Page 5 of Puck
He glanced at me in the rearview mirror, and then checked his side-view mirror. “Shit. I was hoping you girls being in here would stop them from doing anything too crazy.”
The woman, Layla, held on to the driver’s seatback and crouched next to Puck. “Can I hang out the side of the bus and shoot at them like in the movies? I’ve always wanted to try that.”
“I don’t think so. You drive, I shoot.”
Layla grabbed his bicep and shook it, pleading with him. “Come on, Puck. Please? Just a couple shots? You know I can hit them.”
Puck snorted. “Bitch, please. Harris would have my ass if I let you do that.” He glanced at her. “’Sides, that shit is a lot harder than it looks.”
I watched them bicker, amused, and wondered what Layla would do, being called a bitch. Me, I would have slapped him hard enough to show him who the real bitch was.
“Oh, don’t be a wet blanket, Puck. I won’t tell him if you won’t.”
The way Puck hesitated made it seem like he was actually considering it. He wouldn’t, would he? No way.
Puck handed her his pistol. “Don’t try to hit their tires, that’s Hollywood bullshit, and it never works. Either go for the engine block or the driver. And when they start shooting back, get your juicy ass back in the bus.”
Layla took the pistol, held it by the barrel, and whacked Puck on the top of the head with the butt. “I’m married to your boss, Puck Lawson! You can’t talk to me that way.”
“You can stop a man from touching, but you can’t stop him from looking . . . or appreciating.” He rubbed the top of his head, and then ducked involuntarily when the clatteringcrackcrackcrackcrackcrackof an AK-47 blasted the air behind us, and the rear window shattered.
“EVERYONE ON THE FLOOR!” Puck shouted. “Layla, start shooting.”
I hit the floor, too, and then thought better of it; I wasn’t a hider. I crawled forward as Layla levered open the bifold bus door, held on to the handle mounted on the inside of the frame, leaned out, and aimed the pistol one-handed at the vehicle in pursuit of us. I focused on Puck but heard theBANG! . . . BANG! . . . BANG!as she fired.
I tapped Puck on the leg. “Hey.”
He glanced down at me. “Hey there, gorgeous. You have the advantage with me, I’m afraid—you know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
I ignored his statement and pointed at the shattered rear window. “Go shoot at them.”
“You’ll drive?” he asked. I nodded, and he slid off the chair while keeping one hand on the wheel and his foot on the accelerator. “Keep it straight and hold steady on the gas until Layla is back inside.”
I slid behind him to take his place at the wheel, but the tight quarters meant I had to press up against his back, sliding my thighs under his butt so I could get my foot on the gas pedal. As soon as I was sitting and had the wheel and my foot on the gas, Puck sat down on my lap and twisted so he could look at me. His eyes twinkled again: merry, amused, glittering with intelligence and humor—and lust, as he blatantly looked down my shirt.
“Umm.” I pushed at him, but it was like trying to push over the Rockefeller building. “Get off, asshole.”
He slid off me and pivoted in a crouch. “Oh, I intend to. You and me both, sweet thing.” His eyes met mine, and he winked. “Gotta tell me your name first, though.”
“Does that shit actually work for you?” I asked, giving him my best die-you-assholeglare.
He shrugged. “Yeah, usually. Telling a woman exactly what I intend to do, and how well, and how often . . . yeah, it works pretty damn well.”
“It’s not gonna work on me, though.” I jerked my thumb at the rear window. “Go shoot someone.”
“Shooting people is my second favorite activity.” He winked at me again and hauled the AK-47 around and held it in both hands as he moved forward in a crouch.
“And stop winking at me!” I shouted. “Nobody winks anymore! It’s stupid.”
I heard a snicker from Layla, who had pulled herself back inside the bus. “What?” I snapped. “What’s so funny?”
She held out her fist for me to bump. “You—you’re funny. I like you. We can be friends.”
I tapped my fist against hers. “Good to know I have your approval.” I gestured at Puck. “Is he always like this?”
Layla nodded. “Worse, usually. You’re meeting Puck when he’s focused on work. Just wait till he has time toreallyhit on you.”
“Work? This is . . . work?” I frowned. “And if he hits on me, I’ll hit back, just sayin’.”