The Wicked Horse Boxed Set (The Wicked Horse Series)

by Sawyer Bennett

  “I’m going to make some tea and then take a bath,” she says softly. “Want some?”

  No, it’s definitely not tea that I want. Bath sounds interesting, but she’s clearly not inviting me.

  “No, thanks,” I tell her with a pasted smile on my face. She smiles back hesitantly and turns toward the kitchen. I unabashedly stare at her swaying ass as she walks away. When her body is hidden by the kitchen island, I push up from my recliner and make my usual rounds that I implemented the day Kyle dumped Maggie on me. I walk through the house and check all the doors and windows to ensure they’re locked. After, I set the security alarm, and then check my stash of guns.

  It’s Wyoming and as a native son, I have guns. Lots and lots of them.

  I use them mainly to hunt and target shoot, but now I’ve got them set up strategically around the house in case I were to need them for… oh, say… Zeke finding out I’ve got Maggie and coming after her. Got a shotgun under the couch, a pistol in one of the kitchen drawers, another taped under my bed, and a fourth shotgun in the middle guest room mounted just behind the door. I asked Maggie if she knew how to use a gun, and she shook her head with a look of extreme fear in her eyes. I assured her I’d find some time to teach her, but she looked positively sick at the thought so I let it go for the time being.

  Maggie did ask me an interesting question on the heels of that though. “Do you think I should just go to the police right now? Tell them Zeke kidnapped me, beat me, and that Kayla tortured me?”

  I had to give that some serious thought, but ultimately, I didn’t think it was a good idea. First, he’d probably be arrested and let out on bail, then Maggie would be in more danger than she was right this moment. Also, I didn’t want to do anything to screw up Kyle. He asked for some time, and, as long as Maggie was safely hidden, we could afford to give it to him.

  As I’m walking down the hallway to head back into the living room, I hear the sound of running water from the guest bathroom as I pass by it. The door’s closed and light seeps out from the crack below. I can tell by the sound that she’s filling the bathtub up, and I sigh with frustration that I want the woman who sits on the other side of that door. But that’s certainly not cool, particularly when I’ve told her she’s safe here and being with me would not be safe.

  I’m slightly startled when my phone buzzes in my back pocket. I pull it out and see it’s Cal Carson, a friend of mine from New York.

  I walk back toward my bedroom for some privacy as I answer, “Hey, man. What’s up?”

  “Just got off the phone with Logan and Auralie, giving them an update. Thought I’d do the same for you.”

  I enter my bedroom and shut the door behind me. A few weeks ago, Cal helped out Auralie and her father by arranging legal protection for them. He facilitated a deal with a federal prosecutor to help bring down Magnus Albright, a fucking skeevy son of a bitch who was using Auralie to run a con in The Silo. He was peddling her as a virgin to the highest bidder, and she had no choice but to do his bidding or Magnus would kill her father. It was a bad situation, and my buddy Logan got caught up in it, but all’s well now. At least, I think it is.

  “Everything okay?” I ask hesitantly, and I hope to fuck it is. I’ve got enough worries at the moment.

  “It’s all good,” Cal assures me. “Magnus is still in jail and can’t afford bail. The prosecutor wants to know if you’re interested in pressing charges since you’re sort of a victim too as the owner of The Silo.”

  “No way,” I say without needing to think on it. While I’m in no way ashamed of my business, I don’t want it paraded out there in public. “Besides… I’m sure they got more than enough to put him away for a long time.”

  “That they do,” Cal says with a laugh. But then he gives a cough and says, “Listen… Macy and I want to take a little trip. Figured we’d finally accept your invite to come visit The Silo. That still good?”

  I smile as I pace my bedroom floor, because I know without a doubt that Cal and Macy will love The Silo. In fact, I’d first met them in New York when Woolf and I were visiting a sex club there called Voyeur. We visited several around the country as we were making plans to open The Silo, getting ideas and taking the best of them to create our own vision. While Woolf and I didn’t participate with Cal and Macy, we certainly watched each other do some kinky ass shit. After that, we all went out for drinks together. It started a solid friendship based upon a mutual appreciation of the more debauched pleasures in life.

  Cal had openly admitted he’d had a hard time with the concept of a sex club and didn’t like his first experience there. But since then, he’s indulged Macy. After his third scotch, he even more openly admitted that once he gave his heart to her fully, there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her. And if that included indulging in her sexual whims, he would happily do so. He also admitted, after the fourth drink, that once you love someone, the worries and insecurities seem to melt away, and it makes the kinky fucking that much better.

  Woolf howled with laughter at that, but Macy merely smiled at him with eyes shimmering with love.

  It was nice.

  They’re nice.

  “Sure,” I tell him. “Love to have you. Just shoot me a text when you’ll arrive. I’ll book a hotel room for you at The Wort, and you’ll have VIP access the entire time to The Silo.”

  “Excellent,” Cal says jovially. “Macy’s been hounding me for months, but I’ve been so fucking busy with work. But it’s a good time for us to slip away and have some relaxation and fun.”

  “Look forward to seeing you,” I tell him, but my mind starts slipping away and focusing back on Maggie. I can’t put off this talk. “Listen buddy… I’ve got to get going. Text me details, okay?”

  “Sure thing,” Cal responds. He disconnects the call after a quick, “Later.”

  Taking a deep breath, I look at my bedroom door, knowing Maggie’s on the other side and just down a short hallway. As soon as she finishes her bath, it’s time we talked.

  More accurately, it’s time she learned about The Silo and what I do for a living. I have no choice but to disclose it to her now.

  I look back to my phone, tap on the “text” icon, and pull up my messages.

  The one on top with the bolded name “Zeke” seems to pulse like neon. I’d received it a few hours ago. It’s what precipitated me to have Carina suck my cock to try to work off some of the tension it immediately caused.

  Be back in town tomorrow. Be at compound at 11pm. I want a show.

  Yeah.

  It’s time Maggie knew about what I did for a living and how that connects me to her abuser.

  Chapter 6

  Maggie

  I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but I can’t help myself. Bridger looked damn good when he came home a bit ago. He was too damn nice when he asked me how I was doing, the worry evident in his eyes. He’s been an amazing host these last few days, but more than that, he’s given me sanctuary. For the first time in years, I feel safe.

  And the overwhelming gratefulness I feel for him is now starting to screw with my mind. I’d thought he was beyond handsome the first time I’d seen him, although my fear was too great then for me to appreciate it. But the more I get to know him, and the more time we spend in each other’s presence, he’s become more than just a gorgeous man to me. I’ve become attracted to him in a way I have no business being. He’s gay, for God’s sake. Here I am, lusting after a man who could never feel that way about me, and even shittier, has done nothing but be kind and generous to me.

  And I feel terrible for it.

  Sometimes, he’ll be talking to me and all I can think about is having sex with him. This embarrasses me so much, because I’m not one who thinks about sex like that. It’s not ever been about my pleasure.

  Not ever.

  It’s been a commodity I use, and it’s gotten me places. Not good places, granted, but it’s provided me with what I’ve needed to survive.

  But Bridger… he m
akes me think of sex in a completely different way. Not as a tool or even a burden, but in a way that makes me think it can be sensual, decadent, and mutually satisfying. A foreign concept for sure, but I still fantasize about it anyway, even though I know he’s interested in men and not women.

  It just fucks with my head, that I could be attracted to someone who would never have an interest in me. A man who’s completely untouchable. Perhaps that makes him even sexier to my way of thinking. Add on the fact he’s become a hero to me in a few short days by taking me in and keeping me safe and I’m completely romanticizing him in my mind.

  Just like right now as I sink down into the tub just far enough that the warm water laps over my breasts but doesn’t touch the Bose headphones Bridger told me I could use to listen to music. He gave them to me a few days ago when I asked him if he had a stereo I could put on while I cleaned. He said he didn’t and disappeared into his bedroom, but he came back with an iPod and the headphones that I’ve used religiously since then.

  Bridger has excellent taste in music. I choose one of my favorite songs, “Let’s Make Love” by Faith Hill and Tim McGraw, closing my eyes as the music fills my ears. I immediately start to relax, which is testament to the fact that over the last few days, I’ve given into the security and comfort Bridger and his home have offered to me. It’s the safest I’ve been in a long time, and only because I don’t have to look over my shoulder or worry about being tortured to death by Kayla. While I miss Belle so much my chest continually aches, I know she’s safe and in the best place she can be right now.

  As the warm water soothes me and Faith and Tim sing about the sexiest of times, I think of Bridger because I can’t help but do so. He’s physically perfect to my way of thinking, his looks more masculine and rugged than any Wyoming cowboy has a right to be. One morning, I found him in the kitchen in just a pair of sweatpants. I stared like an idiot at his torso, which was rippled with muscle and adorned by a flock of blackbirds flying up his rib cage.

  But truth be told, it’s Bridger’s eyes that do it for me. Golden brown, sometimes even glowing with a hint of orange like a Wyoming sunset. On more than one occasion, they have been filled with a fierce protectiveness when he talks about keeping me safe from Zeke. Call it hero worship or whatever, but it struck me deep and true and sparked some vivid fantasies that make me want to turn him hetero.

  Like right now.

  I wonder if Bridger would be gentle or rough. I’ve had gentle a few times, but it was mediocre at best. Mostly, I’ve had rough. Thankfully, it was over fast. Somehow though, I think Bridger might be both and that causes my hand to slip unbidden in between my legs as I think about how hard he must have been fucking Jared that night based on the sounds of pleasure I heard. And I’ve deduced it was Jared because when he came to check on me, I definitely noticed some gay mannerisms, although I could be wrong as I don’t remember much about Logan at all.

  A shudder works its way up my spine, and I imagine what his mouth would feel like against mine or his hands on my breasts. An ache develops between my legs. As my fingers gently touch my clit, I fantasize that it’s Bridger’s tongue there.

  My hips jerk as I press my fingers down, and a long moan slips out of my mouth. I’m immediately mortified because it was loud. I know it was loud because I could hear it over the music in my ears.

  My eyes slowly open, my heart pounding with fear that Bridger might have heard me, but movement from my periphery startles me. I bolt upright in the tub as I realize Bridger is leaning into the bathroom, the door partly open. His eyes are burning as they stare at me. I rip the headphones off and toss them to the floor while stammering, “What are you doing?”

  I can feel my face burning hot from embarrassment. As an afterthought, I bring my hands up to cover my breasts as I slouch back down in the water.

  Bridger’s eyes never waver from mine, but his voice is thickened when he says, “I was knocking on the door, but you didn’t answer. I was worried.”

  “Well, I’m fine,” I huff out as I lean my head back against the tub, wishing I’d just melt into the water and never have to deal with him again. I can’t believe he caught me masturbating, and I seriously just want to die from the mortification.

  “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he says carefully, but I close my eyes, refusing to look at him. “I’ll let you… um… finish.”

  “I’m finished,” I blurt out, reaching for the towel I’d put on top of the toilet tank beside the bathtub.

  “Take your time,” he insists, and my face flames hotter. I still refuse to look at him, but then he says, “When you’re done, we need to talk.”

  His voice sounds so ominous that all thoughts of embarrassment flee. “Is it about Zeke?”

  “Sort of,” is all he says, and then he steps backward and pulls the door shut.

  I scramble out of the tub, my heart racing. I do a half-assed job of drying off, putting on clean underwear and another pair of yoga pants Bridger bought me. He doesn’t know much about women’s fashion, but I really don’t care, as I’m not going out in public. I pull on another t-shirt, foregoing my bra in my haste to find out what he knows, and almost bust my ass as I slip on a wet spot on the floor as I try to bolt out of the bathroom.

  I take a deep breath as I half walk, half jog to the living room where I find Bridger sitting in his recliner, but he’s perched on the edge of the seat with his elbows to his knees. He nods at the couch. I take my usual position at the end, facing him with my legs crossed Indian-style.

  Before he can say anything though, I try to diffuse my embarrassment and I’m sure his as well. “I’m really sorry that you saw me…”

  Bridger holds his hand up to stop me. “You don’t have to apologize.”

  “But I do,” I insist.

  “Maggie,” Bridger says with an admonishing look. “What you were doing is natural and trust me… it was no hardship watching a beautiful woman pleasure herself.”

  My jaw drops open over his words, which are dripping… yes, absolutely dripping with appreciation, even though his face remains impassive.

  “But you’re gay… aren’t you?” I blurt out.

  Bridger blinks at me with a look of stunned disbelief. For a moment, I think perhaps he’s deep in the closet and doesn’t want anyone to know, which makes me feel even more wretched. Then his lips peel back and he lets out a deep laugh, his eyes crinkling with jolly amusement.

  “Aren’t you?” I insist.

  “Darlin’,” Bridger says as he chuckles. “I am the farthest thing from gay that there is.”

  “But… I heard you that night… with Jared. At least, I think it was Jared…”

  Bridger stops laughing and his jaw hardens slightly. He stares at me a moment, almost as if trying to figure out the best way to drop bad news, and this has me tensing up all over.

  His voice is rough… not with embarrassment, but maybe with disgust when he says, “You heard me fucking Jared, who is gay. It’s what he wanted in payment for treating you.”

  My jaw drops again. “You fucked a man to pay him for treating me?”

  “Do it again if faced with the same decision,” he says gruffly. “It was a fair trade.”

  “A trade,” I ask in disbelief. “You fucked a man even though you’re not gay so he’d give me medical treatment?”

  “’Bout sums it up,” he says dryly.

  I’m so confused and deeply saddened for some reason as I struggle to understand. “So you’re bisexual then?”

  Bridger pushes off the recliner with a grunt of dissatisfaction, takes two steps, and sits next to me on the couch before turning his body to face me. His hand reaches out, grips me by my jaw, and he leans in before saying in a low voice. “Hear me, Maggie. I’m not gay. I’m not bisexual. I’m turned on by women and not men, but it doesn’t mean I haven’t fucked men in my past, and probably will again in my future if it serves my needs.”

  “But… but… I hate that you did something like that for me. That
you had to do something terrible…”

  Bridger’s fingers squeeze my jaw. “It wasn’t terrible, Mags.”

  Mags.

  He called me Mags.

  My best friend in middle school used to call me that, and I’d always loved that endearment. “It wasn’t terrible?”

  He shakes his head and shrugs. “I got off. I mean, fucking is fucking, you know?”

  “No,” I whisper. “I don’t know.”

  Because I don’t. It’s hard for me to get off with a man, mainly because no one has ever cared about my pleasure before.

  Bridger’s hand pulls back. He brings it to his own head where he rakes his fingers through brown locks that look in desperate need of a trim. Yet, I hope he leaves it just as it is. With a sigh, he says, “I need to tell you some stuff about me.”

  “Oh-kay,” I say cautiously, the tone of his voice putting me on edge.

  “I own a sex club called The Silo,” he says, and I wasn’t prepared for that at all. Of all the things I thought he might say, that would not have been near the top of any list.

  “I thought you owned a nightclub,” I mutter.

  “I do, as well as a sex club. My life… my career… it’s about sex. It’s always been about sex for… well, as long as I can remember. And I’ve taken that and turned it into something good, not only for me, but also for other people who want a safe place to act out their dirtiest fantasies without fear of judgment or recrimination.”

  I just stare at him, oddly repulsed and fascinated. With horror, I realize… also slightly turned on now that I know he’s not gay but still fucked a man so that I’d have medical care. And damn… now I wished I’d seen that rather than just heard it because the thought of Bridger…