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

  "You truly don't have feelings for Cain?" he asks skeptically.

  "Not really," I say, the words tasting bitter. "He was a good time and I became fond of him, but that's about as deep as it got."

  He takes one last step so he's almost toe to toe with me. His hand comes up, and it curls around the back of my neck. When he pulls gently, my body falls into his and his other hand wraps around my back, pressing me in tighter.

  "Then stay with me," he says in a low, seductive voice. He bends his head, putting his lips near my ear. "I loved fucking you that night and since you don't care about Cain, stay here and be with me."

  My entire body tightens with refusal and I jerk away from him, taking two large steps backward. He is not the one I want.

  Bridger just gives a husky laugh and cocks an eyebrow at me. "Don't tell me you weren't just now thinking to yourself that Cain's the only man you could want."

  Clearly, he was just trying to make a point to me, but I don't want to accept it. I start sputtering. "Well... that's... the point is... I mean..."

  "Sloane," Bridger says, cutting me off. "Stay and try to work things out with him. If your feelings are that deep, then do something about it and don't give up. He's a stubborn fuck, but he'll cool down eventually."

  "I can't," I say automatically, but I'll admit... Bridger now has me hoping. "I just lost my job. My savings aren't all that great, and Stephenson doesn't pay me enough to cover my bills. I'm going to head home to Tennessee and I have about enough in savings for a plane ticket."

  "Have you ever bartended before?" he asks bluntly.

  "Um... yeah. A lot actually while in college."

  "Then you can start tomorrow at The Wicked Horse. That will be a prime opportunity to put yourself in Cain's line of sight. Remind him why he's being pigheaded."

  My head spins with the possibility. Should I do that? Is it even possible for him to forgive that type of transgression, especially as the other woman he loved betrayed him so badly?

  Then a thought strikes me.

  I narrow my eyes at him and ask, "Why do you believe me? Why did you so willingly accept my apology?"

  "Because you were remorseful," he says simply, as if it was the dumbest question ever. "Anyone could see the truth in that. And you took full responsibility. Didn't even try to pin it on the blackmail until you were asked about it. It takes a lot of guts and fortitude to do that."

  "But you don't know me," I argue, because I just can't believe that this is happening to me. The man I tried to screw over by outing his secret sex club is offering me a job.

  "But I do," Bridger says with a knowing smile. "You are driven by a sense of justice, I'm guessing because of what your father did. In fact, I bet you probably had some lame-ass degree planned in college, but changed over to journalism so you could have a vehicle to expose corrupt politicians. Probably had all these altruistic ideas about bringing scumbags like your dad to justice and helping to clean up our system of the frauds. You came here with a fire in your belly to nail your first big target to the wall, and then you ran into trouble when your heart of gold got in the way. You ended up attaching yourself to a good man who showed you there's more to life than vengeance, and you realized wonderful women like Callie Hayes exist in this world. Even with your mother threatened, you ultimately did what's right, so that tells me your moral compass needs no fine tuning. And let's be honest... I know how fucking good your pussy feels, so I know without a doubt that Cain is probably already thinking twice about his decision to cut you loose so fast."

  I stare at him, jaw dropped and mouth wide open. "You're... um... really weird."

  "I'm intuitive and that freaks people out sometimes."

  "If I work for you, you don't have any expectations that you and I will..."

  "Relax, darling," Bridger says with a chuckle. "I just expect you to be a good bartender."

  "Then I accept," I say, suddenly filled back up with a renewed passion to make things right. I'm going to get Cain Bonham back, no matter how long it takes.

  "Be here tomorrow at noon," he says with a nod as he turns back toward his desk. "I'll have someone ready to train you."

  "Thank you, Bridger," I say softly as I turn toward his office door.

  "And Sloane?" he calls out.

  I stop with my hand on the doorknob, turning to look at him over my shoulder. "Yes?"

  "I'll still most gladly fuck you any time you and Cain want to invite me into your bed." He gives me a Cheshire Cat grin, and I feel something tingle between my legs.

  That man is serious trouble, but I can't think about him now.

  My mind is on another man who is far more troublesome at this minute.

  Chapter 27

  Cain

  I open the door to my truck and step out, right into a fucking mud puddle.

  Figures.

  I'm surprised it isn't a pile of shit the way my life has been going the past... I look down at my watch... oh, twenty-one and a half hours, give or take a few minutes.

  Slamming the door angrily, I step out of the puddle onto dryer gravel and trudge my way toward the front doors. The last thing I want is to be here. I'd much rather sit at my house and polish off a fifth of booze, preferring to numb my mind to thoughts of Sloane and all the ways in which she betrayed me.

  My mood is black as I walk toward the nightclub. It's been black since last night when I walked in on Sloane talking to God knows who on the phone about... I'm still not even sure what the fuck she was doing. My rage was so consuming that I'm not sure I understand what she was telling me, but I got the general idea.

  I got the important parts.

  Undercover reporter.

  Using me to find dirt on Callie and her father.

  Fucking bitch was using me to get into The Silo. I think about her dirty fantasy I made come true and realize I was being played right from the start. Every single time I made her come, and every single soft touch or sweet word she gave me... all fucking calculated to lead me by the short hairs down a very defined path.

  And when I think about the fact that just last night, I had made the willing and conscious decision to change my life so I could be with her, my black mood gets darker and colder. I nearly gave up everything for a woman who was using me.

  I nearly lost my heart, but at least that's now firmly back under lock and key.

  Stomping onto the long, wooden walkway that borders the front of the club, I about jerk the doors off the hinges as my fury is projected into my actions. The club is just about deserted at this early hour, usually late stragglers who just came in for a few drinks or some pub food after work. The music is turned down low, and I can hear the chatter of some of the bartenders and waitresses as they prepare for the bustle to start in about an hour.

  "What's up, man?" Tank Godwin says from his perch on the end of the bar. He's one of the Double J hands, and I've known him for going on forever.

  Giving him a curt nod, I head toward the back of the club. I need to check in with Bridger and let him know what's going on. While I'm guessing Sloane Meyers or Preston or whatever the fuck her name is, is probably long gone if I can believe what she was saying--and I probably can't--I need to give him a heads up about the breach. That makes my black mood start to burn within my veins like acid... knowing I inadvertently put Bridger and this club at risk simply by trusting the wrong person.

  Just as I hit the hallway that leads to the back exit as well as Bridger's office, I'm brought up short when his office door opens. I fully expect one of the waitresses to walk out with a satisfied smile on her face, but my knees nearly buckle when I see Sloane step into the hall.

  Bridger comes out behind her, murmurs something that I can't hear, and then gives her shoulder an affectionate squeeze. My eyes take in the fact she's wearing a pair of skintight jeans, black boots with neon blue spurs, and a black Wicked Horse t-shirt with the logo over the left breast.

  I take all of that in, and yet my mind doesn't process what it means. Inste
ad, my rage, which had been on a low simmer all day, fires up and bubbles, frothing to a point that my vision almost goes red. In three long strides, I'm on her.

  My hand goes around the back of her neck, and because it's so slender, my fingers curl all the way around in a hard grip. She gives a terrified yip as I turn her toward me, pulling up so she goes to her tiptoes. Leaning down, I get my face in hers and snarl, "What in the fuck are you doing here?"

  "I work here," she squeaks at me, her eyes round and fearful. I suppose my fingers digging into her neck aren't helping.

  "Like hell you do," I growl at her.

  "Let her go," Bridger says in a deadly calm voice.

  Ordinarily, I jump to do Bridger's bidding. He is, after all, my boss. He's the leader of our kinky pack when it comes to the sex club, and I usually fuck the way he tells me to fuck when I'm in a group.

  But right now, at this moment, I rebel against his order and tighten my hold on Sloane's neck. "I think you need to know what this bitch has done--"

  "I'm well aware of what she's done," Bridger says, his voice just as calm but with a deeper rumble of authority. "Now let her go."

  My hand falls away from Sloane, and she actually falls forward into my chest. Her hands come out and inadvertently balance against my chest. It feels like I've been burned. My body instantly becomes attracted to her touch. At the same time, it's being repulsed by it. I practically jump backward, slamming my back against the wall.

  Sloane straightens herself and takes a step backward as well, eyeing me with a mixture of sadness and fear.

  My head swivels to Bridger, and I try to maintain some level of respect. "You know she was working as an undercover reporter to expose The Silo, right? Was targeting Callie... probably fucking Woolf too. She's a snake in the grass and can't be trusted, so I assume you're going to fire her ass now that you know all of this, right?"

  "I knew it all when I hired her," Bridger says, and then slides his gaze to Sloane. "Go ahead and find Francine behind the main bar. You'll shadow her tonight."

  My eyes narrow as I watch Sloane give an unsure nod. She drops her face so as not to look at me and scurries past. My fingers itch to grab onto her again.

  To throw her out of here.

  Or maybe pull her to me and kiss the hell out of her.

  Or maybe, just a good hard fucking, then I can toss her aside.

  My head is so fucked at this moment that I don't know what I'd do, so it's a good thing she's gone.

  "In my office," Bridger says and turns to walk back in there. I follow him in dutifully.

  Once I close the door behind me, I say, "Come on, man... you cannot seriously think to give her a job here after she tried to screw you over."

  "You'd be wrong about that," Bridger says as he walks around his desk and sits down in his chair. "I did give her a job, and you're also wrong. She didn't try to screw me over."

  "I overheard her talking to someone about the club... and Callie. She admitted to me she works for a magazine."

  "All true and she told me the same," Bridger says, his voice level and matter of fact. "But she did not try to screw me over. She didn't try to screw you or Callie over, for that matter. She did the right thing and dumped the story, turned over all the evidence she had to Callie to destroy, and she quit her job. Seems to me, she's the one who got screwed over."

  "But her intent was--"

  "And furthermore," Bridger says, talking right over me. "You have no right to judge her until you know all the facts. I assume you haven't bothered to read the letter she wrote you."

  That stupid fucking letter.

  I left it laying on the porch last night.

  I thought about it all night.

  Obsessed about it really, but I refused to read it. I left it there and I hoped it would blow away, just as I hoped these terrible feelings would go by the wayside. I stayed in my house all day today, not having anywhere I needed to be and preferring to sulk alone in my misery. When I stepped out on my porch to head to work, my eyes were helplessly drawn down to where the envelope had been when Sloane left last night.

  And it was gone.

  For a brief moment, a stab of regret pulsed within me. It was followed immediately by a sense of final loss... my last true tie to Sloane was gone. My eyes roved the area, figuring the wind took it since we had a rainstorm in the early morning hours. I saw it immediately about ten feet off the side of my porch on a patch of damn grass.

  My relief was intense, and just as quickly, I cursed at myself for my weakness.

  I called myself a motherfucking dumb motherfucking moron for even having a care in the world for that stupid letter. Really, what could it possibly say? How in the world could it ever excuse or make better what she did? What carefully thought out words by a known liar would ease the anger I had?

  "What difference would it make?" I say bitterly. "She used me."

  "That may have been her original intent," he says with a careless shrug. "But I guarantee you that's not what she was doing in the end."

  "What the fuck ever, dude," I sneer as I cross my arms over my chest. "She's bad fucking news. You cannot let her work here."

  "But I am," Bridger says simply.

  I just blink at him, refusing to believe he would do that. Where's his goddamn loyalty to me?

  "Look, Cain," Bridger says in a softer tone. "She was wrong and she knows it. She made it right in the end. And for what it's worth, I believe the reason she made it right was solely because of her feelings for you and Callie. She just couldn't hurt you."

  "I heard her on the phone telling someone she worked for about the club and Callie. She admitted she used me to get to the club."

  "Again," Bridger says in an even tone. "At first, yeah... that's what she was doing. But it tore her up, and she ultimately sacrificed that job to protect this club and Callie. It's all in the letter."

  I give a snort, not wanting to believe a word he says. It's much easier to hold on to my hate and anger. It's definitely easier to be able to put her from my mind and pretend this never happened. I can't fucking do that with her in my line of sight here.

  "You need to fire her," I say adamantly. "I won't work here with her."

  "Then I suggest you get in your truck and go home," he responds.

  My eyebrows shoot straight up. "Are you serious?"

  "Dead serious."

  "Suit yourself," I say, figuring either I'm going home on an unplanned vacation day, or that was just Bridger terminating my services. I don't bother to ask for clarification as I turn on my heel and head for the door.

  "The letter, Cain," Bridger calls out to me. "Do yourself a favor and read the damn thing."

  I ignore him and stomp out, fully intending to stay away until he cans her ass.

  *

  I sit in my recliner, mindlessly flipping the channel on the TV. Nothing is holding my attention, but then again... I'm not a big TV watcher. Never have the time actually, so it's no surprise now that it's not giving me a single ounce of numbness.

  I glance at the clock.

  Almost ten PM, and I think about the letter for about the hundredth time since I left Bridger's office this evening. It's still laying in my side yard, and this I know because I walked to the end of my porch when I got home and saw it there in the moonlight. I stared at it, warring with myself about whether to read it, but I left it alone.

  It's like a damn homing beacon, calling out to me, Read me. Read me, Cain.

  Christ... I can't get it out of my head.

  "Fuck it," I mutter to myself and turn the TV off. I launch up out of the recliner, the springs groaning, and before I can talk myself out of it, head outside.

  The envelope is damp when I pick it up off the ground, and I have a small measure of relief as I think the words will possibly be smeared from the rain. But truthfully, I don't know if it was even in the rain. It could have blown off long after the storm had passed through last night.

  I carry it inside, head to the refriger
ator, and pull out a beer. Opening it, I take a few pulls and then sit at my small kitchen table, staring at the thing.

  My name is written in neat, cursive letters on the outside, barely smudged from the wet.

  Before I can talk myself out of it, I put the beer bottle down and open the envelope.

  Inside are two sheets written in the same blue ink as my name on the outside, dated three days ago. I take a deep breath, and I read.

  Dear Cain,

  By the time you read this letter, and if all goes according to plan, I will be on a plane headed back home to Tennessee. While it would have been very easy for me to disappear without a word, I felt I owed you the truth so you could perhaps garner some small measure of comfort after you find out what I did.

  First... my name is Sloane Preston. Meyers is my mom's maiden name, and I used a fake name because I came to Jackson as an undercover reporter working for Revealed magazine in Washington, DC. My job was to follow up on an anonymous tip made to my employer about a sex club that had ties to Governor Hayes.

  While my actions sicken me now, I feel I have to honestly tell you everything. I first targeted you in the hopes that you would gain me access into the club. That first night we were together... I tried to orchestrate that. I punched that guy on the dance floor, hoping you'd find me interesting. I hoped you would want to know more about me, and it apparently worked. I had set the hook, and you took it.

  I'm sorry to hurt you that way. I wish I could avoid causing you pain, but it's more important for me to be honest with you, so I can hopefully find some redemption within myself.

  Here's something else I'm being honest with you about. After that very first night with you, I knew down deep in my gut that it was a mistake of massive proportions to get involved with you. Every day... every moment we spent together, I found my connection to you growing stronger, and my feelings for you growing deeper.

  Please don't ever doubt my feelings. While I was indeed trying to find a story, my real efforts went into building something with you. Every day, my own self-esteem and pride took a battering as I continued to lead a double life, and yet I couldn't bring myself to cut you loose. You started to become necessary to me, and in a very selfish move, I tried to figure out how to have it all.

  I figured out early on there wasn't a story there. I swear to you I tried to convey to the magazine time and time again that there was nothing there. I was met with resistance and firm orders to dig deeper. This past week, I wracked my brain trying to figure out a way from this mess. How I could salvage my job and my relationship with you. How I could look myself in the mirror and not be ashamed of what was looking back at me.