Puck’s Property by Monique Moreau
Chapter One
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.
