The system worked.
I hopped off Puck’s bike and helped him back it into the line of Harleys. Things were so familiar and so foreign at the same time. Three prospects lingered outside, two Silver Bastards and one Reaper. They avoided staring at me. I’d gone to high school with one of them.
There had always been prospects hanging around the Longnecks, too.
Suddenly I wished I’d had a little more to drink, because I was alarmingly sober. Loud music poured from the bar, and when Puck wrapped an arm around my neck and started toward the building my feet didn’t want to move.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, giving me a squeeze. “Remember, these are my brothers. They’re the same people who saved you. They’ll protect you and so will I. This should be easy—you already know all the rules. I’ve seen how hard it is for girls coming into the life. You’re way ahead of them.”
I nodded, hoping it was true. Closing my eyes, I took in his scent with the predictable response. My nipples tightened, my thighs felt restless, and when he slid a hand down to my ass for a quick squeeze, suddenly my world was full of color.
“I’m ready,” I whispered.
—
The party wasn’t what I’d expected—for one thing, it wasn’t nearly crazy enough. When I thought of MC parties, I thought of strippers hanging from the ceiling, rivers of booze, and people shooting up everywhere. The Longnecks were trashy, loud, and always fucked up on something. Make that fucked up on everything.
Intellectually I knew the Reapers and Silver Bastards were somewhat different. The Bastards partied, of course—that’s how it all started—but they were also more functional and less brutish. Less of a gang and more of a unit.
I couldn’t miss the difference tonight.
Were people drinking? Yes, no question. And there were girls wandering around showing plenty of skin. It wasn’t a free-for-all, though. There was an air of purpose, and the men weren’t getting particularly drunk. They formed small clumps, Reapers and Silver Bastards talking quietly. What the hell kind of party was this?
Fuck. Something big was up.
I wrapped my arms around Puck, and squeezed in close to whisper in his ear.
“You sure you’re busy tomorrow? I’m thinking of going in to school late . . .”
“Sorry, babe,” he replied absently. “I’ve got shit to do.”
Crap crap crappity.
They were planning something, probably something bad. I’d felt this kind of tension in a club too many times not to spot it. Puck would be in danger tomorrow and I couldn’t know any of the details. He might die. That was the way of this world and I’d sworn I’d never let myself get drawn back into it, yet here I was.
And I was here, no question. If I’d doubted that before, I couldn’t deny the truth any longer. If something bad happened to Puck tomorrow, it might kill me.
I’d fallen for the asshole—like mother, like daughter.
“Painter, you know Becca,” Puck said, snapping me out of my dark thoughts. I looked up to see the tall, lean biker with the chiseled face and spiky blond hair that I’d first met at Teeny’s house. I knew he’d spent more than a year in jail with Puck. Now they were best friends. The man gave of an aura of scariness that couldn’t be denied, so I forced myself to ignore it.
All the men in Puck’s world were scary. Time to pull myself together and deal with it.
“Good to see you again,” I said, deciding to face my history head-on. “I don’t think I ever thanked you for California. Hope you won’t hold it against me.”
He nodded his head, eyes assessing. I hadn’t been able to read him back then and I couldn’t read him now. He didn’t seem overtly hostile. That had to be a good sign.
“So you’re Puck’s property now?” he asked. “Interesting. You’ll take good care of him.”
I smiled nervously, because his words weren’t exactly comforting. One, I’d never agreed to be Puck’s property, yet obviously he’d told the clubs otherwise. Two, the “you’ll take good care of him” hadn’t been a question or an encouragement. More like a threat. I’d take care of Puck or Painter would take care of me. Obviously he didn’t fuck around when it came to his friends.
That was a good thing, I decided. Tomorrow they’d be in danger—I wanted someone strong at Puck’s back.
“You’ll take good care of him, too,” I said, smiling at Painter. “That’s what brothers are for, right?”
His eyes widened, and I got the impression I’d surprised him. Good. I wasn’t the same little girl he’d met five years ago, and he needed to know it.
Puck gave a laugh, smacking my butt again.
“You want a drink?” he asked. I nodded, wishing Painter would stop staring at me. “Over here.”
We moved toward the bar, which was manned by yet another prospect. How many of those guys did they have, anyway? I’d never really learned how many Silver Bastards there were in Callup. They seemed to sort of rotate in and out, which made keeping track of them harder.
Probably not an accident.
A minute later I held a beer as I followed Puck across the room toward Boonie and the man I recognized as the Reapers’ president. He was old enough to be my father, but still strong and sort of sexy in a weird way. He’d had a funny name . . .
“Pic, this is Becca,” Puck said. “She’s with me now.”
Picnic Hayes. That was it. I smiled at him, wishing I’d chugged the beer already. Seeing him made me think of the Longnecks and our crazy ride north.