By the time we came up to breathe, I’d forgotten all about the party. I just wanted to drag Puck back into the bedroom and go at it like a couple of animals.
“Settle down,” he murmured, cupping my cheeks with his palms. “You know I’m all about the thrust and repeat, but tonight I want to show you off. You’re special, babe. Want them to see it for themselves.”
His words warmed me all the way through, so I didn’t protest too much. Instead I grabbed a lightweight jacket and followed him out the door, hoping he was right about me. I’d been torn about what to wear—I knew we’d be riding his bike, so that limited my options. Still wanted to look good for his friends, though.
Thank God for Danielle.
I’d gotten home from school at five to find her waiting for me inside (she had a key of course). Spread out across my couch were seven different options, ranging from “biker whore fantasy” to “Sunday school teacher visits the club.” I’d gone for a middle option—“biker slut dresses for church.” Or maybe it was “church lady wants to get laid”?
It’s a fine line.
Thus I found myself wearing tightly fitted skinny jeans low on my hips, with dark black boots that were stylish but functional. They had a nice heel and black lacing up the back. Combined with the jeans, they made my legs look long and slender, but also promised to protect me from the Harley pipes. They had the additional benefit of covering a lot of skin while still screaming sex. Anyone trying to cop a feel would get a handful of denim.
Up top we took a different approach. Danielle put me in a black tank top with a scooped neck that showed off my boobs. She’d wanted me to tug it down to show the top of my bra, which I decided was too much. We compromised by putting me into a beautiful red bra with black lace, just in case the shirt dipped on its own. It was sexy as hell but still decent. My shoulders were bare and she braided my hair back.
Then I threw on some smoky eye makeup and dark plum lipstick. Shazam. Now I felt sexy and comfortable without being half naked.
Puck obviously agreed, because when we stepped out into the alley, he turned and pushed me up against the wall, kissing me again. My arms went around his neck and I felt his cock grinding into me through our clothes. When we broke free, gasping for air, I found myself pleading with him. “Let’s blow off the party and go back upstairs. Just you and me.”
Puck stilled, then pulled back to frown at me.
“You don’t have to be scared, Becca,” he said. “Hell, you know most of the club already. Darcy will be there, and probably Carlie. We’ve got some of the Reapers over, too, and Painter. These aren’t scary strangers, babe.”
Unfortunately, the first thing that popped out of my mouth was a little too revealing.
“Carlie is not one of my friends.”
“Jealous?” Puck whispered, kissing the side of my neck. Hell yes, I was jealous.
“Like I care who you’ve been with.”
Puck’s face darkened. “I care who you’ve been with. I used to lie in bed thinking about it. Whether you were fucking someone, how he made you feel. If he’d hurt you. I didn’t want you falling for anyone and I hated the thought of anyone bothering you. Couldn’t make up my mind which idea I hated most—you alone and unhappy or with some asshole enjoying life.”
“I might’ve been a little jealous of Carlie,” I admitted.
“We keep this crap up, we’ll miss the party.”
“It’s not that late,” I protested, surprised.
“Yeah, but it’s a Wednesday night and I’ve got shit to deal with tomorrow,” he said. “Club business. We usually get together on Wednesdays, but a lot of the guys have to work on Thursday. It’s over by midnight.”
As he pulled me toward his bike, something he said stuck in my head. Something I’d been wondering about.
“Puck, what do you do for a living?”
He stilled, then turned to me.
“Why would you ask that?” His voice was soft, but his tone was harsh. Suddenly Scary Puck was back—so different from the man I’d seen over the past couple of days. How did he switch off modes so fast, and which was the real man?
“Everyone has to pay the bills,” I continued, my voice quiet. “I wait tables. Blake tends bar. Joe works in the mine. What am I getting into with you?”
“You know I can’t answer that,” he said, his tone still harsh but a hint of compassion in his eyes. “You grew up around a club. I’ve never pretended to be something I’m not.”
“You said the Silver Bastards were different.”
His lips twitched in what was supposed to be a smile.
“Not that different. C’mon. Let’s go.”
—
The clubhouse was only ten minutes away—an old bar just outside of town. I’d driven by a thousand times, of course, but I’d never been inside. It was known for wild parties. Once or twice before every election, the sheriff would raid it—I’d always wondered why nobody got arrested. Then one day Blake filled me in.
The sheriff did the least he could to appease the county commissioners, and not one thing more. According to Blake, the commissioners didn’t care for the club one bit. At the sheriff’s department they were a little more pragmatic. With the club in charge, the “criminal element” was somewhat contained and self-policed. That kept down crime overall, which was what really mattered.
I suspected there were strategic payoffs in place, too. Seemed like there’d been some hefty anonymous donations to the law enforcement benefit fund each year that nobody wanted to talk about.