Silver Bastard (Silver Valley #1)(54)
Author: Joanna Wylde

He nodded, still looking less than thrilled.

“So you have school today?”

“Yeah, I’ll need to start getting ready soon,” I said. “I want to get there by ten. That way I can leave around three, which gives me time to bake a pie for Earl before I go out to their place for dinner.”

He sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. “So you’re telling me I’ve been beaten out by school and a pie?”

I smiled apologetically.

“In my defense, it’s a huckleberry pie—last berries of the season,” I said. “I’d invite you to come with me, but I think I’ll need some time to explain this to them. This is a big turnaround for me . . . being with you, I mean.”

“I think they’ll be less surprised than you think. But I’m guessing they go to bed pretty early. I’ll come over after that.”

“That’s a pretty big assumption,” I murmured, sipping my coffee. He raised his brows and I had to laugh. “Okay, it’s not that big of an assumption.”

“I’ve got shit to do today,” he said. “So it looks like maybe I should get started. If I’m lucky, I’ll make it back in time to steal a slice of your pie.”

“That sounds really dirty.”

“That’s why I said it,” he replied, then leaned forward across the table, catching me by the back of the neck for a coffee-flavored kiss. There was something so controlling and possessive about the way he always did that. It should bother me. Instead it turned me on.

Fucked up.

—

Right on cue, my phone buzzed to life not long after I reached the main highway. Usually I’d wait to check my messages. Today I wanted to call Mom and let her know that I had money for her.

“Becca?” she asked, her voice a harsh and broken whisper. “Becca, is that you?”

“Yeah, Mama,” I said, whatever leftover glow I’d had from my morning with Puck well and truly gone. “I got your message. How are you doing?”

“Not so good,” she whispered. “You have to get me out of here.”

“I’ve got a hundred and forty-four dollars,” I told her. “I can send it today. It’s not enough for a bus ticket, but it should get you to a shelter.”

Silence.

“Baby, I told you I needed two grand,” she said. “I mean, I definitely want you to send whatever you’ve got, but it won’t be enough. Not even close.”

I closed my eyes and rubbed the bridge of my nose.

“Mom, that doesn’t make any sense. You can go to a women’s shelter. They’ll hide you until you’re healed up and can travel. We’ll save up for a ticket to Spokane and I’ll pick you up, take you home with me.”

More silence, then she sighed heavily.

“There’s something I haven’t told you,” she said. “It’s not just about bus tickets. I need the money to pay off some of the club girls.”

“Mom, if your life is in danger, I don’t care about whatever the hell you owe those women. They were idiots to lend you money in the first place. This is reality—I have a hundred and forty-four bucks. That’s all there is. If I send it, I won’t even be able to pay my power bill or buy gas.”

She gave a harsh, humorless laugh. It turned into a terrible, racking cough that didn’t stop for a good thirty seconds—sounded like she was gacking out a lung.

“I wish it was that easy,” she said. “They’re watching over me. Teeny’s convinced I’m going to run away, so he’s got them watching me all the time. I need to pay them off. I do that, they’ll let me leave and I can come up to you. Things are different down here than they used to be, Becca. I need that money or I’m going to die in this house. Please, I’m begging you . . . Shit, he’s coming. I have to go.”

The call ended.

I sat in my car, hands trembling, trying to think of what to do. I had to save her, of course. I couldn’t just let her die because I was too squeamish about how I made money. Maybe I should go check out that strip club after all? I knew girls could earn a lot fast stripping—Mom always had.

Puck flickered through my thoughts and I pushed his image away. I couldn’t worry about him and my mom, and I’d be damned if I’d ask him for money. He could talk about “keeping” me all he wanted but I was my own woman. I’d fought too hard for that independence to just give it away. Mom was a kept woman and look how that turned out.

So. Money. I needed to get money, and I needed to get it fast.

First things first—I called the school and told them I wouldn’t be in.

Then I searched for the strip club’s address, which wasn’t hard to find. There were only two clubs in the area—zoning restrictions were harsh, something I’d always assumed was heavily influenced by the Reapers MC. How a second club had managed to open up right down the road from theirs was a mystery, but I didn’t doubt for a minute that someone had been paid very well for that particular privilege.

There it was. Vegas Belles. They opened at eleven, which gave me just enough time to stop off and fix myself up a bit before going in.

Hopefully they were hiring.

—

I’d like to say that I’d never been in a strip club. That’d be just peachy. Even better, I’d love to say I’d never worked a stripper’s pole, but I actually had a real talent for it.

How did I get so good?

Well, it goes back to all the time I’d spent in strip clubs years ago. When I was a kid, stripping was one of Mom’s fallback income sources, ranking above outright prostitution (plan C) and finding herself a man stupid enough to support her (plan A). I’d grown up around them, in them, you name it. Hell, I’d spent more than one night sleeping under a dressing table or on a pile of discarded clothing.

Most strippers have big hearts, at least when it comes to little girls. They’d give me candies between snorting lines, and one even taught me how to do my stage makeup. By the time I was ten, I had that shit down cold. I’d never actually worked in a club myself, but I had no doubt I would’ve if I’d stayed in California.

One or two nights wouldn’t kill me.

I’d stopped off at Walmart to invest in a cheap but sexy G-string and demi bra from the clearance rack, which I’d changed into in the store bathroom. Then I’d driven to Post Falls and parked outside the Vegas Belles building, waiting for them to open.