The Wicked Horse Boxed Set (The Wicked Horse Series)

by Sawyer Bennett

  I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to adequately convey to Rand what that means to me.

  Did to me.

  The way it changed me.

  Not many people can really understand my background. It’s hard to comprehend what it does to the human spirit… the belief that someone doesn’t want you. I knew my mom didn’t want me, and I only had her telling me my father abandoned me to complete my familial unit.

  I told my father everything during his visit.

  And I mean everything, even down to telling him about Samuel and how he used me. I didn’t give him vivid details, but I gave him enough that my dad started crying, which made me cry too. He then assured me that he wants me. That even when he didn’t know I existed, he wanted me. That was lovely, and I cried harder.

  My dad then pointed out that given my history and not having the most important people to depend upon—that being parents—he said it was no wonder I accepted what Samuel wanted of me as his wife. He thought it spoke to perhaps my inherent need to be wanted, even as vile as the circumstances were. He reiterated to me something that Rand has said on more than one occasion… that I was a survivor.

  The five days I had with my dad were not nearly enough. We spent every moment together, just talking endlessly. We had twenty-four years of catching up to do. While my life’s details were not easy for him to take, I reveled in hearing about his. He was a career Army man and a true hero. I apparently have amazing grandparents back in Green Bay that cannot wait to meet me. His wife, Marsha—my new stepmom, so weird to say that—is the freakin’ bomb. We’ve talked several times by phone and she’s everything that my mother was not. I also had a tentative talk on the phone with my new siblings. My brother, Jared, is fifteen and really into soccer. This was an awkward conversation because I know nothing about soccer or fifteen-year-old boys, but in the end, it was okay because he said, “I can’t wait to meet you, Cat,” and that made my day.

  Now my sister, Natasha, is a spitfire at age eleven. I do know something about eleven-year-old girls so we talked about music, Snapchat, fingernail polish, and boys, not necessarily in that order, and well… mostly about boys. I did this while my dad listened in on my end of the conversation and rolled his eyes, muttering, “I don’t want to know about this stuff.”

  It was a perfect five days.

  I was completely reborn, and I say completely because the process started before my dad came back into my life. I realize now that process started the night Rand found me in my car and made me start believing in a better life.

  And now I stand outside Rand’s apartment, wondering how I can take this last piece of my life’s puzzle and snap it into place so that my existence will be as close to perfect as a person can hope for. I wipe my hands on my skirt because they’re sweaty from nerves and take a deep breath, trying to will my heart to slow the hell down.

  Rapping my knuckles against the door twice, I listen intently. I can hear him walking, hear the creaking of the floor on the other side of the door, and then he’s standing there in front of me, looking better than ever. Blond hair falling over his forehead and he pushes it back, giving me a lazy smile. He stretches his other hand out high to grab onto the doorjamb, which raises his t-shirt up slightly so I get a peek of his stomach. I can’t help it… my eyes fall and stare, and when my tongue pops out to lick my lower lip, Rand gives a husky laugh.

  Cheeks red and warm, my gaze snaps back up to his. Amusement shining in his eyes, he says, “Took you long enough to come see me.”

  “Well, with my dad visiting and all—”

  “He flew out two days ago,” he points out to me, and this is something I know well. It’s taken me two days to get my nerve up to come see Rand after my dad left for North Carolina.

  Two days where I tried to prepare the best speech ever to let him know what he means to me, and as I stand here now, I can’t remember a damn word.

  It’s gone. Blank. All the pretty poetic words about what he’s done for me and the realizations I’ve come to… just… gone.

  So I blurt out, “I think I love you.”

  The amusement drains out of Rand’s eyes and his stare becomes very intent, his body going still.

  Was that the wrong thing to say? Shit.

  “I mean… what I really meant to say is—”

  Rand lunges at me, hands going to either side of my face. With a tight grip, he yanks me into him. Our mouths crash together, our bodies press in tight. My entire being sighs in relief and that last piece of the puzzle snaps in with a resounding click.

  Or is that my heart finally settling into place now that it finally knows what love really is?

  Not sure.

  I’m being lifted, his hands moving from my face to my ass, where he pulls me up his body and my legs lock around him. We don’t stop that delicious kiss for even a moment as Rand turns into the apartment and kicks the door shut behind him. My arms circle around his entire head, fingers in his hair as our tongues duel and our teeth scrape against each other.

  Then I’m flying… free for a moment until my back hits his bed and his body covers me from the top. Mouth back on mine as hands start to roam.

  My fingers slip under the back of his t-shirt, pressing into his muscles. Rand grinds his pelvis against me, and we both groan over the sensation.

  His hand slides under my skirt and goes straight to my hip. He starts to yank at my panties, trying to get them off me.

  “I really need to fuck you,” he mutters as he rears up and puts both hands to the task.

  “Wait,” I say, my arms rising and my palms going to his chest. “That night at The Silo… when I went there… I didn’t—”

  “I know,” he says brusquely, eyes pinned to the job at hand, which is now currently sliding my panties past my knees.

  Okay, that conversation clearly doesn’t need to happen. But there’s so much to say and I can’t concentrate when he’s stripping me.

  “But we need to talk about—”

  “Cat,” Rand practically barks at me with amused frustration as he pulls my underwear free and tosses it over his shoulder. “We can talk about how much we love each other, spiritual awakenings, and all that other foo-foo shit that occurs when you’re in a relationship later, but right now… it’s been a long damn time since I’ve been inside this pussy and I’m not about to wait so we can hash all this crap out.”

  I know I should be offended, but I’m not. He’s adorable.

  “You love me?” I ask, knowing that’s really the only important thing I need to know.

  “Yes,” he says as his smile softens. He presses the palm of one hand against my mound, turns his wrist, and then slips a finger inside of me. “And you’re wet as hell right now, so I’m going to fuck you and then we’ll talk later, okay?”

  “Okay,” I sigh as my hips undulate against the sensations.

  “Good girl,” he commends me as he works to free his cock from his jeans.

  His hands go under my knees after he does, raising and spreading me wide, and then he’s sinking in deep and it’s the best feeling in the world. Totally different from any time before since there are true emotions involved now.

  Because now I know who I am and I understand my worthiness to be happy.

  Because he loves me and I love him, and that makes all the difference.

  *

  Rand’s hand strokes my lower back in wide circles while I lay on top of him, lulling me to the edge of sleep. My heart rate is finally back to normal but what is still going full tilt is the happiness coursing through me.

  Let’s think about all the reasons why.

  I have a wonderful man who loves me and thinks I’m perfect, warts and all.

  I have a family now… a father, a stepmother, a brother, and a sister.

  I live in a beautiful place and have real friends.

  I have money… lots and lots of money, thanks to Richard transferring the five million dollars to me even though the estate hasn’t been settled. He fee
ls absolutely terrible about what Kevin did and is bending over backward to make things right for me.

  What Kevin did…

  I jerk upright, pressing my hands into Rand’s chest and looking down at him. “Kevin,” I practically squeal. “I forgot to tell you about Kevin.”

  “He was arrested day before yesterday,” Rand says blandly as his hands go to my butt where they start kneading into my muscles.

  “How did you hear that?” I ask, although I can guess.

  “Bridger told me,” he says, his fingers inching inward… sliding along the crack of my ass and then downward.

  I reach back and push his hands away because he’s too damn distracting. “So you know all about them arresting my attacker?”

  “Yup,” he says with a grin. “It’s a small town. You hear things.”

  Small town, my ass. I’m sure Bridger told him what happened, which was essentially that someone from Mayhem’s Mission tipped the police toward Jim March, who was my suspected attacker. He fit the description, including the teardrop tattoo, which was apparently the key to identifying him. The police picked him up and grilled him hard with their suspicions he’d been hired to kill me.

  The guy wasn’t totally stupid because he hired a lawyer, who then turned around and helped him cut a deal with the DA’s office. He rolled on Kevin and provided key details to prove he was hired by him. The next day a warrant was issued for Kevin’s arrest and sent to the Vegas police. He was in custody within a few hours and will be extradited back to Wyoming within the next few days.

  “It’s finally over,” Rand says quietly, his arms now coming up to wrap around my lower back.

  “Or a wiser person would say it’s really just beginning,” I counter with a grin.

  “Who are you and what have you done with the pessimist formerly known as Cat Lyons?” he chuckles.

  I snicker before leaning my face down to kiss him. “Well, she found a guy who’s pretty amazing and who taught her to see the good in herself.”

  “Oh, yeah?” he asks slyly. “Tell me more about this dude.”

  “Well, he’s incredibly hot, fantastic in bed, and he happens to be one of the kindest, wisest, and most caring people Cat Lyons has ever met. He made her sort of look at life from a new perspective.”

  “She should totally give him a blow job for that,” Rand says to me earnestly. “He so deserves that, don’t you think?”

  I laugh, kiss him again on his lips, and say, “Yes… he totally deserves it.”

  I push against his chest so that I start to slide down his body. His arms loosen to allow my descent, and I can feel his cock start to twitch against me as my breasts drag down his abdomen.

  “Hey,” Rand whispers, and I halt… looking up at him.

  He brings a hand to my face, pushes my hair behind my ear, and says, “I love you. I mean, I really, really love you, and I cannot wait to show you how fantastic that can be.”

  I smile, bending forward to kiss his chest before looking back up at him. “I already know how fantastic it is. And I love you too.”

  “That’s my girl,” he murmurs before his hands go to my head and he gently pushes on me to get moving again.

  Epilogue

  Logan

  I think this woman may be the death of me.

  A dire prediction, but probably true.

  Probably true because she’s not mine to have and I’d probably take her, even at the risk to my own safety.

  I’m fixated on her… obsessed really. That black-as-midnight hair and huge, blue eyes the color of the Wyoming sky. Her skin pale… almost translucent. She looks otherworldly, in fact, and it’s no secret that every man in The Silo is obsessed with her as much as I am.

  I have to have her, and maybe tonight will be the night. My dick is already hard and aching with the thought, and if I’m given the pleasure of her company, my cock won’t even get to touch her pussy, which I’m betting is sweeter than honey. I try to look nonchalant as her “owner” walks around The Silo, chatting up the various patrons and deciding who gets to play with her tonight. He’s passed me by on four other occasions. I expect tonight won’t be any different because he knows I don’t have the type of bank he’ll be asking for when he ultimately auctions her off. So many men slobbering to get a taste of her and only one sweet, virginal girl to go around.

  That’s right.

  She’s a virgin.

  Twenty years old and looking like a porcelain china doll that would break if not handled carefully. But I also know she’s stronger than she looks as I’ve watched her take a mouth fucking like a champ.

  She’s a contradiction.

  She’s most likely my downfall.

  Like I said, she’ll probably be the death of me, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.

  WICKED RIDE

  (The Wicked Horse Series)

  By

  Sawyer Bennett

  Prologue

  Logan

  I think this woman may be the death of me.

  A dire prediction, but probably true.

  Probably true because she’s not mine to have and I’d probably take her, even at the risk to my own safety.

  I’m fixated on her… obsessed really. That black-as-midnight hair and huge, blue eyes the color of the Wyoming sky. Her skin pale… almost translucent. She looks otherworldly, in fact, and it’s no secret that every man in The Silo is obsessed with her as much as I am.

  I have to have her, and maybe tonight will be the night. My dick is already hard and aching with the thought, and if I’m given the pleasure of her company, my cock won’t even get to touch her pussy, which I’m betting is sweeter than honey. I try to look nonchalant as her “owner” walks around The Silo, chatting up the various patrons and deciding who gets to play with her tonight. He’s passed me by on three other occasions. I expect tonight won’t be any different because he knows I don’t have the type of bank he’ll be asking for when he ultimately auctions her off. So many men slobbering to get a taste of her, but only one sweet, virginal girl to go around.

  That’s right.

  She’s a virgin.

  Twenty years old and looks like a porcelain china doll that would break if not carefully handled. But I also know she’s stronger than she looks as I’ve watched her take a mouth fucking like a champ.

  She’s a contradiction.

  She’s most likely my downfall.

  Like I said, she’ll probably be the death of me, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.

  Chapter 1

  Logan

  I’m in the viewing room again. Three rows of seats, stadium style. I’m in the front row, so I have a completely unobstructed view of what’s going on fifteen feet down below us. I’ve been here before and it’s all familiar to me, but not in a way that provides comfort.

  But it’s familiar in a way that I know I have to see this nightmare through to the end, even if I’m not sure exactly where it’s going.

  While the lights in the viewing room are bright and astringent to my eyes, the room below is dark and shadowy with only the center being visible because of the round surgical lamps surrounding the operating table. And I know it’s an operating table below because I can hear the soft whoosh of a respirator and the faint beeping of the EKG monitor, but mostly because several doctors and nurses clad in scrubs and face masks congregate around it. There are so many of them that they stand with their shoulders pressed against one another, forming a tight ring around the table as they do their work. The circle of medical professionals is so tightly formed that I can’t even see who is on the table.

  I lean forward in my chair, getting closer to the clear glass. My eyes narrow and I lean left and right in my seat, trying to get a better look. Trying to see past the surgeons and nurses.

  Trying to get just a tiny peek of who is lying on that table.

  Maybe if one of them would just move a tiny bit, I could see.

  It’s so frustrating, and I’m wondering if I’m the only o
ne in this room having a hard time trying to see what’s going on down below. The seats are filled to capacity, this I know, but I’m not sure who all is here with me.

  I turn my head to the right, see a row of people, but their faces are all blurred and indistinguishable.

  To the left, it’s the same, but no one is leaning forward the way I am. By their body language alone, none of them appears to be distressed that they can’t see who’s on the table.

  I slide my gaze back down to the surgical room below, my nerves tingling with an awareness that I just can’t quite put my finger on. The doctors and nurses work, murmuring words I can’t understand.

  Then it happens… the doctor at the very end of the table at the patient’s feet shifts slightly, and then straightens until his spine is perpendicular to the floor. His head slowly turns, lifts, and his eyes come right to me. I can’t see any of his face below said eyes as it’s covered by his mask, but I don’t need to see what’s under that thin, protective covering to know that his lips are flattened in a disappointed grimace.

  His eyebrows slant inward and his eyes narrow; I feel the icy disgust permeate every molecule of my being.

  Then he moves again… this time turning his body to the right, which creates a slight opening at the end of the table. His gaze is so hostile now that it’s not a chore for me to tear mine away, and I cut it to the operating table.

  It’s a small body on the table, covered in a white sheet, the feet not even reaching to the end. One by one, each of the doctors and nurses step away from the table, creating more space for me to observe what’s really going on.

  My gaze drifts up the small body that I inherently know is female, covered all the way up to the chest. I first notice the long, dark hair spilled out from under her head, but I can’t see her face as it’s covered with a large mask attached to the respirator.