Silver Bastard (Silver Valley #1)(40)
Author: Joanna Wylde

“Why?” I asked. Puck raised a brow.

“We weren’t finished.”

“My mom just called and told me her husband was going to kill her,” I told him desperately. “And you still want to have sex? What kind of asshole says that?”

He stepped forward and caught my hand, pressing it down against the front of his jeans. His fingers wrapped around mine, squeezing his cock. Dark red stained his cheek, the white of his scar standing out. Sometimes I forgot just how scary Puck could be.

“The kind of asshole who knows she’s playing you. And yeah, I still want to have sex,” he said. “Been thinkin’ about it for five years, ever since I took you away from that hellhole. Remember? Because it was a hellhole and she’s the fucking devil. That bitch pimped you out and now you’re going to send her money? What the fuck are you smoking?”

I stiffened. Jerk. Of course, he wasn’t the only one I was angry at, but he was here.

“She’s my mom,” I told him. “And despite everything, I love her. I don’t know why, but I do and you have no right to judge me for that. I’m not planning to send her a bunch of money. I don’t have a bunch of money. But if I did, it wouldn’t be any of your damned business.”

Puck leaned down, his face right in mine, a muscle in his jaw flexing.

“It’s my business now.”

“Since when?”

“I’m thinkin’ right about the time you came all over me, screaming my name.”

I gasped, pulling my hand away from him. Or rather, trying to pull my hand away, because he wasn’t exactly letting it go. Then his other hand came around the back of my neck, jerking me forward into him. His lips covered mine and his tongue tried to push inside. But I still heard my mom’s voice in my head. “He’s going to kill me.”

I bit Puck’s lip, and it wasn’t a love bite.

“Jesus,” he said, jerking back. His tongue flicked out, exploring the small cut, which was starting to bleed.

“We made a mistake,” I said, trying not to look at him. This was hard, considering he was still gripping the back of my neck. I tried to break free, but his fingers tightened, reminding me how much stronger than me he was.

That’s when the reality of the situation hit.

I might be worked up about my mom, but there was a big, strong man holding me who was worked up over the fact that he hadn’t gotten his happy ending.

A scary biker man.

I licked my lips, suddenly worried for a different reason.

“I don’t want to have sex,” I blurted out.

“You did five minutes ago.”

My eyes searched his, looking for a hint of softness or compassion. All I saw was blazing need tempered with anger. Puck’s hands tightened. I raised my free arm and touched his chest, wishing I could reach in there and find whatever compassion he might keep hiding deep inside.

There certainly wasn’t any visible on the surface.

I swallowed. “I really want to go to sleep. Alone. Tonight wasn’t what I planned and I have a lot to think about.”

“So now you’re telling me you didn’t want it? Because my fingers are still sopping wet from your cunt. Call me crazy, but that usually means a bitch is into it.”

Bitch? Oh, I didn’t like that. Not one bit. I forgot my momentary fear, defaulting back to pissed off. This was better—anger worked for me.

“Let. Me. Go,” I gritted out. Puck glared at me, then let go so abruptly I almost fell over.

“You’re crazy,” he said, stepping back. “I’ve done nothing but take care of you, yet one phone call from that cunt and you forget all about me. Don’t fucking pretend you weren’t as into this as I was—now you’ve got what you wanted and it’s all over.”

“Yeah, I guess I’m guilty,” I hissed. “I’m attracted to you, asshole, so when you started pushing I didn’t say no, because it felt good. Is that a crime? Maybe you think I’m a slut, so fuck you for that. But even sluts get a vote in who they sleep with. There’s something scary in you, Puck. I know what you really are, and I don’t want anything to do with it. You’re strong and you hit people and I want to talk to someone about my mom, but all you care about is sex!”

“Bullshit,” he said, shaking his head. “I could’ve fucked you years ago if I only cared about sex, Becs. But I actually give a shit about you, so I left you alone. But don’t worry—I’m not a complete moron. I can smell crazy from a mile away and it’s startin’ to stink in here, so let’s lay this out. Your bitch mother made you fuck strange men. I saved your ass. Why the hell should either of us waste one more second of our lives on the cunt?”

I gritted my teeth, my hands trembling from way too many feelings exploding all at once.

“Because you were one of those men,” I told him, my voice cold and hard. “In case you don’t remember? Teeny made me fuck you. I got my orders and I followed them. I’m glad you saved me afterward, but don’t think for one minute that made it any easier when you pushed me down on that bed and shoved your cock up my ass. That hurt, Puck. A lot. So much I could hardly sit on that fucking bike of yours when she forced me onto it. Do you remember that part? Mom saw a chance to get me out and she took it—and don’t you think for a minute that was easy for her. For all she knew, he’d kill her for it and she did it anyway. So you keep telling yourself that you’re a big fucking hero and my mom’s evil for what she did to me, but I’m not stupid enough to fall for it. There weren’t any good guys at that party. You were all bad. All of you. Now get the fuck out of my apartment.”

He stared at me, and for once he didn’t have a damned thing to say.

Nope.

Puck Redhouse just blinked at me like a big, dumb idiot.

“The door’s over there,” I reminded him coolly.

“You’re a real fuckin’ bitch.”

I shrugged.

“Better a bitch than a rapist. Get out.”

SEVEN

SATURDAY

BECCA

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I studied my reflection, looking for some clue as to how or why I was such a head case. The mirror showed nothing new, nothing interesting to indicate that I’d had one of the best orgasms of my life last night, followed by a complete emotional meltdown.

Oh, and there was ripping apart the man who probably saved my life. That was nice, too. A woman should really look a little different after something like that, yet here I was. Just the usual plain brown hair, boring eyes, and mouth that could probably do with a hint of lip gloss if I wanted to go out anywhere. At least my teeth were clean . . . I couldn’t brush away the memories, but I had damned fresh breath. That should count for something, right?