Hayes pointed to eight men in turn, including my best friend. “We’ll start sending you in around noon, one at a time. Drink slow. Don’t sit together, talk, nothing. If they spot one of you, the others ignore it unless you get a sign, got me? We’ll coordinate from outside using your reports, send a text right before we go in. That work?”

The room filled with grunts of agreement.

“We’ll have those selected stick around for a few, make sure we’ve got it figured out,” Boonie said. “The rest of you can go back out and enjoy some of our hospitality. Some of the local ladies have been working hard to provide you with food and entertainment, so don’t be afraid to take advantage. Anyone needs a place to stay tonight, let me know. We’ll get you fixed up.”

Just like that it was over. I walked out of the room, down the hall, and out into the main room. We’d taken over an old bar a few years back after it went under. Real estate was cheap in the valley and the place made a hell of a clubhouse. We’d fenced in the back with six-foot chain-link topped with razor wire. Throw in a fire pit, music, and Darcy’s flare for smacking down drama? The place was almost perfect.

The only thing missing was Becca.

I passed through the door and nodded at the prospect watching over the bikes, throwing a leg over my Harley. It was time to go grab my woman.

ELEVEN

BECCA

It was nearly nine before Puck knocked at the door. He’d told me he might be a little late, but for some reason around eight I’d become convinced that he’d changed his mind—that this whole thing had been some sort of weird, crazy dream.

Given how unsure I was of things between us, you’d think that would have made me feel better. Instead it felt like a cancer eating at my gut. I wanted him. Bad. Not just in the sack, either. I just liked the thought of his big frame standing in my door, all solid and sexy and mine.

I’d long since finished getting ready and was sitting in front of my Singer when he finally showed up. I’d had a couple drinks by then, because despite the whole “want bad” thing, I was still a little nervous about my first biker party in five years. I decided that uncertainty was a good enough excuse to throw myself at him through the open door. Puck didn’t blink, just caught me and started kissing me, letting me know powerfully and without words that he was happy to see me, too.

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.”