The Wicked Horse Boxed Set (+Wicked Bond [5])

  Kizner nods and takes out a recorder from a pocket in his windbreaker. "There are no arrest warrants for Kayla Powell at this time. She was there when the arrests went down though. Let me get Miss Waylon's statement, then yours, Mr. Payne, and we'll go from there."

  And so I tell Agent Kizner everything. How I first came to Mayhem's Mission and that Zeke claimed me as his property. I was embarrassed and ashamed to think of myself in those days, down on my luck but still loving to party and content with being someone's fuck toy so I'd have a roof over my head and booze in my gut. About getting pregnant and how it took me two years to get inspired to run with Belle. I tell him about Aunt Gayle and then how members of the Omaha chapter of Mayhem's Mission found me in Nebraska because I stupidly holed up with a girl who used to be one of the club whores here in Jackson, but wised up and got out. I naively felt it would be safe since she wasn't in that environment anymore, but she betrayed me.

  Kizner asks me some follow-up questions, and then focuses in on what they did to me to induce me to give up Belle's whereabouts. I hear Woolf mutter a curse when I tell Kizner the brutal details of what Zeke did. Beatings with his fist and then a frustration fuck--which, let's face it, was rape because I didn't want it even if I was too beat down to say so. And how Kayla beat me with her own fists, or the handle of a broomstick, which is where I got the gash on the top of my head. I grit my teeth when I tell him she used a knife on me, and I even admit with shame that's when I almost broke and told her what she wanted to know.

  "And how did you escape?" Kizner asks.

  I shrug. "I don't know. I passed out from the pain during one of Kayla's sessions. I was in the basement and had lost track of time--didn't even know if it was day or night. I woke up here in Bridger's house. He said Kyle brought me here. I didn't believe it at first because Kyle watched what Kayla did to me, and he laughed. He even egged her on once when she was punching me. But I understand now that he was playing a role and he saved me."

  Something flickers across Kizner's face, and I'm pretty sure it's guilt. I don't miss it, and neither does Bridger, who I can literally feel tense up beside me.

  He leans forward and asks Kizner, "Where's Kyle? I get he might be tied up, but I'm sure Maggie would like to see him... to thank him for helping her."

  There's another flash of guilt across Kizner's face followed by extreme sadness as his shoulders sag. He looks down at the floor and says in a low voice, "Kyle didn't make it."

  "What?" Bridger growls in disbelief as I feel tears well up in my eyes.

  Kizner looks up to me before sliding a morose gaze to Bridger. He clears his throat. "We found his body during the raid. It was at the back of the property. Single bullet to the back of the head--execution style."

  A heavy silence fills the room. My head spins with the implication that the man who saved my life gave up his. That he was most likely killed because Zeke suspected he'd helped me. I know this because Kizner said the raid went easy; that they had no clue ATF was coming down on them.

  I feel myself starting to fracture. Start to break into a million pieces.

  But then Bridger shoots off the couch with a muttered curse and stomps down the hallway to his bedroom without another word to any of us, leaving behind a physical wake of sorrow and anger. His bedroom door slams with such force, the house shakes.

  I immediately stand from the couch and jet down the hallway. I don't bother with a knock. When I open the door, I immediately see him standing at the bottom of the bed, his chest heaving and his hands curled into tight fists. He emanates danger and raw fury, and I don't think twice before I run to him and slam my body into his front while wrapping my arms around his waist.

  I press my cheek to his chest and whisper, "I'm sorry. I know he was a friend of yours."

  "He wasn't a friend of mine," Bridger growls, his arms staying tense at his side rather than returning my embrace. "I drank a few beers with him. Fucked a few club whores with him."

  I flinch, not just because of the crudity of his words, but because there's no doubt in my mind Bridger mentioned fucking other women because he's using this as an opportunity to remind me that he's not a long-term commitment kind of guy. He's also taking out his pain and anger on me, and I choose to think he does so because he trusts I will see it for what it is and not hold it against him.

  So I just squeeze him harder and say, "He may not have been a friend, but he saved me. He was a good man, and it's okay to mourn him."

  Silence except for the beating of Bridger's heart against my cheek.

  Then his arms come around me and I feel him rest his own cheek on the top of my head. "He should have known they were onto him. He should have gotten out of there."

  His words are gruff and although on their face they place blame on Kyle's shoulders, I know he says them merely out of disbelief that he's gone.

  Bridger only holds me for a few moments before he pulls away. His hands come to my shoulders. and he says in a low voice, "Get back in there. I'm sure Kizner has more questions. I'll be in there in a minute."

  I study him, wondering if I should refuse. Should I stay and console him more?

  But I see a certain aloofness there now, and it's clear Bridger's taken all he will from me right now. I can only hope he doesn't use this as an excuse to freeze me out.

  I nod and turn away from him, but his voice stops me at the door. "Mags?"

  So confused and unsure. Filled with need for something, and I turn around expectantly.

  Bridger swallows hard and looks at me with frustration. I wait patiently.

  Finally, he just shakes his head and mutters, "Never mind. I'll be out there soon."

  I don't press it. Bridger isn't a man to be pushed. He has to find his own way, and while I'll gladly provide whatever gentle encouragement I can, I also know there are boundaries with him that he's not ready for me to cross.

  When I get back into the living room, I see Kizner holding a cup of coffee and Woolf doing the same, except now he's sitting on the cushion that Bridger vacated.

  I take my spot on the couch, sitting next to Woolf. He looks at me expectantly. "He okay?"

  "Sure," I say with a confident voice, but I can tell by the look on Woolf's face he doesn't believe me. "Just needs a minute."

  Woolf stands and without a word, he walks down the hallway to Bridger's room. I'm glad... that he's a close enough friend that he looked past my false proclamation about Bridger and is going to offer his support as well.

  "Miss Waylon," Kizner says and I turn my head to look at him. "Kayla Powell... what was her motivation in torturing you?"

  "Well, I think she was taking up where Zeke left off. When he went on a run, she took it upon herself to continue to work me over to give up Belle. Or maybe he even asked her to do it, I don't know. But mostly, I think she did it because she hates me. I think she wanted to find Belle for Zeke, because she loved that bastard and couldn't give him a child, but I think mostly because she was jealous that I gave Zeke something she couldn't."

  He asks me a few more questions before turning the recorder off and slipping it back in his pocket. "This is more than enough for an arrest. It will be the local authorities though, and I'm sure they'll want to talk to you as well. Could take a few days as they got their hands full right now with the club members and waiting for the US Marshall's to fly in and take custody of them."

  I nod before looking down at my hands clasped tightly together. When I look back up, I ask, "Did Kyle have family?"

  Kizner nods. "A sister... in North Carolina. She's already been notified."

  A lump forms at the base of my throat, and I swallow past it. "I'd... um... when the time is proper... I'd like to reach out to her. I want to let her know what Kyle did for me."

  "I'm sure that would be a comfort to her," Kizner says, but I have to wonder if that's true. She may hate me because my predicament ultimately led to his death. Still, I need to express my gratitude and condolences to her.

  Kizner leaves,
telling me on the way out that the local authorities will get up with Bridger about a statement, mostly to nail down the facts about Kyle bringing me here and the condition I was in when he did. I tell him that's fine. He pulls out of Bridger's driveway, leaving behind a household filled with a mixture of relief that our ordeal is over and heavy sorrow that someone gave his life to ensure our safety.

  Chapter 23

  Bridger

  I scan the last page of the payroll summary report, feel satisfied it's in order, and then sign off on it. That task complete, I put it aside and my thoughts immediately go to Maggie. I growl in frustration, because I don't want to think about her. I grab the inventory order sheet that my senior bartender, Ted, had placed on my desk last night before he headed over to The Silo. In addition to being a fucking fantastic bartender, he's one of my best Fantasy Makers as well. All the ladies and men love Ted and his eight-inch cock. He doesn't discriminate where he'll stick it.

  Perusing the inventory sheet, I make a few notations in the side column, noting our stock of white wine has been depleting faster than normal. Must be a run on tourists or something, but my mind involuntarily thinks of Maggie again because she likes white wine. This is something I learned about her just last night after I fucked her.

  And what a spectacular fucking it was. I'm sure we were both overly sensitive to emotion based on learning about Kyle's death that day, but I rode her hard from behind, that same animalistic need overtaking me and causing me to practically try to crawl my way inside of her because it felt so good. But when I felt myself getting close, I flipped her over, because I really wanted to suck on those perfect tits because I'd come to realize they are very sensitive. I figure if I can ever get to a point where I can control myself around her, I'd want to see if I can make her come just by working her nipples over.

  So I hammered into her, my teeth biting at her nipples before I'd suck on them, and it was well on its way to being another existential experience for me until she grabbed my hair again.

  Maggie wasn't kidding. She's a hair puller.

  I, however, am not a hair pullee.

  Never will be simply because she got off on grabbing a fistful of my hair, which I'd always worn long as a kid, and she'd hold me there while she would alternate blows to my face with kisses. When I was twelve, she once dragged me through the house by my hair as I tried to madly scramble on my hands and knees to keep up with her. She dragged me right into the bathroom where she slapped the shit out of me repetitively before she put me in the bathtub and bathed me with apologies.

  When Maggie grabbed onto my hair, my hips never missed a beat in their jackhammering and my hands pulled hers away from me so I could hold them pinned above her head until I came inside of her with a loud groan of stupendous relief.

  After, I was feeling mellow and because I'd loved the way Maggie's body felt against mine the night before when we slept in the motel bed together, I was content to let her cuddle into me.

  As she stroked my stomach, she said, "Sorry about the hair thing."

  "It's okay," I muttered, my own hand stroking her hip.

  "It could be a repetitive problem," she said, humor in her voice, but I didn't reply.

  And when I didn't reply, she asked me somberly, "Why does it bother you?"

  I could have given her a million different answers. I could have lied a million different ways. But instead, I told her the truth. "My stepmom used to beat me. She often did so while holding me in place by my hair."

  Maggie gave out a cry of protest. "Oh, my God. I'm so sorry."

  "It's in the past," I mumbled as I reached for her hand and moved it from my stomach to my cock to distract her unwanted pity. I'd just got done coming in her not fifteen minutes prior, but the minute I made her fingers curl around me, I started to come alive again.

  Because my body wants Maggie in a way that it's never wanted anything before.

  I actually believe it needs her, because the thought of me getting this anywhere else is like shoving rancid meat down a starving man's throat.

  So she got me hard with her hand, and then harder yet with her mouth. She gobbled my cock up and swallowed me whole, after which I ate her beautiful pussy still leaking with my cum. It was a beautiful experience.

  Would have fucked her again this morning given the opportunity, but when I woke up, she was gone. I assume she slept with Belle, and I'm not sure if that relieved or irritated me. Regardless, I found them both in the kitchen when I came out, and Maggie served me eggs and bacon.

  We all three sat at the table together and ate breakfast. I smiled appropriately and teased Belle. I helped Maggie clean up after. And the entire time, I analyzed every feeling running through me. Bodily repletion from amazing fucking. Companionship from a beautiful and kind woman. Joy from an energetic toddler who is cute beyond words.

  And fear that I don't deserve a single minute of it.

  I want Maggie, no doubt. For sure in my bed.

  My heart? Not so sure.

  She's so many wonderful things to me, but she's still a complication. My life is orderly. I have certain proclivities. I have unbearable demons that are well controlled with the very structured life I lead. The Silo gives me comfort, and it's a part of me.

  I know for sure I cannot let this carefully ordered world deconstruct on me.

  Maggie has the ability to tear it all apart.

  Ultimately, I had no great epiphany as to what to do. My cock was winning my war of indecisiveness, and I left the house after breakfast to get some work done. I didn't kiss Maggie goodbye, but I did tell her I'd see her at dinner. It sent a message as mixed as my feelings.

  I want you, but I don't. I like having you here in my house, but I'm just not sure I'd want it forever.

  I didn't go straight to The Wicked Horse though. Instead, I drove into Jackson and went straight to my barber. Anyone who knows me knows I don't give a shit about my appearance. I'll often grow my hair long, and when it becomes a nuisance, I'll shave it all off and let it grow back again.

  My hair is long, but not quite to the point where it's bothering me.

  Still, I didn't hesitate a moment parking my ass in that barber's chair and telling him to take it all off. Took no more than ten minutes and some sharp electric blades before I had nothing but stubble over my entire head that looked like an early five o'clock shadow. I killed two birds with one stone. Got my haircut out of the way and ensured that Maggie's hands would never grab hold of my hair again.

  Finishing up the inventory sheet, I put it on the edge of my desk. I'll walk out and hand it to Ted a little later. He'll call in the new stock order. I turn to my email, relishing in the minutes it gives me of Maggie-free thought.

  There's one from Cal, letting me know again how much he and Macy enjoyed The Silo. I feel bad I didn't spend more time with them, but it was a quick in and out trip for them. Still, I should be the one thanking them. They inspired me to get up the courage to come down Maggie's throat and forever changed the way I would have sex.

  At least I think.

  Not sure I'd want to come inside another woman.

  Not sure I could.

  My phone rings. I grab it from the desk where it sits next to my laptop. Flipping it over, I see it's from Kizner.

  "Payne," I answer the phone brusquely.

  "It's Joseph Kizner," he says, although it's not needed as he's in my Contacts now. But still, in just those three words, my body goes stiff with alertness because there is no mistaking the urgency and concern in his voice.

  "What's wrong?" I immediately ask.

  "Local authorities still haven't processed a warrant for Kayla Powell's arrest, and probably won't until they actually interview Maggie," he says, and this doesn't surprise me. I didn't expect it to move fast. But his next words send a cold shiver of fear up my spine. "I interviewed Zeke today, and he made some threats against Maggie and Belle."

  "What kind of threats," I ask thickly, my mouth suddenly dry.

  "When w
e told him we'd be amending the charges against him to add kidnapping and assault, he didn't take kindly to it. When we told him we were going after Kayla, he just laughed at us. Said we'd have a hard time proving that against his old lady without any witnesses. Threw it in our face that Agent Sommerville was dead and couldn't testify."

  "But Maggie's a witness," I rasp out.

  "I've got cops headed there now," Kizner says, but I'm already shooting out of my chair and running for the door.

  "I'm closer," I tell him before I disconnect. I careen through The Wicked Horse and fly to my Corvette parked right at the front door.

  Kizner calls me back as I toss my phone on the passenger seat, start the car, and peel out of the parking lot, leaving lots of rubber behind. When my phone goes silent, I grab it and dial my house phone. It rings repetitively five times until the answering machine picks up. It's a model that has a speaker on it so you can hear the person leaving the message.

  "Maggie," I say in a voice that I struggle to keep calm so I don't freak her out. "Zeke has made some threats against you, and I'm headed there now. I want you to take Belle and go into my room. I have a shotgun on the top shelf in my closet. Lock yourself in the bathroom until I--"

  The message cuts off. With a curse, I dial back. She doesn't answer this time either, and I hope to fuck she's just outside playing with Belle. I continue my message. "I'm sure it's all fine, but you never know with someone fucked in the head like Zeke. He has members who weren't arrested and were loyal to--"

  The machine cuts off again with an offending beep.

  "Fuck," I yell and throw the phone down into the passenger foot well.

  It rings again. I almost drive off the highway trying to lean over and grab it because it might be Maggie. After I get it in my hands, I curse again when I see it's Kizner.

  I connect the call. "I can be there in about fifteen minutes. Where are the cops?"

  "At least twenty-five out," he says. "You armed?"

  "No," I say, cursing myself for assuming Maggie and Belle were safe.

  "If you can tell someone's in that house with them when you get there, you do not go in. You wait for the cops to get there," he orders me like an overbearing father.

  "Not gonna fucking happen," I tell him.