"I don't believe you," I say uncertainly.
"Why?" he mutters. "Because I'm really, really good at my undercover job? When you immerse yourself in this shit, Bridger, you go all in. You have to do the nasty with the people you get in bed with or else they won't fucking buy the cover."
That makes sense.
Sort of.
But shit... I thought that stuff only happened in the movies.
My eyes cut back down to the woman, and I must believe some of what he says because I ask, "Is she part of the sex-slave trade?"
He shakes his head. "No, she's part of something bigger, and I need you to keep her hidden."
"Why me?" I ask with narrowed eyes.
"Because if I didn't get her out of there tonight, she was going to be dead by morning," he says ominously. "And I am not ready for this bust to go down. I've got three fucking years invested in this operation, and I've done stuff that has ruined my soul. I've given up my life to bring these fuckers down, and I cannot let it be ruined. I have to see it through. But I couldn't let her die, either, so I'm begging you. Just keep her safe until this is over."
"How long?" I ask, completely disbelieving I'm even considering this lunacy.
"I don't know. Weeks?"
"What's wrong with her?" My eyes cut down to the frail woman lying unconscious on my couch.
Kyle's body shifts and his head inclines, and I know he's looking down at her too.
"Everything, man," he whispers almost fearfully. "Everything's fucking wrong with her."
WICKED BOND
(The Wicked Horse Series)
By
Sawyer Bennett
Prologue
Bridger
I walk into my cabin that sits on Double J property, completely exhausted. We had a packed house at The Silo, so I stayed until the last customer left. When there are a whole lot of people doing freaky fucking, the hormones and pheromones that circulate can make them crazy.
As it turns out, I had to break up a fight between two girls over some dude's huge, pierced dick, as well as stop a whipping session that got out of hand because the fucker wielding the whip had no clue what he was doing. He drew unnecessary blood on a woman who wasn't prepared to handle that level of pain. Although she was fully consenting, and it was, in fact, her idea to let her "date" try some new kink on her, I knew she was going to be in a world of hurt if I let it go on. The dude was pissed and threatened to pull his membership. I grabbed him by the back of the neck, dragged his sorry ass out of The Silo, and told him his membership was revoked before I slammed the door in his face. The fucker had the balls to beat on the door. When he wouldn't stop, I opened it up, stepped out, and kicked his ass. It wasn't much of a fight as two punches--one to his jaw and then one to his right kidney--had him down moaning like a bitch and I'm sure he'll be pissing blood tomorrow. I had one of the male bartenders take him home with strict instructions to impart to him he'd get more of the same if he came back on the property again.
Then I went back in and fucked the girl he was whipping because she was all worked up despite his lousy job. Fucked her right in the same room her blood was first drawn with The Silo crowd watching. I did it dispassionately. Although, I did get her off too. I put her on her hands and knees, and, ignoring the people pressing their faces in on the glass, I banged out an effective orgasm. I really don't care for public sex, but it won't stop me if the mood strikes.
As per usual, the minute I felt my balls pull up with the need for release, I pulled out of her, whipped the condom off, and shot all over her back. I gave her a sharp slap on the ass at the same time, dragged my thumb through the wetness on her back, and then shoved it up her ass. She went off like a firecracker again, and my job was done. I left her on the floor panting as I tucked my dick back in and walked out.
So yeah... exhausted and more so than normal. It's been getting harder and harder to maintain my role as head of The Silo, and I'm not sure if it's because I've been doing it on my own for almost six months now since Woolf left or if I'm just losing the taste for all the kink. There was a time in my life that this shit was the only thing that kept me sane and grounded, but I'm finding I'm actually developing a bit of an intolerance for it. It's why I spend so much time holed up in my office at The Wicked Horse, depending on some of my most trusted Fantasy Makers to make sure things run smoothly.
Sadly, the people I can depend on are dropping like flies. First, Woolf exited the business when he got involved with Callie Hayes but I don't begrudge my best friend happiness at all. I'm still happy for him to this day, although I do miss him as we see each other very infrequently now. Then Cain fell for Sloane, Rand for Cat, and just recently, Logan gave it all up for Auralie. While these guys will always love to mix kink in their fucking, they're also the type who give up the days of debauchery once they commit to a woman. It's not unheard of for monogamous couples to frequent The Silo, but while those couples do indeed have an amazing amount of trust to lead this lifestyle, I've always known there's something missing from their relationship that leads them here.
Woolf, Cain, Rand, and Logan?
They have everything they could possibly want waiting in bed for them at home, so yeah... their days in The Silo are over, and it's just me left.
Sighing, I head into the kitchen and pull a beer from the fridge. I twist the cap off and lob it into the garbage can before taking my first pull. It goes down nicely, and before I can even take a second sip, I'm craving another beer already. It appears I'm well on my way to getting shitfaced, but after the crap I had to handle tonight, I deserve it.
I head into the living room, sit down on my leather recliner, and put my beer down on the table beside it. After I take off my boots--cowboy tonight, although on any other day, it could be biker boots--I kick the recliner back. I pick up my beer from the table as well as the necklace that lays there so I can examine it.
It's silver and tarnished with age with a simple lobster clasp that was broken years ago and never repaired. On the blackened chain rests a silver men's wedding ring that doesn't come off as I ended up tying the ends of the thin chain into a knot. I hold the ring up, which is also changing color with the passage of time, and I let memories take me over.
I don't want them to take me over, but they do anyway.
They do every fucking time I look at this necklace and ring, and I look at it frequently.
Flat on my back, tied up. Wrists to headboard, but my legs are loose and lying flat on the dirty, stained mattress. I let myself be tied, but I'm not here willingly. I'm here through no choice of my own.
She rides my cock slowly, hands to my chest, using it for leverage to slide up and down my shaft. The needle marks on her arm are like bright beacons, and I focus on them so I don't have to look at that fucking necklace and ring swaying back and forth as she fucks me.
"Feels good, doesn't it, baby?" she murmurs in a raspy voice thick with lust, but not drugs. She's always sober when she wants to fuck because she doesn't want the sensation of what she does to me dulled. She'll shoot up as soon as we're done.
I grunt in unwanted acknowledgment because as much as I hate this fucking bitch, my cock will give her what she wants.
I concentrate on the feelings... wet slide of flesh, my balls tingling with the need for release--not because I want it or crave it, but only because I want this done and this skank to get off me.
"Give it to me," she moans, moving on me faster. "Come inside me, Bridger, love. Give it to me."
I grit my teeth. Her words are foul, grating on my ears, even as they do their job and force my orgasm closer. I want it and I hate it. I'll hate myself even worse once I give it up.
"Mmmmm," she taunts me. "Maybe one day, I'll even let you knock me up. We'd make a beautiful baby together, wouldn't we?"
She recognizes her mistake right away as my eyes go blank and every bit of hated lust I'm feeling starts to slide away. My dick even starts to deflate, so she backpedals quickly. By that, I mean she reac
hes out and viciously twists my nipples. They're already reddened from the belt she used on me before she climbed aboard. The pain fires through me and gives her the intended results, my cock going rock solid again inside her well-used pussy.
She bounces harder and faster, and then she taunts me further by grabbing the ring swaying from the necklace in one hand and bringing it to her lips. Pushing it into her mouth, she sucks on it as she looks down at me in triumph before she spits it back out and pants, "You're so fucking good, baby. I'll never get tired of this cock, you know."
I'm on the edge and she knows it, so she propels me along by reaching a hand back and giving a vicious squeeze to my balls. They shrink and harden as the pain drives through me. With utter silence, I unload inside of her. I do it silently because it's the one way I can show this bitch that my body might react to her--and only because it's been brainwashed to do so--but that's the only acknowledgment she gets.
She watches me with interest as the orgasm ripples through me, and then she comes to a complete rest with my spent cock inside of her. She climbs off, not having achieved her own orgasm, but I'm not sure she's even capable of it. I've never seen it, and she doesn't fuck me to get off. She fucks me because she's a sick bitch who likes the power and control.
With a calm that shows just how whacked she is in the head, she undoes the ropes around my wrists and releases my bondage. She looks down at me with that smug look of superiority tinged with madness before bending over and placing a light kiss on the tip of my nose. It's an endearing kiss and I suspect, in her own fucked-up world, she's doing this to show she loves me.
The thought causes my flesh to crawl and fury to wash through me.
She gives me a condescending pat on my chest and starts to scoot off the bed. Before I can even reason with myself what I'm doing, my hand flies out and catches her around the back of her neck. Her eyes flare wide for a brief moment, sizzling with both anger and lust that I'd dare make such a move.
My other hand strikes, grabbing the necklace and tearing it from her body, the weak clasp easily shredding.
"Bridger," she shrieks, making a grab for the necklace.
I roll swiftly, using my grasp on her neck to flip her over me and down onto the mattress, where I throw a leg over her wasted body and straddle her.
"Get off me," she yells, and the fear in her eyes motivates me.
Motivates me to take my life back.
My hands wrap around her neck, the silver necklace wound through my fingers and the ring--my dad's ring--coming to rest at the hollow in her throat. I squeeze and for a brief moment, her eyes flash with lust.
This motivates me as well.
I squeeze harder. Moving my thumbs to rest over her windpipe, I press them down.
The lust turns to fear instantaneously, and fuck my soul to hell... that motivates me further.
I tighten my hands and I start to choke the ever-loving shit out of her. I watch, fascinated, as she gasps, her hands now scratching and clawing at my hands, her legs kicking underneath me frantically. She tries to buck me off, but the lack of oxygen and the fact she's weak of body makes her attempts futile. Her face turns a beautiful shade of crimson... not nearly as red as the belt marks on my chest, but enough to satisfy me.
It starts to turn purple, and her eyes bulge as they leak copious amounts of tears. I watch as a blood vessel blooms and bursts in her right eye, and that fascinates me too.
Leaning down, I hover my mouth right over hers, which is opening and closing like a gasping fish, and I whisper to her, "I'm. Done. With. You."
Her eyes are blank, mostly because she's oxygen deprived, and I'm not sure she even understands me. I make my point by releasing my hands from around her neck, taking only a moment to enjoy the red marks there that I know will turn purple as well, and roll off the bed. She immediately starts coughing and gasping, sucking in precious air. I bend down to the floor, pick my clothes up, and walk out of the bedroom.
I get dressed in the hallway, shoving the necklace and ring in my jeans pocket. I grab my wallet off the food-stained kitchen counter and make my way through the living room, where drunk and drugged-out people lay scattered all around, a few of them fucking on the filthy carpet.
I open the door and walk right out of my stepmom's house.
I'm just fifteen years old, but I'm never coming back.
A loud banging on my front door jolts me out of the memory, and for a moment, I'm confused as to what the sound is. But it comes again, louder this time.
Boom, boom, boom.
I kick my legs down, putting the recliner back in an upright position. After placing my beer and the necklace on the table, I stalk across my living room as the pounding reverberates through the house.
Without bothering to look to see who's outside, I throw the door open and glare at the intruder, only to have my jaw drop wide open.
Kyle Sommerville stands there, holding something cradled in his arms.
A woman.
An unconscious woman by the looks of it.
"What the fuck?" I say in astonishment, but then Kyle is barreling past me and causing me to step backward so he can make an entrance. I shut the door and turn to watch him walk over to my couch. He lays the woman down with incredible care.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Kyle," I growl at him, my eyes cutting down to the package he just deposited.
He spins on me, his face grim. "I need your help."
I stomp over to the couch and look down at the woman. Her eyes are closed, face pale with dark lashes fanning bruised skin underneath. Her brown hair is dirty and matted with what looks like blood, and there's dirt streaked all over her face. Her clothes are filthy as well.
"Who the fuck is that?" I ask as I point down to the woman.
"Listen to me," Kyle says urgently as he steps into me. "I am sorry for fucking involving you, but I had no choice. She is in serious fucking danger, and I need you to hide her for a bit."
"Are you out of your goddamn mind--?"
"Bridger," he shouts. "I'm not fucking around on this. She has one foot in the grave if you don't take her in."
"You cannot leave her here," I shout back at him. I have no clue what this crazy son of a bitch biker has gotten himself into, and I want no part of it. "Take her to the police or something."
"I am the goddamn police," Kyle snarls at me in frustration, and I take two unsteady steps backward.
"What?" I ask in bewilderment.
Kyle takes a deep breath, scrubs his hands through his long, blond hair, and says, "I'm ATF, and I've been deep undercover with Mayhem's Mission for over three years now. I've been investigating illegal firearms, drugs, and a sex-slave ring they're running through all the clubs throughout the Midwest over to the West Coast."
I can't even comprehend what he's telling me. This is Kyle Sommerville, badass biker who is yeah... a friend... but not a good one. I know him marginally, and never once did I ever get a whiff that he's law enforcement. I can't even begin to process because I've seen this fucker do shit that's highly illegal. I've watched him snort coke and clean what I'm sure were stolen guns. I've watched him fuck club pussy in the nastiest of ways, and I watched him cut a guy up at a party once just because he seemed to feel like it.
"I don't believe you," I say uncertainly.
"Why?" he mutters. "Because I'm really good at my undercover job? When you immerse yourself in this shit, Bridger, you go all in. You have to do the dirty with the people you get in bed with or else they won't fucking buy the cover."
That makes sense.
Sort of.
But shit... I thought that stuff only happened in the movies.
My eyes cut back down to the woman. I must believe some of what he says because I ask, "She part of the sex-slave trade?"
He shakes his head. "No, she's part of something bigger, and I need you to keep her hidden."
"Why me?" I ask with narrowed eyes.
"Because if I didn't get her out of there tonight, she was goin
g to be dead by morning," he says ominously. "And I am not ready for this bust to go down. I've got three fucking years invested in this operation, and I've done stuff that has destroyed my soul. I've given up my life to bring these fuckers down, and I cannot let it be ruined. I have to see it through. But I couldn't let her die, either, so I'm begging you... just keep her safe until this is over."
"How long?" I ask, completely disbelieving I'm even considering this lunacy.
"I don't know. Weeks?"
"What's wrong with her?" My eyes cut down to the frail woman lying unconscious on my couch.
Kyle's body shifts and his head inclines, so I know he's looking down at her too.
"Everything, man," he whispers almost fearfully. "Everything's fucking wrong with her."
Chapter 1
Bridger
Everything's fucking wrong with her.
Kyle's words are still buzzing in my head as I look down at the unconscious woman.
He's only been gone a few minutes, but already I'm overwhelmed with the enormity of what he's laid upon me.
My first reaction is that this doesn't sound right. Kyle coming in here and dumping this on me, claiming he's undercover ATF. I feel like I'm being set up for something, but maybe that's just paranoia kicking in. Still, it's just too goddamn hard for me to accept that Kyle Sommerville is anything but a thug who rides with Mayhem's Mission.
Don't get me wrong... his criminal proclivities never bothered me. I don't judge, and I sure as shit don't get messed up in it. Keep that shit away from me and as long as you can do that, I can hang and party with the best of them. And I've partied with Kyle on several occasions, no doubt, which is why it doesn't make sense he'd come to me to conceal this woman. We don't know each other all that great because sharing booze doesn't necessarily lend itself to strong bonds of friendship. As such, he has no idea if I'll keep this woman safe or turn her over to Zeke. Shit, I've spent more time with the club president, Zeke, and his old lady, Kayla, doing all kinds of nasties with them, than I have with Kyle. How in the fuck does he not think I wouldn't have more loyalty to Zeke?