“Now I can burp and fart around you.”
I wrinkled my nose and Joe laughed. “Should get back home. I have to be up early.”
“Take care,” I told him.
Joe winked at me, then turned and walked out the door. Puck still stood there, watching it all, and the darkness in his expression made me shiver.
It wasn’t a shiver of fear.
“You’re pathetic,” Boonie declared, smirking at me. We’d taken one of the high tables in the back of the Moose, which made it easy to keep an eye on the whole place. Collins was gone. Good thing, too. When he’d put his arm around Becca my blood pressure exploded. Found myself fingering the gun in my pocket. Boonie seemed to think this was funny, the cocksucker. “You want her, take her.”
“Yeah, ’cause it’s that simple.”
He snorted, exchanging looks with Deep and Demon. Deep shrugged.
“If you’re a real man, you’ll do what needs to be done,” he muttered, reaching for his beer.
“Sort of like what you’re doing with Carlie?” I asked him, raising a brow. “Couldn’t help but notice whose bed she wasn’t in last night.”
Deep’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, but Demon elbowed him in the ribs. Hard. The two were Irish twins—born ten months apart—and I’d never seen brothers who enjoyed fighting with each other more.
“He’s right,” Demon said. “Shut your fuckin’ mouth.”
“This is nice,” Boonie announced. “We should do this more often, don’t you think?”
Ignoring him, I settled back on my stool and surveyed the room. We sat in Becca’s section, and what I saw wasn’t making me happy. I knew she was a good waitress, but she’d just started here and it showed. Not only had she fucked up several orders, she didn’t quite seem to get the rhythm of the bar. That wasn’t my problem, though.
My problem was that despite these fuckups, nobody seemed to mind. I had a nasty suspicion this was due to her perky tits, friendly smile, and tight little ass that seriously just needed a bite taken right out of it.
She really, really needed to get a new job—every man in the place wanted her. Including me. Especially me. I hated them. All of them. I shifted uncomfortably, because just like every time I shared a room with her, my pants had gotten tight.
Torture. Becca was just so fucking fine on every level, and not just her looks. There was something about the way she carried herself . . . I couldn’t put my finger on it. Like she was dancing through life to some song nobody else could hear. Never met another woman like her—she wasn’t just sexy, she was a survivor and I admired that.
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.