Page 17 of Puck

Layla laughed. “That’s Puck for you.”

There was a gunshot. A silence, then two more gunshots in quick succession, another longer pause, and a fourth and final gunshot. I felt my heart rate ramp up, felt the bizarre twinge of worry.

Layla just laughed again, and I realized she’d been watching me. “Don’t worry. If Puck was on the losing end, there’d have been a hell of a lot more shooting.”

“It only takes one,” I said.

“Not when it’s Puck we’re talking about.”

“You think a lot of him, don’t you?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, I guess. He’s an asshole, he’s vulgar, he’s a horny fuckboy, he’s rude, he’s blunt . . . but he’s also intensely loyal, insanely smart, a great friend, and really, really funny. I’m close to all of the guys who work for my husband, but I think Puck and I just . . . get each other the best.”

“Good for you.” I tried to sound convincing. “But he’s not my type.”

Layla snickered. “Honey, Puck isn’t anyone’s type. You don’t go looking for guys like Puck. They find you, and somehow, you’re never quite able to walk away after that.”

I eyed her. “Speaking from experience?”

She bobbed her head side to side. “You could say that.”

“How’d you meet your husband?”

Layla hesitated. “That’s . . . a complicated story to tell,” she answered.

Kyrie moved up to stand between Layla and me. “Not really,” she said. “Her husband worked for my husband.”

“Ohreally,” Layla drawled, laughing sarcastically. “Is that what we’re saying, now?”

Kyrie blushed. “Fine. It’s a little more complicated than that.”

Layla snorted. “I’ll say. Valentine . . . purchased Kyrie. The idea was she’d work off her debts the old-fashioned away, shall we say, but that sort of went sideways. As in, they fell in love. Of course, Valentine had enemies who wanted to get at him. There was some kidnapping, a lot of people shooting at other people, some more kidnapping—of me, this time. Nick was sent to rescue me, and in the process I kind of fell onto his dick and from there fell in love with the rest of him.”

I blinked a few times. “Um. Hold on, there’s a lot to . . . unpack, in that.”

It was Kyrie’s turn to snort. “I’ll say.”

I stared at one woman and then the other. “Valentine Roth . . .boughtyou?” I asked Kyrie. “So you fucked him to pay your way free? And then his enemies kidnapped you, then Layla, and then . . .” I blinked again. “You don’t live boring lives, do you?”

Kyrie shook her head. “No, we certainly don’t. Well, I do, now. But Layla doesn’t. And I think you might be getting the wrong idea about Valentine and me. It really is impossible to explain without sounding stupid, though. Let’s just say I was placed in a position where I had very few other options but to do whatever Valentine wanted. Which, it turned out . . . was me. That turned into something more between us, and eventually it stopped being about money or sex and started being aboutus.”

“That’s the SparkNotes version, I take it?”

Kyrie nodded. “That’s . . . the abridged SparkNotes version.”

I blew out a breath. “You people are complicated.”

“You have no idea,” Layla said. She glanced past me at the alley down which Puck had vanished. “Oh, here he comes.”

He was approaching at a leisurely stroll, pistol in his hand held low at his thigh, chewing on his cigar, which was still lit, still in the same place between his left molars. He had a handful of white paper napkins in his other hand and was wiping at his face . . . red with blood spray. His cargo pocket bulged with weight—pistols taken from the newly dead, I assumed.

He stopped near Layla, Kyrie, and me. “That was easier than I expected. Cain must be sending his C team after us for now.”

Puck shoved the gun behind his waistband at the small of his back and climbed back behind the wheel of “our” van. Layla and Kyrie tucked their legs into the van, which left the shotgun seat open; obviously they were conspiring to keep me near Puck as much possible. I went along with it, taking the passenger seat. Once we were all safely inside the van, Puck backed out of the gas station and headed down the alley he’d only just vacated.

He shot me a cocky grin as I buckled in, eyeing the blood etched into the wrinkles of his neck and around the corners of his eyes. “Don’t worry, babe, none of it’s mine.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Forgive me if I don’t weep into my apron from relief.”