.”

  He gritted his teeth at her saltiness. Calm down. Did he expect her resentment to magically disappear? It’d been his unilateral decision to terminate their relationship, and as painful as it’d been for him, it was far worse for her. He’d had his work, the club, and Sammi to throw himself into. Two years had passed before he came up for air, and by then, the pain had subsided. Not only had it come as a shock to her, but he’d been the center point of her life. She’d been adrift, with no goals or aspirations besides the next hit or the next party. Fuck, he was witnessing only a fraction of the pain he’d caused, and breaking her heart was his biggest regret.

  “Fuck, babe. I wish I could help you.”

  “Don’t babe me,” she snapped. Releasing her head, she leaned back in the chair. Tapping her pen, she asked, “How old is Sammi now? Twenty-one?”

  “Oh, it’s alright for you to ask me questions?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’m asking because I’m thinking that, at her age, she’s probably still at home with you. If that’s the case, then you’d be worried about her being left alone. Which means you’ll want to get out as soon as possible. What’s your bail situation?”

  “Bail denied by fucking Judge Korman,” he grumbled.

  “Ahh…Korman. Yeah, you’re not getting bail.” Flicking her pen against the desktop, she raised her eyes above his head, lips pursed. He couldn’t help staring at those lips. Her gaze returned to him. “I think you should consider attending the anger-management class. It’ll be a good look for you, considering the shot on your record for the fight.”

  “I’m worried about Sammi. That’s my greatest problem right now. If it gets me outta here, then I’m down.”

  She gave him the first small but real smile. “I know how important she is to you. Okay, so I’ll put you down for the class. Make sure you don’t get into another fight or accrue another infraction.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Ava bent her head as she scribbled into his file, and a rebellious wave of mahogany slipped off her shoulder and swept over half her face. She tucked the errant lock behind her earringless ear with her finger. Her unvarnished fingernails were neatly clipped and filed into half-moons. Another change. She used to wear loads of jewelry and paint her nails crazy colors. It was like she’d leached all the color and beauty out of her life.

  A pull tugged at him from the center of his chest. He didn’t understand but simply followed the sensation by leaning forward until he was mere inches away from her. Her scent drifted toward him, knocking him sideways. Tahitian vanilla mingled with coconut and mango. It was the same balmy, tropical scent that always got his cock to stand at attention. Thank fuck his oversized jumpsuit hid his growing erection. That’s it. He’d be tasting her again, and soon. He didn’t know how or when, but it was happening. They were happening.

  Seemed only fair to warn her of what her future entailed. “Ava,” he called.

  She lifted her face toward him, her eyes flaring slightly in acknowledgment of his proximity.

  “I promise I’ll have you again. In my life. In my bed. This time, you’re not going anywhere,” he vowed to her.

  Sparks flew from her eyes. “Oh, yeah?” She leaned forward until her sweet breath fanned over his face and said in a throaty tone, “Well, let me set you straight right now. That’s not happening. Ever. Maybe you don’t remember how it went down between us, but I certainly do. You were the one who broke up with me. If I went ‘anywhere,’” she put up air quotes around the word, “it’s because you kicked me out of your life. You can go to hell, Puck.”

  “There were reasons for that—”

  Pulling away, she cut in, “I agree, and that’s why I never ran after you or tried changing your mind. After your mother’s tragic death, you did what you felt was necessary for both you and Sammi. I get that we were young. At the time, I wasn’t serious enough for you. There was the shock from her death and suddenly having full custody of Sammi. I understood it then, and I understand it now. While I respect your decision, it doesn’t change the fact that you threw away what we had. You threw me away, Puck. I won’t put up with someone like you in my life. Someone who can sweep me aside so effortlessly.”

  The stark pain bleeding from her eyes almost brought him to his knees. He’d readily slam them down on the scuffed floor and crawl to her on his hands and knees. Swear to her he’d never let that hap
pen again. He knew about her dad. How he’d cheated on her mom and then ran out on them, leaving them to fend for themselves. “It was hard as hell. I get that, babe.”

  Her palm went up, front and center in his face, shutting him down. “Don’t babe me. There’s no cause for you to call me by anything other than my name, because the only relationship that exists between us is a professional one. Social worker and inmate.” He could hear her walls clanking down between them, like the jailhouse door that shut his ass in this shithole.

  She wanted to play it this way. Alright, he’d allow it. For now.

  “I’m not going to argue with you,” he announced. I’ve done my duty and put you on alert. You’re a grown-ass woman. Just be ready, he silently declared.

  “Good, because you don’t have a leg to stand on,” she replied pertly. Checking the clock above the doorway, she stood up. As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. Fucking Officer Derick Dipshit was back. “Good luck, Puck.”

  “Oh, babe, I don’t need luck. I always get what I want in the end,” he drawled.

  She didn’t have the opportunity to respond with the door opening, but she made sure to shoot him a deep scowl.

  Puck took in his competition as Officer Dipshit stepped inside, unimpressed by his thinning hair or slight paunch. Unfortunately, a man’s physical attributes didn’t mean a whole lot to Ava. She wasn’t superficial; character and connection were far more meaningful to her. Giving the other man a slow once-over, Puck couldn’t imagine she had any kind of connection with this idiot. Of course, she may have lowered her standards. Enough things had changed about her. Either way, he’d find a way to be back in this office within a week and have another chance at changing her mind. Derick Dipshit be damned.

  Chapter Four

  The instant the door closed behind the men, Ava slumped back in her chair. She expelled a pent-up breath and dropped her head back against her chair. Thankfully, once Puck was out of her presence, the pulsing pain in her temples began to recede. The audacity of that bastard. He’d always had a cocky swagger about him, even as a teenager. Ava could hardly believe the nonsense that spewed out of his mouth. Seriously, the man was delusional if he thought he had a chance of getting back with her, in any way, shape, or form. She glanced down at her dowdy pantsuit. Good God, why would he even want to? She looked like shit. Professional yes, but otherwise, she looked horrid. Of course, she purposely dressed in an unflattering manner. She wasn’t looking to get hit on by an inmate or another employee.