Silver Bastard (Silver Valley #1)(36)
Author: Joanna Wylde

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Puck replied, his voice a low, sexy rumble that sent chills through me. I took a deep breath, wondering if I was making a huge mistake. I’d always wanted to know, though—to understand what’d really happened that morning in California.

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Why did you tell Teeny I was shitty in the sack, then rescue me? I mean, if you didn’t like sex with me, why did you even care? Nobody ever helped me before then . . . You weren’t the first one he gave me to, you know. None of them gave a damn. What made you do it?”

He sighed heavily, and I heard the soft clinking of his bottle as he took a drink and then set it back down.

“Fuck . . . well first up, I never said you weren’t a good lay. You were a fuckin’ great lay, best I ever had. I told one of my brothers I’d scared you, that’s all. Teeny was listening in because he’s a cocksucking weasel, and I guess he put his own spin on it. I never meant for you to get hurt. Christ. Felt guilty as fuck.”

Wow. All these years I thought I’d disappointed him. Crazy how one casual comment had the power to change my life. Destroy it and save it, all in one swoop. Didn’t seem right.

“But it wasn’t just guilt—the situation pissed me off. All of it. Realizing I’d been played . . . I guess I was worried about going back to jail, too, but mostly I was just fucking pissed off that I’d been out less than a day and already things were fucked to hell and back. Not that I blamed you—I mean, you were the victim, not me. Once I figured it out, I couldn’t just leave you there.”

That wasn’t the whole truth, though. He totally could’ve just left me there. Everyone else had.

“I know all about motorcycle clubs,” I said slowly. “Nobody talks about it, but the Silver Bastards aren’t exactly shiny and bright and legal. That’s reality. Teeny’s house was a regular pit stop for all types of bikers and none of them ever gave a flying fuck about me before that. You can’t tell me you’ve never seen a woman in trouble before, or that you’ve tried to save all of them.”

A bright streak flared across the sky, burning out as suddenly as it appeared. Falling star. What should I wish? Probably for my mom to leave Teeny. What I really wanted, though, was to lean over and kiss Puck.

I was the best he ever had.

“Not all clubs are the same,” Puck said slowly. “Some are better than others. I’m not saying the Bastards are innocent and perfect, but your stepdad is scum and he’d never make it in our territory. We’d take him out. The Longnecks aren’t much of a club, either. Technically they’re still our allies, but we’ve lost all respect for them and they know it. It’s not an excuse for what happened, but I can tell you this—it wouldn’t have gone down like that in Callup. The Silver Bastards don’t rape little girls.”

“You telling me your brothers never share their women?”

“Old ladies and family?” he asked. “Nope, not really our thing. Some club whore wants to fuck five guys, that’s her call. Nobody gonna force her, though. And Boonie wouldn’t put up with some kid being pimped out like you were—no fucking way. We’d end that shit straight up, and we’d end it permanently.”

“I can see that,” I admitted. “I like Darcy. I mean, I don’t know her that well, but when I was trying to decide about beauty school, she took me out for coffee and we talked some. She said if I did a good job, sooner or later she’d make room for me at her day spa.”

“Yeah, Darcy is like that. She’s a good woman. God, this is so fucked up, but you need to know that what your mom and Teeny have? That’s not normal, not for a real club. We like to keep our shit tight. We have to be able to trust our women—when the cops come, they gotta take our backs. You can’t beat someone into loyalty. Doesn’t work that way.”

“It does with the Longnecks.”

“That’ll destroy them, sooner or later. Fear is great, so long as it’s outsiders. Inside the club, we’re about respect, not fear. Otherwise things fall apart. That shit’s a fucking cancer.”

I considered his words. What he said was so different from what I’d experienced for myself, but I could see the truth in it, too. I’d been watching the Bastards for five years now, and he was right. Totally different from the Longnecks, at least so far as I could tell.

“Something to think about,” I murmured, feeling sleepy. A yawn hit me, but I managed to smother it.

“I could use a haircut,” Puck said casually.

“I thought we couldn’t be friends.”

“Sometimes I get pissed and say stupid things.”

I wish I could blame the beer for my answer, but that wouldn’t be fair. The blame for what happened next was squarely on me.

“Okay, then. I guess I could give you a haircut.”

SIX

PUCK

Of the many, many idiotic moves I’d made in my life, this was probably the worst.

I blamed my cock for the decision—I’d spent the night telling myself all the reasons I should ditch her ass, because life is too fucking short. Then I’d jerk off. Then I’d fantasize about killing Collins until I got horny again.

(Yeah, it doesn’t make sense to me, either.)

Now I stood in the center of Becca’s kitchen, studying the tiny apartment I’d last seen right after she moved in. Two years ago, I’d picked the lock and checked it out. Creepy? Probably, but I wanted to be sure she was somewhere safe and decent. The memory of her little girl’s bedroom down in California still haunted me, from the spilled booze on the floor to the sight of my colors hanging next to her school clothes . . .

So fucking wrong.

Not that I’d grown up anywhere decent. Couldn’t even remember my mom, but I’d trailed after Dad and his Silver Bastard brothers like a happy puppy. Hell, there’d always been a woman with open arms and a big heart to feed me. Hanging out in bars wasn’t a conventional childhood but Dad had loved me. No matter what else he fucked up, no matter where we landed, he always had enough extra time for me when I needed him. Things worked out fine so long as we stayed two steps ahead of the law.

I blinked, bringing myself back to reality. Becca’s place was nice—kind of small, with garage sale furniture and secondhand everything. Obviously she’d made all these pillows and throws and shit. Curtains. Hell, I didn’t know how to describe it but it worked. My place felt like somewhere you crashed for the night. Her place felt like a home.