Puck's Property E-Book

Monique Moreau

• Herausgeber: Moreau Imprint
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

A lonely social worker. A biker behind bars. Can their red-hot passion set them free? 

 Ava 

What if your first love was your one true love?

Eight years ago, Puck broke Ava's heart. She picked up the pieces, patched them together, and kept going. Yet she never forgot him. When Puck saunters through her office, she’s shocked to find a brawny, tatted-up biker dressed in an orange jumpsuit with the word INMATE stamped on the back. 

Puck  

What if you rediscover the passion you carelessly threw away in your youth? For Puck, the only good thing about his trip to the jailhouse social worker was finding Ava again. All grown up, she looks luscious. He bet she tasted even better than she looked. 

Breaking up seemed like the right thing to do at the time, but no other woman could replace Ava. Fate brought them together again and Puck wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Ava was his property and he’d bring her to heel—no matter what it took. If that included a little blackmail, so be it. A biker never won by playing fair. 

But what happens in jail doesn't always stay in jail when dark forces conspire to divert destiny and tear these lovers apart. Will their love survive a second trial?

Leseprobe

PUCK’S PROPERTY

A BAD BOY BIKER ROMANCE

MONIQUE MOREAU

CONTENTS

Copyright

Meet Monique!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

More by Monique Moreau

Acknowledgments

Copyright © 2021 by Monique Moreau

All rights reserved.

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used factiously. Any resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design by Cover Couture

www.bookcovercouture.com

Photo (c) Lindee Robinson Photography

MEET MONIQUE!

Join Monique’s Newsletter (and receive goodies and release information)

https://www.subscribepage.com/moniquemoreau

Join Monique’s special reader’s group

Possessive Alpha Reads

Like her Facebook Page

facebook.com/monique.moreau.books

Follow her on Book Bub

http://bit.ly/MoniqueBookBub

Learn all about Monique’s books

moniquemoreau.com

1

Puck threw down a card on the chipped tabletop. Glancing up at the icicles hanging down from the barred windows of Duchess County Jail, he swore under his breath. Fuck, what a way to start the new year. He shifted on the hard bench, bolted to the dusty cement floor. His eyes crawled down the peeling paint of the cinder block wall and skated over the heads of the inmates in the housing unit. He had to get the hell out of here. And fast.

He’d almost blown a fucking gasket after seeing Sammi in court, at his arraignment earlier that morning. She generally disobeyed him, driving him insane with her antics, but that straight-up pissed him off. He’d thrown Sage, his lawyer, a mean look before losing his shit and getting carted away by the guards. Hadn’t he explicitly told her to keep Sammi out of the courtroom? He didn’t want his baby sister seeing him in cuffs. But she was tenacious and stubborn as fuck, so he shouldn’t have been surprised that she flouted a direct order.

The thought of his little sister brought his gut roiling to a high boil. At the age of twenty-one, the girl had never been left alone a day in her life. Having raised her since she was thirteen, nothing could stop him from protecting his kid sister. Nothing until now, that is. Being behind bars limited a man’s options.

After his outburst, he was bundled into a van, musty with stale body odor, and thrown back in gen pop, the recent term he’d learned for the general population of inmates. Smacking another card down on the ugly-ass table the color of puke, Puck lifted his head when he heard the unit door clang open. Who the fuck should waltz in like the asshole he was but Whistle, his Squad brother.

Shooting him a wide grin, Whistle shifted the thin plastic sleeping pad over his shoulder and followed the correctional officer’s finger toward a cell. He adjusted the bundle of bedding in his arm and ducked past the steel-plate door of the enclosure.

The brother got his ass thrown in jail to keep him company. Christ. The boy followed him like a goddamn puppy, giving Puck the added burden of watching out for him. If anyone had impulse-control issues, hell, that would be Whistle. Besides…his pretty-boy looks would get under some fucker’s skin up in this joint. That face was a brawl waiting to happen.

Five minutes later, Whistle crossed the expanse of the housing unit and took a seat beside Puck, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Concentration shattered for good, Puck threw down a random card with a grunt. “What in the fuck are you doing here?” he asked testily.

Whistle’s face fell so fast it was almost funny. Almost. Shrugging sheepishly, he bowed his head and mumbled, “Got arrested. Fightin’.”

Angling his head, Puck side-eyed him. “Again?”

Whistle gave an embarrassed shrug. Shaking his head, Puck let out a sigh. The same age as Sammi, Whistle was a hot mess of a brother. Patched in by the skin of his teeth. Loyal as a bulldog, he liked to act dumb as fuck. At his age, Puck was bustin’ his ass. Prospecting, working a shit job, and keeping a sharp eye on Sammi. He’d barely slept for two years. His gaze swept over Whistle critically. He seriously doubted the boy would survive in the world alone. Puppy-dog or not, though, now that he’d patched in, he was as good as blood.

Crumbling his cards in his fist, he slammed them down on the metal table with a loud smack and declared, “I’m out.” The men he played with gave him chin lifts of recognition as he got up from the table with a tilt his head, a silent command for Whistle to follow.

Walking to a deserted corner of the large space where men milled around, played cards, and basically wasted their time away, he propped his shoulder against a wall and asked, “What the fuck happened?”

“Had to keep you company,” Whistle admitted serenely.

Puck gritted his teeth. “Christ, Whistle, I’m a grown-ass man. I don’t need a keeper in here, watching my back. There aren’t any brothers from other clubs and everyone else is scared enough not to fuck with me.”

“It’s your first rodeo in this place, but I’ve been here seven times. I know how it works and who’s who. I can help. Everyone needs someone at their back. Even you. I’ll be out soon, but I can be an extra pair of eyes for the next couple weeks. Told Sage why I did what I did. She was mad as hell, but she promised to take things slow on her end.”

“Motherfucker, are you insane? It’ll be my job to watch out for you. You’re making my life harder here.”

“Nah, I’m good in jail. I know how to play the system.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Puck looked at him dubiously. Whistle nodded in response. “It’s the truth. I know the COs, the correctional officers. They haven’t changed much since the last time I was in here.”

Scrubbing the bristles on his jaw, Puck cursed softly. “Christ, you’re a pain in my ass.”

※※※

Whistle was up ahead of Puck, with his tray of food in the chow hall. The beige-colored cinder block walls, fake-wood Formica tabletops, and green-painted doors were what passed as decoration in this cesspit. Puck grabbed a still-wet flexible tray from a stack, a spork from the wire basket for utensils, and took the plate of slop handed to him by an inmate dishing out food from a huge tray of steaming chili. Moving down the line, he scooped up a small bowl of what might or might not be mashed potatoes.

His eyes flicked up, passing over several men in front of him, and zeroed in on Whistle. The kid was talking to a monstrosity of a man. Shaved head. Big and powerful, the guy flexed his shoulders as he said something to Whistle. The kid tensed and growled back. He spoke too low for Puck to hear, but he’d seen enough in this cage to know a “heart check” when he saw one. It was an established inmate’s way of testing a newbie.

Without hesitating, Puck clenched the spork in his fist, flew past the men in front of him, and landed a fist in the monster’s chest. The spork crushed against his pecs, but no matter. Shaking off the splintered plastic, Puck balled his fist and slammed a left hook against the fucker’s cheek. The familiar sound of crushed bone sounded in the now-silent chow hall, followed by a howl.

Pain radiated up Puck’s arm, vibrating like a tuning fork. A crescendo of sounds exploded as trays and plates clattered to the cement floor and inmates flocked to the fight, surrounding Puck and the monster in a tight circle.

A chant began.

Cu-jo. Cu-jo. Cu-jo.

Great, just his luck. The bastard was named after a rabid dog.

Shouts from the COs rang off the high ceilings.

Back teeth grinding, Puck didn’t have much time before the COs would swoop in to break them up. From his side, he saw Whistle busy fighting another man. At least that man was about his size. Whistle let out a whoop. The idiot was fucking enjoying himself.

Adrenaline pumped in Puck’s bloodstream as the monster he was struggling with grabbed him by the throat and slammed him down on the cement floor. Oomph! Pain crashed against his skull and down his spine. Ten fingers tightened around his throat. Fshh. He gasped for air through the crushing of his windpipe. Twisting and writhing on the floor, Puck tore at the fingers around his throat, but to no avail. His eyes burned like a motherfucker, his face flushed, and his chest was about to explode. Black crowded the edges of his vision.

Giving up on the fingers, he jammed his thumbs into the inmate’s eye sockets. The cocksucker expelled a tortured gahhh and pulled back, giving Puck the chance to wedge his forearm against the guy’s throat. With enough leverage, Puck loosened the hold on his own throat. With wheezes and snorts, they were locked in a battle for survival. Puck jabbed his elbow in the bastard’s face. With a grunt, he slid off one of Puck’s legs, freeing it. Instantly taking advantage, Puck kneed the motherfucker in the nuts. A yelp of pain screeched in his ear.

Before he could do more, the fingers wrapped around his windpipe were pried off. An instant later, the asshole’s weight was off him. Blinking up, Puck massaged his neck muscles as he heaved in a deep breath and swallowed around the burn of his throat.

COs had their hands all over him, hauling him to his feet. His swaying body was yanked around, and manacles were clicked around his wrists.

“Motherfucker! You’re a dead man,” the big guy yelled from over the shoulders of the COs circled around him as they shoved him toward the exit.

Taking in gulps of air, Puck’s gaze found Whistle, who was being taken away as well. Twisting his head over his shoulder, Whistle mouthed thanks, brother. Puck gave him a chin lift and a wink. Blood dripped from Whistle’s nose and the side of his face. He shook his head and laughed before he got shoved hard in the back by a female CO’s baton.

“Not even two fucking days and already in a fight? You a troublemaker, boy,” the CO barked as he tightened the cuffs on him. The circulation to his wrists was cut off, but, hey, at least he could breathe again.

2

Ava parked her bright orange compact Nissan near the front entrance of her father’s Harley Davidson dealership for her weekly outing with Kat. Having been born in the bosom of the Renegades MC, her little sister derided her Nissan as “the Clementine.” She was here to see said bratty sister for their long-standing Saturday afternoon date. Since Kat spent as much time at the dealership as she did at home, it was a natural meeting point.

Stepping into the shop, Ava inhaled and then released a simple, quiet breath. The one downside of meeting Kat here was the risk of bumping into her father. Seventeen years after he’d dumped her and her mom to go off with a biker chick, a needle pricked her heart whenever she saw him. She loved him. Of course she did…but his serial cheating had changed the course of her life at the ripe old age of twelve. Although she’d made the best of it—like her relationship with Kat—she couldn’t let go of how he’d ruined her childhood with his betrayal.

Stomping the residual dust of snow off her sturdy leather boots, Ava took in the place. She may be ambivalent about her father, but she loved the shop. The dealership was literally as large as a church. The vaulted ceiling was made of cherrywood, and broad windows graced the four walls, blazing with bright sunlight. It was as ostentatious as a cathedral, only with Harley Davidson posters and emblems adorning the walls in the place of saints. A hundred bikes in perfect rows, like pews, displayed the popular Softail, the Sportster, the Touring, and the Street lines.

Strolling past the bikes to her left, her hand caressed the handlebars. Riding was the one aspect of bikers that she had no reservations about. Once upon a time, when her life had been free, she’d ridden a Sportster 883 Super-Low. She’d owned a refurbished one that her father had gotten her, one of the few gifts she’d accepted from him. It felt like a lifetime ago.

“So, when are you going to buy one?” a feminine voice came from behind. Ava whirled around and smirked at her sister, who had her arms folded across her budding chest and her hip cocked out to one side. Sassy. Ava always took a moment to herself to enjoy the bikes when stepping into the shop, and her sister almost always stomped on her little moment of peace.

“When you turn eighteen and can ride along with me.”

Re-crossing her arms, the girl tapped her toes and hmphed. “This isn’t about me. You should get one for yourself.” Oh, but she was getting a tad too big for her panties, this one.

“You get a few piercings and you think you’re a badass. How many are there, hmmm?” Ava counted off as she flicked gently at the teenager’s eyebrow, nose, and lip. “Only three, but you’re already rude as can be.”

Face bright and open, the girl flung a wave of blue hair over her shoulder and gave Ava a fake punch. Grabbing her fist, Ava scooped her up and swung her around in her arms.

“Ava!” she shrieked. “Put me down before I scratch your eyes out. I’m too big for this!”

Ava dropped her to her feet, arched an eyebrow, and swatted away the teenager’s pointed, manicured nails.

“What your father lets you get away with,” she said with a soft shake of her head.

Kat’s lips pursed up in a little moue. “He’s your father, too.”

When he became a single dad, Ava had stepped up and they’d essentially co-parented Kat for the past seven years. She sometimes envied her sister’s easy camaraderie with their father. Meanwhile, her relationship with him was either distant or strumming with underlying tension, punctuated by rare moments of appreciation. He was the cause of some of the worst times of her life, but he’d also showed up to take care of her bills for rehab and college. Expenses her single mom could’ve never swung on her own the way he did. And he’d done it without recrimination or complaint. She begrudgingly respected him for that.

Breaking through her thoughts, Kat announced, “Hey, I wanna show you the new ones that came in.”

“What’s the rule when I come through the door, Kat?”

Her bottom lip jutted out in a disgruntled pout. “I leave you alone.”

Ava might be torn about her father and keep the brothers of his club at a distance, but bikes? No need to cut off her nose to spite her face.

“You make me sound like a monster. Girl, I’m going to take a little time for myself and meet up with you at the counter.”

“I want to go with you,” her sister whined. Ava reached out and stroked back a rogue wave of electric-blue hair. Her dad may indulge her, but it didn’t make up for her lack of a mom.

“I need a breather, sweetie. Give me a little bit of time—”

“Kat!” a baritone voice rang from out of an office behind the counter.

The girl’s chin dropped to her chest, and she groaned. “Fantastic. He’s found me.”

Ava rolled her lips inward and stifled a chuckle. “Go on. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”

Escaping, she zigzagged through aisles until she reached the secluded back and ended up near the 48s. She caressed a line of them. The big, fat front tire, the gleaming chrome, the Harley logo branded on the tank. She slipped onto one in a natural riding position. Closing her eyes, she was on a country road, her thighs vibrating from the motor, butt soaking up the bumps. The shocks on this model were nonexistent, but no matter. She liked a rougher ride, the way the engine opened up with a loud rumbling that reverberated through her core.

The only time she let herself go, the only time she felt free, was when she rode. Although she rarely had the time nowadays, riding was freedom from worries, emotions…everything. Bowing her head, she strained against the shoulders of her jacket. Remember, freedom and lack of rules haven’t been your friends.

Hopping off, Ava paced away from the bikes and toward the front, where Kat waited impatiently. Chatting and joking with Kat, Ava gathered up her belongings and was halfway to the door when a massive hand wrapped around her upper arm. “Ava.”

She stilled and blinked down at the four-inch-wide fingers banded over her skin. She sucked in her stomach. Dad. He rarely made an appearance on the floor.

“Get back here soon, y’hear?”

His hand quickly slipped away, but her gaze remained on where his fingers had been. He was rarely demonstrative. It simply wasn’t their way.

Peering up at him with a frown, she mumbled, “Yeah, okay.”

She’d come for a dose of solace, but there was always a tightrope of tension between them. Circling an arm around Kat’s shoulder, she inhaled the sweet scent of bubblegum lip gloss. It settled her frazzled nerves.

Outside, in the crisp winter air, she released the girl’s body and clicked her fob to open the car doors. “Come on, let’s get some bubble tea.”

3

A CO pulled Puck out of the hole, snapped cuffs on him, and walked him over to see the social worker, where he was supposed to “talk” about the fight. For fuck’s sake, he didn’t know what was worse: being locked up or forced to talk to a shrink. Sure, he was glad to be out of solitary. He’d been dealing with heart palpitations, lying on the plastic-covered cot that crackled every time he moved when the lock to his cell disengaged. He swiped a few beads of perspiration along his hairline with the thumbs of his shackled hands as the CO knocked on the closed door. A muffled voice instructed them to come in. The officer pushed the door open for him, and he sauntered in, ready to get this bullshit over with, when his feet froze in their place.

His breath caught in his throat.

Ava.

Motherfucker.

Sitting behind the desk, one hand primly laying on top of the other, she raised her gaze to his. Wide hazel eyes went round, and her mouth parted slightly. Her dark mahogany hair cascaded down the sides of her face, much longer than when he’d last seen her. Eight long years ago. She wore a brown plaid suit jacket that engulfed her slim form, but she had the same build. Who could forget a tall, lithe body like hers? Or her high, round tits topped with delicious berry-tasting nipples?

His head cocked to the side as he observed her carefully. She’d always been the hippest person in a room, but her suit was…drab. Where was the party girl dressed in sexy little dresses, stripping nude any chance she got? Cocky, arrogant, sassy. Here, she was dressed in an androgynous suit that didn’t flatter of her slim figure, with her subtle but definite curves. Her hair was the only sign of her femininity.

A frown creased his forehead. This woman had no laugh lines around her big eyes or her lush, sensual lips. The glint of mischievousness and humor was gone from her large doll-like eyes. Instead, they stared out at him, serious and grave.

“Ava?” he questioned.

She jerked slightly; calling her name had pulled her out of her own reverie. Instantly, her eyes shuttered, changing the color of her irises and sealing off the windows to her soul.

Officer Dipshit, as Puck had coined him, handed her his file and said, “You know this inmate? He just got into a fight. Want me to stay?”

“No, I’ll be fine, Derick,” she mumbled. “He’s a kid from my old neighborhood.”

Derick? His eyes swung to the CO and then back to her. She’s on a first-name basis with this jackass? Guess it was to be expected since they worked in the same facility. Still, Puck didn’t like it. He didn’t like the man or his proprietary manner.

Eyes roving over her, the CO asked, “You sure?”

Dipshit was checking her out. Oh, hell no. Fucking NO.

She tilted her chin toward Puck’s hands in cuffs. “I’ll be fine. Would you please uncuff him?”

Dipshit looked at her hesitantly.

“I know Mr. Rossi, Derick. Come back in thirty minutes to take him back to his cell.”

Damn, the husky tone of her voice had always turned him on. Apparently, today was no exception.

Dipshit continued to hesitate.

“We don’t have another social worker available. Until the county allocates enough funds to pay for a second social worker, we don’t have a choice. God knows we need one,” she muttered.

Officer Derick Dipshit pressed his hand on Puck’s shoulder. His muscles tensed with the urge to resist, but he wasn’t going to fuck up his one chance at seeing Ava. Even though he’d recuperated fast, he was still reeling from the shock.

His eyes roamed over the room for other clues about her. What she lacked in personal appearance she more than made up for on her walls. One was plastered with motivational posters in soft pastels, calling for compassion, feelings, and promising confidentiality. There were knickknacks scattered on her desk, on the low bookshelf behind her, and on the institutional filing cabinet against one wall. A large dream catcher hung above her head, facing him. Christ, if only it’d catch the bad dreams that plagued him at night in this hellhole.

Under Ava’s watchful gaze, he consciously relaxed his body and allowed himself to be pressed down into the seat facing her.

“Behave yourself,” the officer tossed out before leaving and softly shutting the door behind him.

Asshole. He wasn’t a fucking kid, and he sure as hell didn’t hurt women.

His gaze returned to Ava. Damn, she was as stunning as ever. There was her long hair, which he knew glittered red in the sunlight, her multicolored eyes, and her lush, plump lips. He knew what it felt like to have those lips pressed against his. Or wrapped around his dick. Fuck, he was getting hard, thinking about it. Sex with Ava had been spiritual, and it wasn’t because they’d been high half the time. It was phenomenal no matter what they’d drank, smoked, or snorted. Hell, stone-cold sober and fucking her brought him to the highest of heights. Their bond just was, like the sun rising at dawn or setting at dusk. Like the turn of the seasons. Their lovemaking had been a phenomenon, like the Northern Lights. That’s what fucking Ava was like. Spectacular. One of a kind.

It’s the reason he didn’t have an old lady, a baby mama, or even a steady fuck. After he broke up with her, he’d kept tabs on her for years. Many a time, he’d been tempted to show up on her doorstep after he got his head on straight. In the end, he decided it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. Did he regret it? Fuck yeah, he did.

Now—all bets were off. Ava was back in his life, and like catching sight of a deer in the crosshairs of his hunting rifle, she was his.

Sweeping her soft, burnished chestnut hair over her shoulder, she inspected him with eyes that blasted “stay away” in flashing neon red lights. Hell, she might as well have been wrapped in yellow police tape with “caution” stamped in block letters.

Another emotion swam in her eyes. One he’d seen only a handful of times. One she kept carefully under wraps. Swirling in the yellow, copper, and green shards of her irises were currents of sadness. The corners of her mouth drooped slightly, reinforcing the sorrow in those soulful eyes of hers.

Breaking the silence that had descended between them, she politely inquired, “Damien, how are you?”

“I go by Puck,” he replied. A notch formed between her perfectly arched brows as she shifted in her seat. “I patched into the Demon Squad MC seven years back, and my road name is Puck. That’s the only name I answer to.”

“Puck.” His name rolled softly off her tongue, and swear to God, it was like listening to a fuckin’ angel calling his name. He wanted to hear her say it again. Better yet, he wanted to hear her scream it out loud while creaming on his cock.

Glancing down, she opened his file and read the details of his arrest. “Alright then, why don’t you tell me what happened in the cafeteria?”

“I’m not gonna tell you about beating a man’s ass in the fucking cafeteria, Ava. How have you been? How’s your mom? Your sister?”

Her body stiffened, starting with the word mom. Her fingers curled around the file. The crunch of the heavy paper stock sounded loud in the small office. He saw a flurry of thoughts race in her mind, and he bet none of them were nice.

She took in a slow breath through her nostrils and firmly stated, “That’s the past. We’re not here to catch up on the past. You’re Puck now, not Damien. I’m Ms. Evans, not Ava. After so many years, we’re basically strangers to each other, so let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

He deserved that slap on the wrist, but it didn’t stop a red haze from blanketing his vision for a brief moment. They’d never be strangers. Impossible. A deep well of experience existed between them, and nothing would sweep it away.

“Bullshit. You’ll always be Ava to me.” He leaned back in his seat, the top of the metal chair digging into his back. “Don’t care how many years have passed.” His eyes raked over her. “You look good. More than good. You look fucking beautiful. I know you stopped using long ago. Went back to school. Became a shrink.”

“Not a shrink. I’m a social worker with a master’s degree in Criminal Justice.”

“Yeah?” A corner of his lips tipped up. “There you go. You did good. I’m fucking proud of you, Ava. You always had a smart head on your shoulders. Knew you’d get out of that situation. Grow up. Become someone.”

“Then, why’d you—” She cut herself off with a slashing motion of her hand. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Though,” he continued, undaunted, “can’t say I like what you’re wearing. You’re fucking gorgeous.” He paused, his eyes gliding over her once again. “Gor-ge-ous.” He enunciated the syllables. Angling his head, he changed his mind. “Nah, come to think of it, I’m glad you’re all covered up, working around these fuckin’ assholes. I didn’t like the way Officer Derick Dipshit looked at you.” His eyes sharpened. “You’re not dating that fucker, are you?”

Her mouth gaped open. “Are you kidding me? You haven’t seen me in eight years. Eight. Years. And you have the audacity to comment on the way I dress or how a colleague speaks to me? Are you out of your mind?”

A smile broke on his face. “There’s the Ava I know.”

“Shut up, Damien. I mean Puck. Just shut your mouth before you say something unforgivable. Do you know what I’m doing with Derick?” His jaw tightened. Damn, how could he forget her attitude, or that smart mouth of hers, when she got heated? She tapped her chin with her index finger. “Hmm, let me think.” Her eyes flared wide. “Oh, wait, it’s none of your business, because you aren’t part of my life and haven’t been for eight years.”

“Watch your tone of voice.”

“Don’t say something stupid, and I won’t have to watch my tone, Puck.” She spat out his name like it was a curse. “Unfortunately, I’m the only social worker at Duchess County Jail, but if I weren’t, I’d transfer you in a heartbeat.”

His lips flatlined. He was feeling possessive toward her, but she was right. He had zero claims on her. He’d forfeited any rights he once had. Tell that to his fuckin’ heart with her sitting not three feet away from him. Usually, he was laid back when it came to chicks, but he’d always been possessive of her. She had that rare effect on him.

Picking up a ballpoint pen, she scribbled something into his file. “I’m ordering you to attend an anger-management class. You always were a hothead. Clearly, you lost your temper when you pistol-whipped that poor innocent man who got you in here. Then you get into a fight the day after your arrival. That’s a shot on your record. Since your drug test came back clean, I can safely assume you were neither drunk nor high. So, temper it is.”

He snorted. “That poor innocent man was a fucking wife beater, and I wasn’t pissed off when I beat him up. Did that shit to teach him never to hurt a woman.” Ava’s head shot up. “As for the fight, I was protecting a brother. He’s a kid and a pretty boy. Had to back him up.”

By the look on her face, she believed him. “You used to have a temper.”

“Still do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a handle on it.”

Ava swiped at her creased brows.

He leaned forward. “You okay?”

“Fine, fine” she muttered. It was an obvious lie. She pressed her forefinger and thumb hard into the middle of her forehead and her temple.

“Migraine,” he asserted knowingly. She’d struggled with them when they met. One of the many reasons that put her on the path of using drugs the way she did.

“You bet. Seeing you can bring one on.”

He gritted his teeth at her saltiness. Calm down. Did he expect her resentment to magically disappear? It’d been his unilateral decision to terminate their relationship, and as painful as it’d been for him, it was far worse for her. He’d had his work, the club, and Sammi to throw himself into. Two years had passed before he came up for air, and by then, the pain had subsided. Not only had it come as a shock to her, but he’d been the center point of her life. She’d been adrift, with no goals or aspirations besides the next hit or the next party. Fuck, he was witnessing only a fraction of the pain he’d caused, and breaking her heart was his biggest regret.

“Fuck, babe. I wish I could help you.”

“Don’t babe me,” she snapped. Releasing her head, she leaned back in the chair. Tapping her pen, she asked, “How old is Sammi now? Twenty-one?”

“Oh, it’s alright for you to ask me questions?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m asking because I’m thinking that, at her age, she’s probably still at home with you. If that’s the case, then you’d be worried about her being left alone. Which means you’ll want to get out as soon as possible. What’s your bail situation?”

“Bail denied by fucking Judge Korman,” he grumbled.

“Ahh…Korman. Yeah, you’re not getting bail.” Flicking her pen against the desktop, she raised her eyes above his head, lips pursed. He couldn’t help staring at those lips. Her gaze returned to him. “I think you should consider attending the anger-management class. It’ll be a good look for you, considering the shot on your record for the fight.”

“I’m worried about Sammi. That’s my greatest problem right now. If it gets me outta here, then I’m down.”

She gave him the first small but real smile. “I know how important she is to you. Okay, so I’ll put you down for the class. Make sure you don’t get into another fight or accrue another infraction.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Ava bent her head as she scribbled into his file, and a rebellious wave of mahogany slipped off her shoulder and swept over half her face. She tucked the errant lock behind her earringless ear with her finger. Her unvarnished fingernails were neatly clipped and filed into half-moons. Another change. She used to wear loads of jewelry and paint her nails crazy colors. It was like she’d leached all the color and beauty out of her life.

A pull tugged at him from the center of his chest. He didn’t understand but simply followed the sensation by leaning forward until he was mere inches away from her. Her scent drifted toward him, knocking him sideways. Tahitian vanilla mingled with coconut and mango. It was the same balmy, tropical scent that always got his cock to stand at attention. Thank fuck his oversized jumpsuit hid his growing erection. That’s it. He’d be tasting her again, and soon. He didn’t know how or when, but it was happening. They were happening.

Seemed only fair to warn her of what her future entailed. “Ava,” he called.

She lifted her face toward him, her eyes flaring slightly in acknowledgment of his proximity.

“I promise I’ll have you again. In my life. In my bed. This time, you’re not going anywhere,” he vowed to her.

Sparks flew from her eyes. “Oh, yeah?” She leaned forward until her sweet breath fanned over his face and said in a throaty tone, “Well, let me set you straight right now. That’s not happening. Ever. Maybe you don’t remember how it went down between us, but I certainly do. You were the one who broke up with me. If I went ‘anywhere,’” she put up air quotes around the word, “it’s because you kicked me out of your life. You can go to hell, Puck.”

“There were reasons for that—”

Pulling away, she cut in, “I agree, and that’s why I never ran after you or tried changing your mind. After your mother’s tragic death, you did what you felt was necessary for both you and Sammi. I get that we were young. At the time, I wasn’t serious enough for you. There was the shock from her death and suddenly having full custody of Sammi. I understood it then, and I understand it now. While I respect your decision, it doesn’t change the fact that you threw away what we had. You threw me away, Puck. I won’t put up with someone like you in my life. Someone who can sweep me aside so effortlessly.”

The stark pain bleeding from her eyes almost brought him to his knees. He’d readily slam them down on the scuffed floor and crawl to her on his hands and knees. Swear to her he’d never let that happen again. He knew about her dad. How he’d cheated on her mom and then ran out on them, leaving them to fend for themselves. “It was hard as hell. I get that, babe.”

Her palm went up, front and center in his face, shutting him down. “Don’t babe me. There’s no cause for you to call me by anything other than my name, because the only relationship that exists between us is a professional one. Social worker and inmate.” He could hear her walls clanking down between them, like the jailhouse door that shut his ass in this shithole.

She wanted to play it this way. Alright, he’d allow it. For now.

“I’m not going to argue with you,” he announced. I’ve done my duty and put you on alert. You’re a grown-ass woman. Just be ready, he silently declared.

“Good, because you don’t have a leg to stand on,” she replied pertly. Checking the clock above the doorway, she stood up. As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. Fucking Officer Derick Dipshit was back. “Good luck, Puck.”

“Oh, babe, I don’t need luck. I always get what I want in the end,” he drawled.

She didn’t have the opportunity to respond with the door opening, but she made sure to shoot him a deep scowl.

Puck took in his competition as Officer Dipshit stepped inside, unimpressed by his thinning hair or slight paunch. Unfortunately, a man’s physical attributes didn’t mean a whole lot to Ava. She wasn’t superficial; character and connection were far more meaningful to her. Giving the other man a slow once-over, Puck couldn’t imagine she had any kind of connection with this idiot. Of course, she may have lowered her standards. Enough things had changed about her. Either way, he’d find a way to be back in this office within a week and have another chance at changing her mind. Derick Dipshit be damned.

4

The instant the door closed behind the men, Ava slumped back in her chair. She expelled a pent-up breath and dropped her head back against her chair. Thankfully, once Puck was out of her presence, the pulsing pain in her temples began to recede. The audacity of that bastard. He’d always had a cocky swagger about him, even as a teenager. Ava could hardly believe the nonsense that spewed out of his mouth. Seriously, the man was delusional if he thought he had a chance of getting back with her, in any way, shape, or form. She glanced down at her dowdy pantsuit. Good God, why would he even want to? She looked like shit. Professional yes, but otherwise, she looked horrid. Of course, she purposely dressed in an unflattering manner. She wasn’t looking to get hit on by an inmate or another employee.

Time in the hole must have twisted his mind if he was entertaining the idea of being with her again. She hadn’t measured up the first time around, and the pain of that knowledge reared its ugly head yet again.

Despite his absurd declarations, seeing Puck left her rattled. Even now, her heartbeat was going fast. She’d managed to maintain a cool demeanor while in his presence, but her hands still trembled slightly. Puck was always so impulsive. Clearly, some things never changed.

Her lips twisted in a wry smile. Funny, she’d seamlessly transitioned into using his new name. It fit him. Mischievous. Mercurial. Clever, oh-so clever. And, she reminded herself sternly, never to be underestimated.

While it was crucial that he not be taken lightly, it was a waste of time to dwell on or overanalyze their conversation. First of all, she’d probably never see him again. She worked mostly with inmates who struggled with substance-abuse issues, and his drug test had come back squeaky clean. She wasn’t teaching the anger-management class, so if he stayed out of trouble, he wouldn’t be back. And Puck wasn’t risking another fight to sabotage his chances of getting back to Sammi.

Secondly, he was unpredictable. One moment, he supposedly wanted her. The next, who the hell knew. He’d flip-flopped before. No reason to imagine he wouldn’t do it again. Barely any time in her presence, and he was already pronouncing that he’d have her in his bed again. She rolled her eyes. Puh-leeze, what a flake.

The only one he was steadfast with was Sammi. Ava had always admired the way he took care of his little sister. Seeing what Puck had done when his mother died had inspired Ava. She’d made a conscious decision to separate the resentment she felt toward her father from Kat and had cultivated an independent relationship with her. It began even before Kat’s mother took off, leaving her father and Ava to finish raising her. And it’d paid off. She had a loving relationship with someone she adored.

Just because Puck was loyal and dedicated to his sister didn’t mean he was capable of that kind of consistency with a partner.

But seeing him had been a shock. Eight years on and the man had filled out from the nineteen-year-old boy she’d known. Filled. Out. Even wearing an orange jumpsuit a size too large, she’d noted the outline of his hard chest, tufts of chest hair peeking out from the V of his opened collar. Or his strong forearms, the cords of sleek muscles bulging as he’d laid his arms on her desk earlier.

And his face. Jesus, he was handsome, in that rugged way of his. It could wreck a woman’s resolve. Any woman besides me, that is. She’d experienced the lack of devotion that lay beneath that gorgeous olive skin of his. The image of him hovering so close to her, shimmered in her mind’s eye. His jet-black curls bouncing slightly as he moved his head. His deep chocolate-malt eyes staring at her, ringed by long black lashes. Hair and eyelashes like his were wasted on a man. Then there were his high cheekbones and that strong nose above a generous mouth. She knew exactly how those lips felt, pressed against her own, sliding down her throat or over the slope of her breast. Or even lower…