We’d pulled away from a truck stop after dinner when Teeny called Friday night. I stared down at my phone, paralyzed.
“What should I do?”
“Answer it,” Puck said. “Tell him that you’re getting him the money—you can say you’re working me for it. Then ask about your mom’s ashes or something. Anything to get him talking. Maybe he’ll give us something we can use.”
Nodding, I answered. “Hello?”
“Becca, I expected to hear from you by now,” my stepfather replied, his voice all smooth and smug. “You make any decisions yet?”
“I’m working on getting the money,” I said, parroting Puck. “Um, there’s this guy . . . We haven’t been together very long. He’s not sure he wants to help me out. I need a little more time to convince him.”
Teeny gave a knowing laugh.
“Little slut.”
I wanted to throw the phone out the truck window. Instead I looked at Puck, all strong and silent next to me. He reached over and gave my leg a squeeze. Just that little touch steadied me.
“I’m doing what it takes,” I told Teeny. “How are you handling things? I would imagine this is kind of crazy . . .”
“Call me when you have the money,” he said, ending the call. So much for pumping him for information. I put down the phone, staring ahead at the yellow stripes splitting the road.
“I take it he didn’t feel like chatting?”
“Nope. He’s all business. Wants his money.”
“It’s not too late,” Puck said.
“Too late for what?”
“To end this,” he replied. “Just walk away. I can still take care of him for you.”
I considered his words—shit was getting real now. Did I really want to kill a man? Would it actually solve anything? The more I turned it over in my head, the more certain I was of my answer.
“I want to look in his eyes and tell him that he’s dying because of me. I want him to beg for mercy and say he’s sorry . . . I want him to cry. Then I’ll shoot him anyway and it’ll be a very good thing.”
“Remind me not to piss you off,” Puck said lightly. I turned to look at him. His eyes stayed fixed on the road, one hand casually draped across the steering wheel. His hair was rumpled, he wore a faded shirt and even more faded jeans, and every inch of him was hard, strong muscle. An inappropriate tendril of lust wound through me.
“You know, it’s really creepy that my mom’s dead and I still want to have sex with you.”
Puck glanced at me.
“Not really,” he said. “When shit falls apart it’s a distraction. Adrenaline does it, too. I never want to fuck more than I do after a good fight.”
“I remember,” I murmured, shivering. He’d been so intense when I’d first met him, tangible hunger in his gaze as he took my hand.
“Don’t worry,” he continued. “No matter how tired we are, when we hit the hotel I’ll find the energy to screw you. You’ll get better sleep that way.”
“That has to be one of the most arrogant things I’ve ever heard you say,” I sputtered. “God, what am I? A chore?”
Puck laughed.
“Love fuckin’ with your head.”
I smacked him. Annoyingly, he didn’t even flinch. Could’ve been a gnat for all he noticed. “You’ll pay for that. Maybe I’ll demand a room with two beds and make you sleep on your own.”
“You don’t get to pick the room,” he said. “I’m paying for it and I want a king-sized bed. But even if you were paying, you’d still be in my bed. That’s how it works, babe. You belong to me now.”
He wasn’t joking.
“When you talk like that it makes me nervous.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve worked really hard to build my own life. I don’t want to hand off control to anyone—and I’m a person, not a thing. You don’t get to own me.”
Puck nodded his head, but didn’t respond. I watched him for long minutes, waiting for something. Finally he flipped on a turn signal. We pulled off the road and he put the truck in park, turning to look at me. His eyes were dead serious, not a hint of smile touching his mouth. Silence filled the truck.
“You need to get this straight, Becca” Puck said slowly. “You’re mine. You seem to think that’s still up for debate—it’s not. I’ve claimed you and the club agreed. That’s how it works in my world. End of story.”
The words cut through me and I felt my blood pressure rise.
“That doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.”
“I’m driving to California to kill a man for you. Are we really arguing about which bed you’re sleeping in?” he asked, leaning toward me. I pulled away but Puck was too fast for me. With a snap, my seat belt came free. Then he caught my neck, jerking me across the seat until our noses all but touched.
“You’re mine. I fought for you five years ago and then I let you go. That was your free pass. Now you’ve invited me back in and I’m here to stay. I’ll kill for you. Die for you, too. But I will not fucking let you go, Becca, and I won’t let you distance yourself, either. Get that straight.”
I shivered, because I could see just how serious he was. It was scary . . . and sexy. That just seemed so wrong—what kind of woman gets off on a threat like that?
Me, apparently.
Puck’s lips found mine, his tongue sweeping along the seam. “Open.”