Silver Bastard (Silver Valley #1)(84)
Author: Joanna Wylde

“How are we going to do this?” I asked Puck as we pulled into a gas station. The building hadn’t been here five years ago, that much I remembered. Just that one change was enough to throw me off, and I realized how much I didn’t know about my hometown, mom, or Teeny these days.

“Don’t know yet,” he replied, reaching for his wallet. I still had my pathetic fourteen bucks and change in my purse. I’d tried to give it to Puck for expenses but he wouldn’t take it.

“I’ll go take a look around this afternoon, after I get you settled at a hotel. We’ll make plans after that.”

He stepped out of the truck, walking toward the station to prepay, since we’d been using cash for everything. In fact, Puck had been incredibly careful about leaving any traces along the way, to the point of confiscating my cell phone and giving me a burner with only one phone number in it—the disposable cell he now carried. The morning we left the Armory, he’d even handed me a fake driver’s license. I assumed he had one, too. He’d also put new plates on his vehicle and when I’d asked him about it, he stared me down silently.

Deciding I wanted to hit the bathroom, I opened my door and stepped out. Looking across to the second set of pumps, my breath caught.

No. No.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

I must be losing my mind because that was my mother standing there, gassing up a battered Camaro.

No. No way. This couldn’t be happening, could it? I started toward her, wondering if this was another dream. I’d had a couple of them—dreams where Regina told me none of it was real. Mom was fine and she’d left Teeny and we’d all live happily ever after together.

Then I’d wake up and it hurt like I’d just lost her all over again.

“Mom?” I asked, my voice hesitant. The woman froze, then turned slowly toward me. Her eyes widened in shock and . . . horror? “Mom, is that really you?”

She shook her head, eyes wide. I reached for her and she started trembling.

“Becca . . .” she whispered. “I’m so—I mean, I didn’t think . . . I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Her words sank in and realization flooded me. This wasn’t some kind of miracle. She knew I’d thought she was dead—her entire body radiated guilt. Holy. Shit.

“Is this about money?” I asked, feeling something break deep inside my soul. “Is this really just another of your cons? It is, isn’t it? You thought I’d send you three grand and then what? You’d send up a box of ashes from the fire pit? What the fuck is wrong with you!?”

My voice rose at the end to a shriek. Tears started rolling down her face and she reached for me. I flinched back, realizing I was on the brink of losing it.

“I’m sorry,” Mom said, her eyes darting. We were creating a scene. Too bad. “I have to go.”

Stunned, I watched as she jerked the gas nozzle free. Then she climbed into her car and pulled out with a screeching of tires, gas cap flying. It rolled across the pavement, coming to a stop about six inches from my foot.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Becca, you okay?”

I looked over to find Puck staring at me, confused. No. I wasn’t okay. Tears started to build in my eyes, then I was in his arms, crying.

“Baby, you gotta tell me what’s wrong,” he said after a few seconds. His entire body was tense—ready for a fight. Shit. I needed to pull myself together.

“It was my mom,” I said, forcing myself to stop sniffling. “She’s alive.”

Puck stilled.

“What?”

“I was getting out of the truck to go to the bathroom. Then I looked over there and saw my mom.”

Something crossed his face, a hint of shock tempered with . . . pity?

“Sweetheart, it’s not uncommon for someone to think they’ve seen someone who died.”

“No, it was her, Puck,” I said, my voice forceful. “I talked to her. She called me by name, said she was sorry. Then she got in her car and drove off. That’s her fucking gas cap right there.”

“What the hell?”

“It’s a con,” I said, feeling like the stupidest person on earth. “She’d been calling, begging for money. I kept telling her no so I guess she raised the stakes.”

“That fucking cunt,” he growled. He let me go, spinning toward his truck in helpless, frustrated anger. For a minute I thought he might punch it. Then—just like that—he pulled it together.

“Get in.”

“Puck—”

“Get. In. The. Truck.” Rage covered his face, along with that terrible darkness I’d seen from him a few times. Oh fuck. This was bad. Really bad.

Wait. Mom was alive. That was good. I didn’t want her dead, did I?

Mixed, confused emotions crashed through me as I climbed into my seat. I was vaguely aware of Puck outside, gassing us up. My thoughts flew too fast to catch as I tried to understand what had happened.

Mom was alive. She’d pretended to be dead. Told her daughter that she was dead.

For three thousand fucking dollars.

Pain sliced through me as it fell together. Pain. Relief. Shock.

Hurt.

How could she care so little for me, put me through that kind of hell for money? Because she’s a junkie and a crook. She doesn’t care about anyone but herself. Fucking bitch.

The rig swayed as Puck climbed in, looking straight forward. Rage radiated off every square inch of his body.

“This ends now.”

“What?” I asked.

“This shit with your mom,” he replied. “She’s cut off. Today. You’re never talking to her again. That woman is fucking toxic and she’s out of your life.”

“Excuse me?” I asked, turning on him. My head was a swirl of a thousand different emotions—Mom had been dead and suddenly she wasn’t. She’d tricked me and used me and treated me like I wasn’t even a real human being whose feelings mattered. Now Puck was going to tell me how to feel, too?

I didn’t need this shit from him and I didn’t care if he was right—it wasn’t his decision to make.

“It’s time to end this. I’ve watched that bitch jerk you around for five years and I’m sick of it. No more. I’ll get you set up at the hotel and then go straighten her ass out. We’ll leave for Idaho in the morning.”

The swirl of confused feelings in my head came together, turning into anger. I couldn’t turn it loose on Mom because she’d run off, but Puck? He’d just painted a big ass target on his forehead and I didn’t give a shit if attacking him was fair or not. I was an adult and I’d make my own damned choices.