Silver Bastard
Page 46
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Beautiful. Painful. Terrifying.
The phone rang again.
“I have to answer,” I whispered. “It’s important.”
He growled at me and then rolled off, the sudden absence of his heat and weight painful. I jumped up and ran for the phone just as the answering machine kicked in. Mom’s voice filled the air.
“Becca, where the hell are you?” she asked, her voice breathless. “You said to call you at home. I really need to talk to you, baby.”
I caught the handset and hit the button before she could say any more. Behind me I sensed Puck radiating hostility and frustration. Nothing I could do about him right now, so I focused on the phone.
“Mom, I’m here.”
“Becca!” she replied, her voice full of relief. “I’m so glad you answered. Honey, I have to make this fast. Teeny is downstairs and he’s drunk again. I think he’s going to hurt me if I stay here. I need you to send me money so I can get away.”
Her words slammed into me, shattering my emotions along different, conflicting trajectories. Fear, of course. And anger. Toward Teeny . . . toward her, because something about this sounded off, despite all my hopes. With Mom it always came back to money. Why would this time be any different?
“Mom, I don’t have any extra money,” I said quietly. Behind me I heard Puck still, then he muttered something. Sticking a finger in my ear, I focused on my mother, ignoring him.
“Baby, I get that you aren’t rolling in it,” she said. “But this is for real. This isn’t a late phone bill or the electricity or even a fucking car payment. That man is off his rocker and he says he’s going to kill me. I need to get away, and I need to get away soon. You have to send me money right now.”
Her words chilled me. Kill her?
“How much?”
“Two thousand dollars.”
I froze.
“Mom, I don’t have that much.”
“You’ve got a car, right?”
“Not one that’s worth two grand,” I said bluntly. “I could sell everything I own and not have that much.”
“Figure something out,” she replied desperately. “Baby, I can’t get away without your help and I can’t stay here. I know I’ve been a crappy parent—I realize that. But I love you, I’ve always loved you, and I know you love me.”
“Mom, this isn’t about whether I love you. I don’t have the money and I can’t just make it appear out of the air.”
“Can you borrow it from someone?” she pressed. “Make some guy feel good, then hit him up for a loan?”
My stomach twisted.
“No.”
“You’re pretty, always have been,” she wheedled. “Why don’t you go to a strip club? You could earn that money in a night or two, send it down to me. I’d do it myself, but they’d never take me. Not like I am now. I’m too old, baby.”
I closed my eyes, trying to picture taking off my clothes in front of a crowd of staring men. No. No way. How dare she even consider asking me that?
“I can empty my tip jar,” I said. “But it’s not much, maybe fifteen or twenty bucks. I’ll send it to you tomorrow. It’s the best I can do.”
Her voice turned hard.
“He’s going to kill me,” she snapped. “What kind of girl lets her mother die because she’s too good to take off her clothes? You did a lot more than that down here, and don’t think I’ve forgotten how you cried when you left. You didn’t want to ride off with that boy—I forced you to go, to save your life. Now you won’t do the same for me?”
My stomach heaved, and I swayed. Why? Why did she have to do this?
“I’ll send you my tip money,” I repeated slowly. “There must be someone else you can ask, Mom. Can you steal some money from Teeny while he’s sleeping?”
“You’re ungrateful,” she hissed, hanging up on me. I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to steady myself, setting the phone on the table. What the hell was that all about? Should I believe her?
No.
It couldn’t be that bad. Mom was a survivor. If she really wanted to leave her husband she could just climb in her car and leave—I knew Teeny. He’d get mad, maybe smack her around a bit. Then he’d pass out and she could run away.
“Why would you send that woman anything?”
I jumped, turning to face Puck. He loomed over me, anger written all over his face, and my breath caught.
“I forgot you were here.”
His face darkened.
“Got what you want from me?” he asked, his voice mocking. Then he reached down and grabbed his dick through his jeans, squeezing it lewdly. “Because you left me hanging.”
Seriously? My eyes narrowed.
“My mom says Teeny is going to kill her,” I said, emphasizing each word carefully. “She needs two grand to get away and come up here. Your dick is not a priority, under the circumstances.”
“Bullshit,” he replied, snorting. “She needs two grand to buy drugs, or pay someone off so they don’t plant your stepdad in the ground, where he belongs.”
I shrugged awkwardly, because he wasn’t necessarily wrong. Not that I wanted to concede the point.
“She sounded different this time,” I said, and I hated the hint of weakness that crept in my voice. He probably thought I was a gullible fool. Maybe I was. Or maybe she’d finally had enough and wanted to get out. Could I ever forgive myself if Teeny hurt her seriously? “I want to save her from him.”
The phone rang again.
“I have to answer,” I whispered. “It’s important.”
He growled at me and then rolled off, the sudden absence of his heat and weight painful. I jumped up and ran for the phone just as the answering machine kicked in. Mom’s voice filled the air.
“Becca, where the hell are you?” she asked, her voice breathless. “You said to call you at home. I really need to talk to you, baby.”
I caught the handset and hit the button before she could say any more. Behind me I sensed Puck radiating hostility and frustration. Nothing I could do about him right now, so I focused on the phone.
“Mom, I’m here.”
“Becca!” she replied, her voice full of relief. “I’m so glad you answered. Honey, I have to make this fast. Teeny is downstairs and he’s drunk again. I think he’s going to hurt me if I stay here. I need you to send me money so I can get away.”
Her words slammed into me, shattering my emotions along different, conflicting trajectories. Fear, of course. And anger. Toward Teeny . . . toward her, because something about this sounded off, despite all my hopes. With Mom it always came back to money. Why would this time be any different?
“Mom, I don’t have any extra money,” I said quietly. Behind me I heard Puck still, then he muttered something. Sticking a finger in my ear, I focused on my mother, ignoring him.
“Baby, I get that you aren’t rolling in it,” she said. “But this is for real. This isn’t a late phone bill or the electricity or even a fucking car payment. That man is off his rocker and he says he’s going to kill me. I need to get away, and I need to get away soon. You have to send me money right now.”
Her words chilled me. Kill her?
“How much?”
“Two thousand dollars.”
I froze.
“Mom, I don’t have that much.”
“You’ve got a car, right?”
“Not one that’s worth two grand,” I said bluntly. “I could sell everything I own and not have that much.”
“Figure something out,” she replied desperately. “Baby, I can’t get away without your help and I can’t stay here. I know I’ve been a crappy parent—I realize that. But I love you, I’ve always loved you, and I know you love me.”
“Mom, this isn’t about whether I love you. I don’t have the money and I can’t just make it appear out of the air.”
“Can you borrow it from someone?” she pressed. “Make some guy feel good, then hit him up for a loan?”
My stomach twisted.
“No.”
“You’re pretty, always have been,” she wheedled. “Why don’t you go to a strip club? You could earn that money in a night or two, send it down to me. I’d do it myself, but they’d never take me. Not like I am now. I’m too old, baby.”
I closed my eyes, trying to picture taking off my clothes in front of a crowd of staring men. No. No way. How dare she even consider asking me that?
“I can empty my tip jar,” I said. “But it’s not much, maybe fifteen or twenty bucks. I’ll send it to you tomorrow. It’s the best I can do.”
Her voice turned hard.
“He’s going to kill me,” she snapped. “What kind of girl lets her mother die because she’s too good to take off her clothes? You did a lot more than that down here, and don’t think I’ve forgotten how you cried when you left. You didn’t want to ride off with that boy—I forced you to go, to save your life. Now you won’t do the same for me?”
My stomach heaved, and I swayed. Why? Why did she have to do this?
“I’ll send you my tip money,” I repeated slowly. “There must be someone else you can ask, Mom. Can you steal some money from Teeny while he’s sleeping?”
“You’re ungrateful,” she hissed, hanging up on me. I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to steady myself, setting the phone on the table. What the hell was that all about? Should I believe her?
No.
It couldn’t be that bad. Mom was a survivor. If she really wanted to leave her husband she could just climb in her car and leave—I knew Teeny. He’d get mad, maybe smack her around a bit. Then he’d pass out and she could run away.
“Why would you send that woman anything?”
I jumped, turning to face Puck. He loomed over me, anger written all over his face, and my breath caught.
“I forgot you were here.”
His face darkened.
“Got what you want from me?” he asked, his voice mocking. Then he reached down and grabbed his dick through his jeans, squeezing it lewdly. “Because you left me hanging.”
Seriously? My eyes narrowed.
“My mom says Teeny is going to kill her,” I said, emphasizing each word carefully. “She needs two grand to get away and come up here. Your dick is not a priority, under the circumstances.”
“Bullshit,” he replied, snorting. “She needs two grand to buy drugs, or pay someone off so they don’t plant your stepdad in the ground, where he belongs.”
I shrugged awkwardly, because he wasn’t necessarily wrong. Not that I wanted to concede the point.
“She sounded different this time,” I said, and I hated the hint of weakness that crept in my voice. He probably thought I was a gullible fool. Maybe I was. Or maybe she’d finally had enough and wanted to get out. Could I ever forgive myself if Teeny hurt her seriously? “I want to save her from him.”
