Page 8 of Puck

“Ha, yeah, welcome to the sisterhood,” Layla said. “You can fight it all you want, but you’re just delaying the inevitable.”

I pivoted to face her. “The hell are you talking about?”

She pointed at Puck and then me. “You two. That. Y’all weresparkin’.”

I snorted. “Yeah, good one.” I tried to pretend I wasn’t blushing, that I didn’t still feel his hand on my back even though I’d put several feet between us. “You’re crazy.”

“Sparks, Colbie.” Puck winked fuckingagain, this time exaggeratedly, broadly, just to piss me off. “There weresparks. No sense fighting the inevitable.”

I pointed at the bus. “Are you people forgetting about the dead people and the police and—I don’t know—the fact that we were all kidnapped and were about to be sold into prostitution?”

“Oh, I doubt they would have paid us,” Layla said. “I think Cain is more the slavery type than the prostitution ring type.”

“If what Duke and I went through was anything to go on,” Temple said, “then yeah, I’d say Layla’s right.”

Everyone knew what Temple Kennedy looked like—you saw her on magazine covers and billboards all the time, even if you didn’t watch her show—she was tall and sleek with just the right amount of curves, perfect blonde hair and blue eyes. She and Kyrie both had the same coloring but they were equally stunning in different ways.

I stared at them both. “Is there really a difference? Forced to be a prostitute or sold as a sex slave . . . seems like the same thing from where I’m standing.” I gestured at the bus. “And again, can we maybe stick to the salient facts? Such as, for example, them?”

The bus windows were full of faces; the women inside were watching us intently. Waiting. None of them seemed inclined to want to leave the relative safety of the bus. Not that I blamed them.

“We can’t just leave them,” Puck said, “but it’s going to be hard enough for me to get the five of you out of here, much less another dozen women, most of whom probably don’t speak English.”

“You don’t need to include me,” I said. “I can take care of myself.”

Puck pointed at Layla with a thumb. “You saw what she did. Pretty sure she can take care of herself, too. That ain’t the point.” He stabbed his chest with the same thumb. “Getting these four women back to my friends and my boss and my boss’s boss in one piece is my job, and I take my job very fucking seriously.”

“I’m sure you do. I’m just saying, I can rescue myself, but thanks anyway.”

Puck laughed. “You’re missin’ the point, Legs. Iwantto rescue you. I’m hoping you’ll find yourself extra thankful, if you know what I mean.”

“Legs? Really?” I glared at him. “Next you’ll refer to me as Tits, or Ass, am I right?”

“Nah, that’d just be rude.”

“You are unbelievable.” I gaped at him and then turned to Layla. “How the hell do you deal with this asshole?”

She just laughed and shrugged. “Puck is just . . . Puck.”

Lola spoke up for the first time. “What was it you said on the plane, when we first met, Puck?”

Puck grinned. “I’m like whiskey—I’m an acquired taste.”

“Not exactly how you said it the first time,” Lola said, an eyebrow quirking up.

Lola was exotically gorgeous, with dark caramel skin and springy black hair in a crazy explosion around her shoulders, tall and strong looking, with tits and ass even Layla couldn’t quite match.

God, those women were all incredible—it would’ve been easy to feel insecure around four women each more beautiful than the last.

“How’d I say it on the plane?” Puck mused. “Oh yeah . . . I’m whiskey, bitch!”

I groaned in aggravation. “You’re all acting like this is business as usual!” I gestured again at the windshield, blood-smeared and bullet-riddled. “That’s not normal. I thought I was pretty good at staying calm, but I’m starting to freak out just a little.”

Puck moved toward me, feathered his hands into my hair, and his fingers found the back of my neck near the base of my skull, where my tension tended to gather in painful knots. His strong fingers kneaded gently but firmly, and the tension loosened.

“Colbie, babe—just breathe.” His smile was reassuring and calm. “We got this. You’re in good company.”

I rolled my head and shrugged my shoulders, not liking that I liked the way he was massaging me. “Don’t touch me. And don’t call me babe—I’m not your babe. I’m not your anything.”