A bright streak flared across the sky, burning out as suddenly as it appeared. Falling star. What should I wish? Probably for my mom to leave Teeny. What I really wanted, though, was to lean over and kiss Puck.
I was the best he ever had.
“Not all clubs are the same,” Puck said slowly. “Some are better than others. I’m not saying the Bastards are innocent and perfect, but your stepdad is scum and he’d never make it in our territory. We’d take him out. The Longnecks aren’t much of a club, either. Technically they’re still our allies, but we’ve lost all respect for them and they know it. It’s not an excuse for what happened, but I can tell you this—it wouldn’t have gone down like that in Callup. The Silver Bastards don’t rape little girls.”
“You telling me your brothers never share their women?”
“Old ladies and family?” he asked. “Nope, not really our thing. Some club whore wants to fuck five guys, that’s her call. Nobody gonna force her, though. And Boonie wouldn’t put up with some kid being pimped out like you were—no fucking way. We’d end that shit straight up, and we’d end it permanently.”
“I can see that,” I admitted. “I like Darcy. I mean, I don’t know her that well, but when I was trying to decide about beauty school, she took me out for coffee and we talked some. She said if I did a good job, sooner or later she’d make room for me at her day spa.”
“Yeah, Darcy is like that. She’s a good woman. God, this is so fucked up, but you need to know that what your mom and Teeny have? That’s not normal, not for a real club. We like to keep our shit tight. We have to be able to trust our women—when the cops come, they gotta take our backs. You can’t beat someone into loyalty. Doesn’t work that way.”
“It does with the Longnecks.”
“That’ll destroy them, sooner or later. Fear is great, so long as it’s outsiders. Inside the club, we’re about respect, not fear. Otherwise things fall apart. That shit’s a fucking cancer.”
I considered his words. What he said was so different from what I’d experienced for myself, but I could see the truth in it, too. I’d been watching the Bastards for five years now, and he was right. Totally different from the Longnecks, at least so far as I could tell.
“Something to think about,” I murmured, feeling sleepy. A yawn hit me, but I managed to smother it.
“I could use a haircut,” Puck said casually.
“I thought we couldn’t be friends.”
“Sometimes I get pissed and say stupid things.”
I wish I could blame the beer for my answer, but that wouldn’t be fair. The blame for what happened next was squarely on me.
“Okay, then. I guess I could give you a haircut.”
SIX
PUCK
Of the many, many idiotic moves I’d made in my life, this was probably the worst.
I blamed my cock for the decision—I’d spent the night telling myself all the reasons I should ditch her ass, because life is too fucking short. Then I’d jerk off. Then I’d fantasize about killing Collins until I got horny again.
(Yeah, it doesn’t make sense to me, either.)
Now I stood in the center of Becca’s kitchen, studying the tiny apartment I’d last seen right after she moved in. Two years ago, I’d picked the lock and checked it out. Creepy? Probably, but I wanted to be sure she was somewhere safe and decent. The memory of her little girl’s bedroom down in California still haunted me, from the spilled booze on the floor to the sight of my colors hanging next to her school clothes . . .
So fucking wrong.
Not that I’d grown up anywhere decent. Couldn’t even remember my mom, but I’d trailed after Dad and his Silver Bastard brothers like a happy puppy. Hell, there’d always been a woman with open arms and a big heart to feed me. Hanging out in bars wasn’t a conventional childhood but Dad had loved me. No matter what else he fucked up, no matter where we landed, he always had enough extra time for me when I needed him. Things worked out fine so long as we stayed two steps ahead of the law.
I blinked, bringing myself back to reality. Becca’s place was nice—kind of small, with garage sale furniture and secondhand everything. Obviously she’d made all these pillows and throws and shit. Curtains. Hell, I didn’t know how to describe it but it worked. My place felt like somewhere you crashed for the night. Her place felt like a home.
In the corner of the front room was the curved little turret area with her weird, old-fashioned sewing machine. I’d heard all about her sewing from Darcy. Becca was good. Like, really good. Good enough that Darcy hired her to make new “window treatments” (whatever the hell those were) for her business last year, which was really saying something. You could buy those fuckers at Walmart for almost nothing.
Of course, Darcy had a whole explanation about why Becca’s curtains were better than Walmart’s, which I couldn’t follow but totally believed. The shop looked fantastic. Like a magazine.
Becca’s apartment was just about perfect now that she’d had a chance to fix it up. Of course, I’d be happier if the downstairs door locked, but even I had to admit that probably wasn’t a big deal. Nobody in Callup locked their doors, not unless they had things to hide.
My own place had three locks.
“How much do you want taken off?” Becca asked, bustling around and gathering her scissors and shit. What the hell had I been thinking? My hair grew until it got annoying and then I cut it off. It wasn’t annoying right now so it didn’t need a cut. Simple.