Puck gave a laugh and pushed off the facade, lowering himself to my side on the blanket.
“Seems to be working,” he answered, his words light but his voice still strained. “Maybe I should dare you again.”
I stared out across the roof, refusing to meet his eyes. Then something cold touched my hand. I accepted the bottle of beer Puck offered, taking a deep drink.
“Thanks,” I told him, ignoring the internal voice telling me very firmly to shut the fuck up. “What did you have in mind?”
“I dare you to stay out here with me for a while,” he said slowly. “I dare you to tell me the truth.”
“Why should I do that?”
“You probably shouldn’t,” he said. “In fact, you definitely shouldn’t. I can’t be trusted and I don’t have good intentions. You should go inside right now, little girl. Go sew yourself a doll or something.”
“That is truly shitty,” I said, lying back down on the blanket. “How the hell am I supposed to go back inside now?”
“All part of my evil plan,” he acknowledged, propping up his head with one arm.
“I’m not a little girl,” I pointed out. “I’m an adult.”
“Yeah, there’s nothing like pointing out that you’re all grown up to prove you really are.”
“Why do you always have to be a total asshat?”
“It’s my way.”
I closed my eyes, wondering if I’d lost my mind. Almost certainly. I should go back inside right now—but I could feel him next to me. Smell him. It all came flooding back to me, the way he’d taken my hand and led me back behind the house that night. When he’d pulled me down between his legs, leaning me into his strength . . . When his hands ran across my body, touching me and learning me in the firelight . . .
I’d loved it.
And last night? Best not to think about that.
So incredibly fucked up. Everything. I hadn’t chosen him and I felt guilty sometimes for how good it’d been before it went bad. I shouldn’t have enjoyed Puck’s touch, because it wasn’t right and only a slut gets off on some guy who’s abusing her.
I wasn’t a slut. I was normal.
But that didn’t change the reality that I’d most definitely gotten off with Puck. He was nothing like the others. Not even close. When I dreamed about him and woke up screaming, those weren’t screams of fear. Even now I felt my breasts tightening and I knew if he looked at me, he’d see my nipples under my tank top.
Shit, I wasn’t even wearing a bra.
“So tell me,” he said, his voice soft and compelling.
“Tell you what?”
“Who are you fucking?”
“That’s none of your business,” I said, digging in my heels. “I don’t owe you any answers.”
“You cut hair for anyone?” he asked. The change of subject took me off guard and I didn’t consider my answer before speaking.
“That’s sort of the goal,” I replied. “But I’m not licensed yet, so I only do it for friends. I’m not allowed to take money for it, either.”
“But you do. I saw him pay you. Or was that for other services?”
Douche.
“You tell me,” I snapped. “You were spying on us, right? Do you get off on watching, Puck?”
“No. I hate it when other men touch you. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
The admission stunned me into silence. Around us the crickets had come out in force, singing their soft music through the cooling air. I loved summer nights like this, all mild and warm and still . . . Minutes passed without any more snide comments and I felt myself slowly relax. It shouldn’t always have to be a fight.
“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.”