Wicked Lust

  But I had to make her see that yes, it's a sex club, but it's also part of my job. It was the only way I could truly explain to her why I had plans with Amy on Friday night.

  What I didn't expect was for Sloane to react in a way I could have never anticipated. I thought she might understand once she saw, but I never expected her to want to partake in the sinfulness there. I expected her to take it all in and then tell me to go to hell.

  I most certainly didn't foresee me eating her pussy on the bar in front of everyone, and that was indeed hot.

  But when I was done and observing the flush on her face from her orgasm, I had an intense desire to keep our sex private from other eyes. Call it a primal caveman response, or maybe it was my soul recognizing its mate, I don't fucking know, but I had her back over my shoulder and my cock deep inside of her within the confines of the supply closet in seconds.

  While I was fucking her, deep as can be, I kept thinking it would be the last time. She was lost to me. I'd never have anything as great as what was in my arms at that moment, and an epiphany rang as clear as church bells on Sunday.

  Sloane Meyers was it for me.

  She was more important than continuing on with meaningless sex within The Silo, or earning good bonuses from my fantasy making duties. My priorities clarified. I looked with clear eyes upon the woman who I believe was meant for me and for whom I was falling for hard and fast.

  That caused me to lose it deep inside of her. I came so ridiculously hard, I almost wept against her shoulder.

  I look back at the house. After I drove Sloane home, I walked with her inside. Led her straight back to my bedroom and watched as she crawled onto my bed, shoving her legs under the covers. I kissed her on her forehead and bade her goodnight, with a promise we'd talk more in the morning about what this all meant for us going forward. And though working at The Wicked Horse tonight is the last thing in the world I want to do, I headed back out the door.

  My hand goes to the ignition and I start to turn it, eyeballing my house... wait, my home now, one more time.

  "Fuck it," I say into the darkness of the truck's cab, pulling the key out.

  I grab my phone and send a quick text to Bridger.

  I'm taking the night off. Let Mikey know to take charge of the security crew.

  I didn't ask Bridger. I just told him, hoping that didn't earn me a firing. But damn... I never take time off from work, always work extra shifts, and have always been at Bridger's beck and call when he needed me. I don't think one night off would be a problem.

  Bridger texts back immediately, and apparently, all is good. Not surprised. Have fun.

  I smile and open the truck door. He may be hard and scary a good chunk of the time, but I suspect Bridger might have a little bit of softness in the very center of his heart. Maybe not for himself, but he definitely likes those around him to be happy and fulfilled.

  Making my way back to the house, I silently fit the key in the lock and enter quietly. I can still see that my bedroom door is open, as the light spills out into the darkened hallway. I imagine Sloane laying there in my bed, maybe just getting ready to turn out the light to go to sleep. I suspect she's worn out, but I hope not too bad. I have an insatiable need brewing inside of me again to have her, and I know she won't deny me.

  Maybe it's time to even take that ass tonight, which would be an incredible way to cement the new bond we developed.

  I creep down the hallway, glad of the worn but soft carpet to hide my footsteps. As I get closer, I hear her voice in a low murmur. I stop just outside the door, not wanting to interrupt if perhaps she's talking to her mom again. I consider even turning around and waiting in the kitchen, when I hear, "Brant... I've got an update."

  I freeze, my curiosity piqued, and I tilt my head to continue listening.

  "I've done some major digging with Callie Hayes, and I've also been inside the club. It's all locked down tight, and Callie's lips are secured. I've got nothing."

  My breath goes stale within my lungs and my stomach seems to be filled with a ball of lead. There's silence, and then a long-suffering sigh. Her voice sounds worn when she says, "There's nothing there. No story. You need to let it go."

  What the fuck?

  Any thoughts of surreptitiously spying on Sloane evaporate, and I step into the room. She's still in my bed, her knees pulled up almost to her chin, with her back slumped against the headboard. The only sign I've surprised her by my appearance is a heavy sadness that fills her eyes as she realizes I've heard what she's just said.

  Keeping her eyes locked on me, she says into the phone, "I was hoping I could persuade you differently."

  My anger starts rising as I realize Sloane isn't who I thought she was at all. I've heard enough to know she's been planted here to find something on The Silo, and by the sounds of it, something about Callie.

  Which means Woolf must be targeted as well.

  But why?

  "Brant... you do what you need to do, but there's nothing here on my end. Run the story if you have to. I'm afraid this will serve as my notice too. I quit."

  Sloane then winces as whoever is on the other line must be issuing a string of vulgarities. She listens for only a few seconds before disconnecting the call. She stares at the phone for a moment, seemingly lost in deep thought, and then drags her eyes back up to me.

  "I'm sorry," is all she says.

  "Who the fuck are you?" I grit out, my hands clenching into fists.

  Sloane rolls out of the bed, dropping her phone on the mattress. When she walks up to me, her eyes are apologetic but pleading with me for understanding. She goes to lay a hand on my chest but I step out of her reach, my fists still balled tight.

  The sadness in her eyes intensifies at my reaction.

  "My name is Sloane Preston. Meyers is my mom's maiden name. I work for--well, used to work for a political magazine in D.C. I was sent here to find out about The Silo and to try to connect it to Governor Hayes."

  My breath hisses out through my teeth as my rage intensifies.

  "When I couldn't find a link to the governor," she continues on in a shame-filled voice, "I was ordered to try to find some dirt on Callie. They wanted me to write a sordid piece on her, and they'd connect the governor with a very weak political spin so they could publish it. They wanted sales and ratings."

  "And what the fuck was my part in all of this?"

  She swallows hard but doesn't drop her gaze. "You were my way into the club."

  "Son of a fucking bitch," I roar as it suddenly hits me that everything I had with this woman was a fucking lie. My hand shoots out and grabs her by the upper arm. She gasps in pain, but I don't care. I drag her to the bed, picking up her phone with my free hand and throwing it in her purse on the nightstand. Then I grab the purse, shoving it into her chest, where she makes an awkward grab at it.

  I immediately start dragging her out of my bedroom. "You fucking bitch," I hiss at her.

  "Wait, Cain," she cries out, trying to dig her bare feet into the carpet. "I couldn't go through with it..."

  "Yeah, I heard that part," I sneer at her as I pull on her hard. She stumbles, goes to her knees, and I drag her down the hallway. "Convenient how you said that only after I walked into the room and you knew you were busted."

  "That's not true," she blurts out and I stop, yank her to her feet, and start pulling her across my living room. "I had planned to quit when I made that call."

  "Don't fucking lie to make this easier on your conscience. I'm not buying it."

  "Just wait," she yells at me, trying to jerk her arm free. Just as I reach the front door, she manages to rip away from me and take two steps back.

  I turn on her, my breath coming in shallow bursts. My fury burns hotter as I take in the deceitful woman who turned out to be no better than Rachel was.

  Actually, worse since my feelings were deeper.

  "I was going to quit before then," she says hurriedly as she reaches into her purse. She looks in, shuffles throug
h something, and pulls out an envelope. Her hand reaches out, attempting to hand it to me. "I wrote this letter to you explaining everything. I was going to leave tonight... leave this with you... telling you the truth of everything. And I thought... if you could forgive me, then maybe we could--"

  I lunge at her, dismissing everything that comes out of her mouth, knowing I'll never trust her or another woman again as long as I live. I take her arm again, yanking her roughly to the door. She tries to pull against me, but I'm having none of it. I know my grip is so hard on her that it will leave bruises on her skin.

  So fucking what. They'll match the bruises on my heart.

  I jerk the door open, shoving her through it onto my front porch. She stumbles but catches herself before she goes down. Sloane spins quickly to look at me, her hair flying and covering a portion of her face. Tears are streaming down her face, and I have to wonder why in the fuck she's crying.

  She hands the envelope toward me again. "Please, will you just read it?"

  Glancing down to the envelope, I look back up to her. I narrow my gaze at her and put every bit of emotion into my words when I say, "Get the fuck off my property and don't ever come here again. You so much as come after Callie or anyone involved in The Silo, and I will end you. There won't be anywhere you can hide from me."

  Sloane gives a tiny sob and nods at me in understanding, tears pouring so hard from her eyes that they drip off her chin onto my porch. "I understand. And don't worry. I won't do anything to hurt you, Callie, or anyone. That was never my intention."

  I watch as she bends over, drops the envelope on the porch, and turns around to trot down the steps. She hustles into her car, and I watch until I can no longer see her taillights in the dark.

  I look down at the envelope one more time, then turn around and walk back into my house.

  Chapter 26

  Sloane

  I pull out onto 191 and head toward Jackson, but my eyes are so blurred with tears that I can't see the road. Slamming on brakes, I pull over onto the shoulder, feeling the crunch of gravel and wild sagebrush under my tires.

  Placing my hands at the top of my steering wheel, I lay my forehead on them and just go ahead and let the sobs out. I let myself purge all the pain and heartbreak I'm feeling, because I still have important things to do and I have to let this go sooner rather than later.

  Oh, God... I didn't realize it would hurt this bad when Cain found out the truth. I didn't realize how badly it would clearly hurt him, and his reaction very much hurt me. The mere fact he wouldn't listen to my explanation... wouldn't even touch my letter explaining it all... it leaves me so empty feeling I'm not sure how I can ever reconcile this all within my conscience.

  Cain has no reason to believe me based on what he overheard with Brant, but I had made the decision to tell Brant to go fuck himself yesterday after Callie and I had lunch. I thought of the connection I had with her, and the amazing relationship I was developing with Cain, and I weighed it against my abhorrence over hurting two people I came to care about and admire in a short time. I realized I couldn't go through with what Brant wanted of me, so I came back to my apartment and drafted my letters.

  I wrote down exactly who I was and what I had set out to do.

  The one I wrote to Cain lays on his front porch, where it will probably blow away and disintegrate from the elements.

  The other I wrote to Callie.

  I kept them in my purse, assured I would not hand them over until I had exhausted all efforts to get Brant to back off. I had no clue when or if that could happen. I know tonight was my first true attempt to get him to see reason. As soon as Cain dropped me off at his house and left to go back to work, I was filled with compulsion to make this all go away so I could try to make an honest effort at having something real with this man who had just willingly sacrificed a big part of his life to be with me.

  In the matter of a few hours' time, I had gone from thinking Cain was all wrong for me to knowing he was the one. I was willing to leave D.C., relocate here permanently, and try to figure out a new path in life. I was at peace with that decision, knowing that in the end, I'd get what was most important.

  But fuck... when Cain walked into that room and I saw the condemnation tinged with hate in his eyes, I knew time was up. I had to cut my ties with Brant. He was screaming at me that he was bringing my mother and me down when I hung up, but I couldn't worry about that right now. I had to start making amends to the immediate people who were going to be hurt, and that was namely Cain and Callie.

  Cain's a bust. He's not listening, nor does it appear he has room in his heart to forgive my betrayal. And honestly, I don't expect him to. What I did was too deceitful to even expect him to consider listening to a damn thing I have to say.

  But maybe Callie will, and since she was the one I targeted, it's just as important to me that she understands I couldn't go through with it. I know Cain doesn't believe that was my intention all along, but perhaps she will.

  Reaching with a shaky hand into my purse, I grab my phone. I know it's late, but I still pull Callie up in my contacts and hit her number.

  She answers on the third ring and sounds fairly chipper despite the late hour. "What's up, buttercup?" she says.

  My heart squeezes, because that's probably the last time I'll hear a friendly tone in her voice. "Callie..."

  "What's wrong?" she butts in with concern heavy in her voice. She can hear the quaver in mine.

  "I need to see you... tonight," I whisper, my throat clogging up with emotion.

  "I'll come to you," she says quickly. "Where are you?"

  Clearing my throat, I say, "No. I'd like to meet you at The Wicked Horse. And I need Woolf and Bridger there too. I know it's late, but it's important."

  "Woolf and I are on our way," she says, not even questioning why I want to meet her at the bar. "We'll call Bridger and have him there. Just have the guy at the door show you to his office."

  "Okay," I say and have to choke down another sob. "And Callie?"

  "Yeah, babe?"

  "I'm really sorry," I say morosely.

  "For what?" she asks, and I hear a tinge of fear in her voice now.

  "For everything," I say before hanging up.

  All three stand in Bridger's office as I requested, looking concerned over my appearance.

  Tearstained face, wrinkled clothes, and dirty, bare feet. My shoes and bag of overnight clothes are still at Cain's house.

  "Thanks for meeting me," I whisper as I reach into my purse, pulling out the envelope for Callie. I hand it to her. "I'd like all three of you to read it. I was going to give this to you eventually, once I had worked a few things out, but unfortunately, it has to be tonight."

  Bridger looks intrigued, Callie looks worried for me, and Woolf looks at me skeptically. "Where's Cain?" he asks.

  "At his house," I say calmly and don't elaborate.

  Callie takes the envelope and breaks the seal. Hers is a little thicker than Cain's. Why is immediately revealed when she pulls out the letter I wrote plus a small, digital recorder. Her head snaps up, and she looks at me with confused eyes.

  "The letter," I say in a raspy voice. "It explains everything."

  Bridger and Woolf step into Callie's sides, and they start to read it over her shoulder after she unfolds it. I watch their faces and can tell by their expressions exactly how they're feeling.

  Bewildered.

  Betrayed.

  Angry.

  Sad.

  It tells them everything. What my intentions were, what I found out, and most importantly, that I wasn't going through with it. That I was going to leave town and quit my job, but that I wanted Callie to know what I had done in the hopes she'd at least forgive me. I even signed it with my real name... Sloane Preston.

  Callie finishes first, handing the letter to Bridger. She steps toward me, and Bridger and Woolf close ranks to finish reading. She steps up to me and takes my hands. I can't bear to meet her gaze, so she says, "Sloane...
look at me."

  I tilt my head, drag my eyes up to hers, and almost reel backward from the keen disappointment. "What's on the digital recorder?"

  "Our conversation at The Merry Piglets. I didn't copy it. That's the one and only recording. I didn't turn anything over to my editor," I hastily tell her. "Everything I learned is in my head, and I'm not telling another soul. You have nothing to worry about from me."

  "Does your editor have anything that ties me to The Silo?" she asks, her brows furrowed with concern.

  "Absolutely nothing other than an anonymous tipster," I assure her.

  "Colton Stokes," Bridger says confidently as he takes the letter and throws it down on his desk.

  "I can't reveal that source," I say carefully, but then hopefully reassure them when I add on, "but I do believe that source is dried up and has no intentions of opening his or her mouth again."

  "You do realize the risk you put us all at," Woolf growls at me, and I can see... he's just as pissed as Cain.

  Callie reaches back and touches her fingers to his wrist. "Leave it, baby. Sloane wasn't going to do anything to hurt us."

  "At first she was," Woolf says as he pulls his hand away and stomps over to the couch. He throws himself down on it, glaring at me.

  "Just so I'm sure I understand everything," Bridger says as he leans his butt on his desk and crosses his arms over his chest. "According to your letter, you came here to flush out a story about Governor Hayes' ties to The Silo. You quickly found out he had no knowledge of it, then you were ordered to try to tie Callie and possibly Woolf to it, so they could publish a "guilt by association" type of story about the governor?"

  "Yes, although Woolf wasn't really on my radar," I admit.

  Bridger waves a hand at me. "That's because he sold out all his interest to me last month."

  "For fuck's sake, Bridger," Woolf snarls from the couch. "Just tell her everything, why don't you?"

  "She's not going to tell anyone," Bridger says with all confidence.

  "I'm not," I assure him. "I swear it. I couldn't. And I am so damn sorry I did this to the three of you. You'll never know how sickened I am with myself."

  Woolf gives a snort of disbelief and rolls his eyes.

  "What I don't understand is..." Callie says softly, and my gaze slides to hers. "Why didn't you just drop it the minute you realized there wasn't much there?"