Penance, maybe.
Touching the scar on my face, I considered how my life might’ve been different if I’d been a girl. Both me and Becca were born to the life . . . I’d grown up surrounded by hard men and instability, just like her. Now I was one of them. My dad always watched out for me but I’d had to stand my ground and had paid the price in blood. Blood and time.
Becca never got that opportunity.
If I ever had kids, they damned well better be boys. Yeah, like I’d be that lucky. I pictured a little girl with Becca’s big eyes, smiling up at me. Then I pictured her the same age Becca was when we’d met. Young. Way the fuck too young, yet I’d lusted after Becca like some kind of sick asshole.
Some guy messed with my daughter like that, I’d kill him.
That’s when it hit me. Someday I wanted to have kids, and in my head they looked like Becca. Why the hell was I still pissed at her, anyway? We’d both fucked up plenty over the years, yet I’d sat alone in the dark last night like a creeper—smoking—instead of accepting reality. What the hell was I waiting for?
Fuck this shit.
“Anything else?” Boonie asked. “I think we’re about done here.”
“Hey, I’ve got something,” I said, the words surprising me.
“What’s that?”
“I’m claiming Becca Jones.”
Boonie snorted.
“Think you claimed her five years ago, dumbass,” Demon said. “This isn’t news.”
“No, I mean I’m claiming her for real. Now. I’m done fucking around. Gonna make her my old lady.”
“’Bout time,” Boonie said, all but rolling his eyes. “Any more moping around and I’ll shoot you myself. Anyone got a problem with Puck taking Becca?”
I looked around the table, meeting my brothers’ eyes one by one. They damned well better not have a problem.
“She knows how to keep her mouth shut,” Miner said. “Can handle herself when shit goes down. She’ll do fine.”
The others nodded, and just like that I had an old lady.
Supposed I should go tell her. Would she fight with me? Maybe a little, but that was okay. I’d always liked it rough.
NINE
BECCA
Things are always better after a good night’s sleep, and last night I’d finally gotten one. I hadn’t rolled out of bed until early afternoon and still hadn’t showered.
Fortunately the only job I had for the day was baking Earl’s pie. Teresa had been happy with the work I’d done the night before—happy enough that she put me on evenings, Tuesday through Saturday. Not the best schedule for my social life, but exactly what I needed to make money.
Between that and school, Sunday was my only full day off and I planned to enjoy it.
I’d just finished drinking my coffee when I heard the sound of Puck’s motorcycle out in the alley. The night before kept running through my mind. He’d never responded to my apology. Was he still mad? Did it matter? I’d already decided I didn’t want anything to do with him, so why should I even care?
I totally cared.
The bike died, and then I heard the sound of footsteps in the stairwell. Crap. It couldn’t be him. And if it was? What did he want? What should I say? Then he knocked on the door and I couldn’t think anymore at all. I stood slowly, wishing I’d bothered to comb my hair, or at the very least change out of my jammie pants.
It doesn’t matter what you look like, I reminded myself firmly. You aren’t getting involved with him. Snap out of it.
Easier said than done.
I walked over to the door and unlocked it, opening it slowly. Puck stood outside, his face impossible to read. He looked good. Really good. He wore his standard uniform of faded jeans, leather boots, and T-shirt that exposed the partial sleeves of his tattoos. He had on his club colors, too, the dark leather and stark patches reminded me once again just how dangerous he was.
“Puck,” I said. He stepped inside, eyes tracing my face. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, the way he pinned me down with his gaze. Definitely a predator sizing up his prey. Puck was handsome but never pretty and the scar crossing his face was brutal. His entire life was brutal. I knew better than to trust him, yet now that he stood before me, it took everything I had not to touch him. Hold him. Run my fingers through his hair to see if it was still as soft as I remembered it.
He wanted the same thing from me, too. It raged through his eyes. Puck wrapped a hand around the back of my neck, then spoke my name in a hungry growl. “Becca.”
Suddenly his mouth covered mine. My lips parted for his tongue as the world tilted beneath me. I felt his hand slide down the back of my jammies, burrowing deep to cup my ass. My arms went around his neck and any foolish doubts I had disappeared.
This was exactly where I needed to be.
My heart might not be ready for a real relationship with Puck, but my body was 100 percent on board with screwing him. Preferably right now, up against the wall. This was good, because I couldn’t have moved my head if I tried—his fingers held my hair too tight. His hardness pressed into me and when he started walking me backward toward my bedroom, it never occurred to me to protest.
Nothing occurred to me, actually.
Full brain shutdown.
All I felt was him, all I wanted was him. In me, on me, surrounding me. The backs of my knees hit the bed and he pushed me down. Not gently. Nope. Puck covered me with his body, pulling back just enough to study my face. His eyes burned through my soul like coals.
“You want out, say something now,” he gritted, pulling off his leather vest. I shook my head rapidly. He caught the edges of my pants, sliding his fingers inside and jerking them down my legs. Then his hands went to his belt and he ripped it loose. He opened his fly and there he was—fully erect and bigger than I remembered.