The Wicked Horse Boxed Set (The Wicked Horse Series)

by Sawyer Bennett

  Shaking my head, I bring the SUV to a stop and put it in park. The front door opens and a little girl comes flying out, followed by an older woman who is rail thin but carries her posture in a way you know there’s strength—both physical and mental—within. She stands on the porch with her iron-gray hair in a bun and watches with a smile as Belle jets down the front steps. Maggie’s out the car door in a flash, and my throat turns dry as I watch her fall to her knees on the ground just as Belle slams into her, screaming, “Mommy.”

  My hand involuntarily rises, and I rub my knuckles across the ache right in the middle of my breastbone. I don’t have much experience with moms and little kids. None of my friends have children, and my only experience is what I’ve seen on TV or in the movies. But I can tell you… I never had a reaction to a moment of parental bonding like I’m having right now. I remember those stretch marks on Maggie’s stomach, and I look at the way she buries her face in Belle’s neck. For the first time in my life, I have a true glimpse of what being a mother is all about. This is shocking to my senses because to me, mothers sexually abuse their boys and brainwash them into thinking beatings and pain enhance the sexual experience. I mean, my stepmom didn’t bake me cookies but she got me off regularly, and that was something, right?

  I feel a dark bitterness start to overtake my senses, and I force myself to push those thoughts aside as I step out of the SUV and onto the driveway. Glancing up at Gayle, I see she gives me a little wave of her hand to join her in the house while Maggie plops her butt on the browning front yard grass and pulls Belle onto her lap without even looking at me once.

  I smile and walk past them, following Gayle into the tiny brown house and into the little kitchen decorated with cheery yellow curtains over the windows and the faint odor of lemon cleaner and fresh-brewed coffee.

  She turns her head and smiles at me over her shoulder, pouring a cup of coffee from a half-empty pot. “I’m Gayle, Maggie’s great aunt, and you must be the man that my Randall held a gun on yesterday afternoon.”

  I chuckle as I accept the cup from her. “Yes, ma’am. Bridger’s the name.”

  “Well, welcome to my home, Bridger,” she says with a grin and I find myself instantly connecting to this little spitfire of a woman. She’s wearing faded jeans, a pair of worn crocs on her feet with white socks underneath, and a plaid, button-down flannel about three sizes too big for her.

  Gayle pours herself a cup of coffee and then heads to the small, round table that takes up at least half of the tiny kitchen space. She inclines her head and I follow suit, taking the chair opposite her. “So, what type of trouble is Maggie in now?”

  Her voice is not judgmental or admonishing, more worried than anything, and that puts me at ease. I would not take kindly to anyone placing any blame on her shoulders at this point of Maggie’s torturous journey out of captivity.

  And that’s so weird… this all-encompassing protective instinct I have where she’s concerned.

  I take sip of coffee, put it down on the table, and tell her the truth. “Belle’s father, Zeke, captured Maggie after she brought Belle to you.”

  “Oh, my God,” she gasps, bringing her hand over her mouth. “What did that animal do to her?”

  I decline to tell her the truth, because I don’t want to cause any anxiety or stress on this woman. So I merely say, “She’s fine. She was able to escape with the help of a friend, and I’ve been keeping her safe.”

  Gayle narrows her eyes at me and her voice is pure forged steel when she says, “Now you listen here, young man… don’t you sugarcoat things with me. I want to know what happened to my Maggie.”

  Her ferocity is adorable and equally respectable, and I see a strong backbone and fortitude emanating from this woman. So I give her the truth. “He beat her. Tried to get her to tell him where Belle is.”

  Gayle swallows hard, but otherwise doesn’t flinch.

  “Then he left, and his old lady, Kayla, tortured Maggie,” I continue, because for some reason, I just know this woman needs to be fully apprised of the situation so she can give the proper guidance and support to her great niece. “It was bad, Gayle. I mean, really bad.”

  “But she’s okay now?” she asks fearfully, and I’m grateful she doesn’t want more details than what I just gave her.

  “Yes,” I tell her with a reassuring smile. “She’s fine, strong, and now very happy to have Belle back.”

  Another delicious squeeze of joy deep within my chest as I recall Belle flying into Maggie’s arms.

  “So everything’s all settled?” Gayle inquires. “Zeke’s not a threat anymore?”

  “No, he’s a very big threat,” I tell her bluntly. “He’s doubling up his efforts to find them both, and we’re afraid he might start targeting her family. I’ve talked to her parents… they’re going to leave town for a bit.”

  “Oh, dear,” she murmurs, her eyes sliding to the front door where Maggie and Belle are reuniting on the other side. “Should she be here?”

  “I think it’s best she come back to Jackson with me,” I tell her bluntly.

  “But that’s where Zeke is.”

  “And it’s the last place he’d think they’d be. I can keep her safe until he can be taken down.”

  “And just who is supposed to do that?” she asks skeptically.

  “There’s a guy who’s undercover ATF. Been inside the club for three years. He’s the one who rescued Maggie and got her out of there. Brought her to me. I think a huge bust is going to be going down very soon from what I’ve been told. Once that happens, they’ll both be safe.”

  Gayle nods, instantly looking relieved. She stands up from the chair and heads to the refrigerator. “I’m going to make breakfast for everyone so you can have full bellies for the trip back.”

  I watch in silence as she pulls eggs and bacon from the refrigerator, and then a bag of frozen hash browns from the freezer. She gets out an electric griddle and loads it up with the bacon, takes another skillet from a cupboard, and heats oil in it on the stove. As she moves efficiently around her kitchen, she says, “Maggie’s a good girl.”

  Oh, Gayle… if you knew the things she’s let me do to her, you wouldn’t say that.

  “Yeah… she is,” I agree softly, a secret smile hidden deep within me.

  “Her parents are too tough on her. They never understood that children could be stubborn, rebellious, and willful, and that they just sometimes need to find their own way. She made a few mistakes, and they’ve pretty much written her off… made it impossible for her to return home, so she really didn’t have a home. That’s never a good situation to be in.”

  “But she kept returning to you,” I point out. “You were her home.”

  Gayle nods as she takes a fork and starts flipping the bacon. “That child knows she’s always welcome here for as long as she wants. I tried to get her to stay when she brought me Belle a few weeks ago, but she didn’t want me in danger. I assured her Randall’s gun was plenty of protection.”

  “I don’t think Zeke could find you if he can’t get to her parents, but maybe you should go stay with Randall just in case,” I suggest.

  Gayle snorts. “That randy old toad would love to hear you say that. He’d tie me to his bed if he got the opportunity.”

  Wincing, I try to mentally scrub out my ears. I don’t want to know these things about dear Great Aunt Gayle.

  She spins on me, holding a fork up as she stabs it in my direction. “You promise me you’ll protect them with your life if it’s necessary.”

  “It won’t be,” I assure her, because I’m pretty confident Zeke has no clue I’m helping her and that he’s going to jail soon anyway. “But I promise… he’s not getting anywhere near Maggie and Belle.”

  She stares at me a hard moment, either trying to determine if she believes me or she’s trying to convey some brutal message that she’ll castrate me if I let her down. Finally, she gives me a smile and says, “You’re a good man, I can tell. Strong and with character
.”

  I drop my gaze from her so she doesn’t see the cowardice within. That I’m not strong or else I wouldn’t let the ghosts of my past dictate how I treat Maggie. I have no character because I’m unwilling to trust that Maggie just might be different. I’m definitely not good, having done things in my life that would turn her gray hair pure white if she knew.

  The front door swings open with a resounding bang. Gayle jumps about a foot high, and then brings her free hand to her chest as if she’s staving off a heart attack. She glares at Belle, who comes flying into the kitchen. “Aunt Gayle… Mommy says I go with her. Go with Mommy. Go with Mommy. Go with Mommy.”

  The little girl, who is the spitting image of Maggie, runs straight into Gayle’s legs and wraps her arms around them before lifting her face and beaming her happiness upward. Gayle’s weathered hand goes to Belle’s fine, blonde hair that sits just below her shoulders. It’s pinned back from her face with a pink bow, and Gayle strokes the top. “Gonna miss you, child.”

  “Miss you,” Belle says with a grin on her face, but you can tell she doesn’t really know what that means and is more parroting her aunt.

  I feel Maggie’s presence behind me before I see her, and then feel her hand come to my shoulder where she squeezes me briefly before walking past. She leans down, picks up Belle, and turns to face me. “Bridger… this is Belle. Belle… this is my friend, Bridger.”

  Belle puts her hand in her mouth and lowers her face shyly without looking at me.

  “Belle,” Maggie says softly, tickling at her ribs a bit. “Can you say hi to Bridger?”

  She finally looks up at me. I get an up-close look at the same fern-colored eyes as Maggie’s.

  “Hi, Bwidg-uh,” she says, and I actually feel my insides go a bit gooey. I think this may be the first conversation I’ve ever had with a two-year-old, and she’s fucking cute as all get out.

  “Hi, Belle,” I say as I reach out and hold my hand up in front of her. “Got a high five in there for me?”

  She looks at me in confusion before looking to her mom, and then back to me. I lean forward in my chair, take her hand, and gently flattening it out before I slightly smack it to mine. “See… that’s a high five.”

  I let her hand go, and she automatically slaps it to mine again. “High five,” she says with a laugh.

  “Or,” I say as I curl my hand into a fist, taking hers to do the same. I then bump my knuckles against hers. “You can do a fist bump.”

  I let her go, and she knocks her fist against mine on her own. “Fist bump.”

  Laughing, I look to Maggie and say, “Smart kid.”

  “Gets that from her mommy,” she replies tartly.

  My phone chimes with an incoming text. Maggie sets Belle down so she can pour a cup of coffee for herself. The little girl immediately scrambles up on one of the kitchen chairs beside me where I feel the weight of her stare. I give her a smile as I pull my phone out, and then glance down at the text.

  It’s from Cal. We are flying in tomorrow. Already booked room at Wort. Like to do club Sunday night.

  “Fist bump,” I hear Belle say and I look up to see her little hand hovering in midair. I make a fist and knock it to hers. She giggles, and I can’t help but laugh.

  There’s a smile lingering on my face as I bend over my phone and shoot a quick response back to Cal. Sounds good. Let’s do dinner first.

  “Fist bump,” Belle says, and I look back up. She’s looking at me expectantly, fist hovering in the air. I touch my knuckles to hers, and she starts giggling uncontrollably.

  “You’ve created a monster,” Maggie says, and my gaze slides to hers. But she’s not looking at me. She’s looking at Belle with such uncontrolled love in her eyes that it makes me want to start crying for some reason.

  “Fist bump,” Belle says, and I give it to her again.

  She laughs and laughs, and that makes Maggie laugh, and I realize I’m feeling something I’ve never felt in my entire life.

  For the first time… ever… I feel charmed, and I get the distinct impression that there isn’t anything Belle would ask of me that I wouldn’t give her.

  Little brat.

  Chapter 14

  Maggie

  I pull back the covers and place Belle in the middle of the bed in Bridger’s guest room where I’d been sleeping. She normally sleeps in a crib, even though it was a ratty old one that Zeke had one of the guy’s get for her from some yard sale, but Aunt Gayle assured me she’d been sleeping in her bed just fine without falling out. Besides, Belle has gotten to an age where she’s climbing up and down on furniture and seems to have a little better grasp of gravity and such. I’m not so much worried about her falling out of the bed as I am of her waking up in the middle of the night and slipping out to roam the house where she could get in all kinds of trouble. Bridger actually had the same worries. As soon as he carried our bags inside while I carried a sleeping Belle, he went around the house and removed all the guns he had hidden around, locking them up in a cabinet in his bedroom. I could tell this weighed on him a bit, but he told me he truly felt the greater danger was in Belle messing with a gun than Zeke ever showing up here, so he felt the smart thing to do was secure them.

  That warmed me… that his first thought was of Belle and nothing else, and that’s exactly as it should be. I know he met her only about nine and a half hours ago, but those two just clicked. I know I shouldn’t read anything into it, but Bridger… the man who holds himself so removed from intimacy that he has to come on my stomach or my back has had no problem in letting Belle walk all over him.

  The entire drive from Coeur D’Alene to Jackson, Belle made Bridger sing songs with him. I was surprised he even knew some of the basics, because I can’t begin to imagine what his past is like given some of his social hang-ups right now. But his childhood apparently revolved around some kid’s songs because he easily pulled forth awesome renditions of “Bah Bah Black Sheep”, “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”, and “The Wheels on the Bus”. Now, granted, those were really the only three he knew, so they got sung over and over again on the drive, but Bridger didn’t seem to mind. While I was getting sick of hearing the same tunes repetitively sung, they’d finish a song and Belle would cry out from her car seat in the back, “Again.”

  And Bridger would sing with her again.

  I’m not sure I’ve ever been as grateful as when Belle fell asleep after we stopped for a quick lunch at McDonald’s—where Belle insisted on sitting in the booth beside Bridger—and I eagerly turned on the radio so I could listen to some adult music for a bit.

  Pulling the covers up to her chest, I lean over, kiss her head softly, and whisper, “Goodnight, sweet pea. I love you.” She’s so exhausted from the long trip that she doesn’t even stir.

  When I step out into the hallway, I glance down to Bridger’s room and see his door is shut. He’d said he was going to take a shower and that actually sounds like a good idea. I head across the hall into the bathroom I use. Within moments, I have my clothes shed and I’m standing under a steady spray of hot water while I consider everything that’s happened during the past thirty-six hours.

  Mostly, I think about Bridger and me and what transpired between us last night. The bridge we crossed when he finally fucked me, only to find myself standing across a chasm from him when it was all said and done. He said he’s fucked in the head, and that his ideas of sex and intimacy are twisted. My heart aches when I think of him pulling out of me before he comes, because he says he doesn’t like it, and that makes me feel wretched about myself because I know I’m not imagining the connection I have with him. He says he hates intimacy, yet he shows it to me all the time. I feel it in the way he kisses me or runs his fingers over my stretch marks while he stares at me with unbridled lust. The way he makes me come… like it’s vital to him that I feel pleasure. Even the way he gently cleans me off after he spills himself onto me is an intimate act, but he doesn’t seem to get that.

  Regardless, I am not
giving up on him. The man has the potential inside of him, I just know it. He’s saved me, and now I want to do the same for him.

  I finish my shower and take a moment to blow dry most of the dampness from my hair. After slipping into a pair of clean panties and a tight t-shirt, I make my way down to his room. He hasn’t invited me there, but he didn’t say he didn’t want me either. While our trip today was filled with clean conversation in between “The Wheels on the Bus”, I could still feel the current of attraction running between us.

  I don’t bother knocking on his door because I am not ready to hear him tell me to go away, so I open it gently and peek my head inside. His room is lit in a soft glow from the bedside lamp he has on, and Bridger lays there totally naked on his bed, propped up against some pillows and his headboard.

  My heart stops beating in my chest as I see him stroking his cock, his eyes heated with lust as he looks at me.

  “’Bout damn time you got in here,” he growls.

  “I wasn’t sure if you—”

  “Don’t ever doubt my want for you,” he says in a low voice, like smooth stones are tumbling within his throat. “Now get over here.”

  My panties immediate get soaked just from the naked need in his voice, and I hurry into the room, leaving the door open slightly so I can hear if Belle calls out to me.

  “Ditch the shirt and panties,” he orders me, his hand slowly working his hard shaft.

  I scramble to comply, totally looking awkward and not sexy in the slightest, but the desire in his eyes doesn’t dull and he looks like he wants to attack me. When I pull my panties clear, he holds his hand out for them.

  I don’t hesitate; I just place them in his palm. His fingers rub along the crotch, and he gives me a feral smile as he feels the wetness there. “Did you know it was torture all day today, sitting next to you in that car… smelling you… but not being able to touch you?”