She’d grown up so much since the first time I’d met her. Bigger boobs, a nice fullness to her ass that was nowhere close to fat but would be perfect to hold tight while I fucked her. Her lips had plumped, too, and over the years she’d gained a sparkle in her eyes that turned her from pretty to 100 percent spectacular.
Not to mention how she’d tasted.
Nearly blew in my pants when I’d taken that mouth. Just the memory got me hard. Make that harder. Fucking basket case.
When I’d pulled up to find her sitting outside with Collins, a thousand murder scenarios ran through my mind. And yeah, I know I covered that already, but if anything ever deserved emphasis, this was it. Collins needed to die. I didn’t care how nice he was. After that I’d throw Becca on the back of my bike and make a run for the hills . . .
Okay, so there were a few problems with the plan, the top one being she hated me. Or she should—I’d certainly given her cause. Boonie nudged me.
“Did I mention you’re pathetic? You want her, take her. Otherwise let it go because you’re an embarrassment to all men in general and to the Silver Bastards in particular.”
“She’s scared shitless of me,” I pointed out.
“She used to be,” he acknowledged. “But yesterday she threw herself into a fight when she thought you needed help. When shit got real, she didn’t run. She got pissed—I admire that. Stop being a fucking pussy.”
I didn’t respond, because this wasn’t a conversation I wanted to continue. Nosy fucker that he was, Boonie couldn’t let it go. Instead he caught her eye and waved her over.
“What can I do for you?” she asked brightly. Not to me. Of course not to me. If she ignored me any harder, she’d strain something.
“A round for the table,” Boonie replied. “Then we’re gonna want some privacy.”
“Sure thing,” she replied, understanding flickering in her eyes, reminding me just how well Becca knew the life. Or at least, how well she knew one fucked-up, sick little corner of our world . . . She started back to the bar, detouring when the group of students started yelling at her for service. I tensed, but Boonie caught my arm.
“You can’t be around to protect her all the time,” he said. “They’re just being little pricks. Won’t be the first or last time she’ll have to handle that type. Unless you plan to claim her and take her away from all this?”
I flipped him off and he laughed. One of the students stood up and lurched toward the bathrooms, pulling a blonde girl behind him. He was tall, with the smooth look of a spoiled preppy twat. All dark, floppy hair and standard-issue tribal tattoos because clearly he couldn’t think of anything better to put on his skin.
Fucking pussy. His little girlfriend giggled and shot glances back toward the rest of the kids, clearly scandalized and full of excitement that they were sneaking off together. He probably had a new one every night, or he would if he wasn’t trapped up at that school for cockwads too rich to wipe their own assholes.
The diamonds sparkling on the bitch’s ears were real. I’d bet my bike on it.
Becca would look real pretty wearing earrings like that . . . Although if I owned her she’d never find out—just one more reason to stay the fuck away.
She came back with our drinks, handing them around the table. When she turned to go, Boonie stuck his leg out and she tripped right into me. I caught her, of course. Her body was soft and she smelled good, like flowers or something. Flowers and mint? Fuck if I knew—made me want to eat her, though. Memories flooded me, everything from the sweet, salty taste of her cunt to the noises she’d made when she came. Heat shot through my cock as she pulled away, glaring at us.
“Thanks, asshole,” I muttered at Boonie, but I didn’t say it to his face—too busy watching Becca strut off toward the bar. I was so busy perving on her ass that I almost missed what happened next. The blonde girl stumbled out of the back hallway, hair rumpled and lipstick worn off. Thirty seconds later the preppy asshole followed, his shirt pulled loose and a satisfied smirk on his face. None of this would’ve been noteworthy if he hadn’t lurched straight into our table.
“Fuck off,” Deep muttered, but the kid straightened and I realized he wasn’t drunk at all. He might be carrying himself that way, but his eyes were sharp and speculative. Interesting.
“Brought your money,” he murmured. “Shane said you’d have something for me. Outside in ten.”
Seconds later he was off again, stumbling and laughing at his friends. Boonie’s face stayed completely neutral, but when he reached for his drink and took a long pull, I sensed smug satisfaction.
“What was that about?” Deep asked.
“Little project I’ve been working on,” Boonie said. “We’ll cover everything at church. Wasn’t sure he’d pull through, consider this something of a test.”
“Who? That little prick?” Deep asked.
“That little prick’s dad was a contract killer for the Irish mob,” Boonie said. I raised an eyebrow.
“No shit?” I asked. “What the fuck is he doing here?”
“Trying to stay alive,” Boonie answered. “Or rather, he’s protecting the one trying to stay alive. Shane McDonogh, who used to be a genuine mob prince. His mom, Christina, married Jamie Callaghan. Raised him down in Vegas. Nobody knows for sure who his father was.”
Interesting. Even I knew the McDonoghs had owned the Laughing Tess for five generations. Five violent, angry generations where the miners, the union, and the McDonoghs had fought with one another for control of the valley.