Cage: Montana Bounty Hunters: Dead Horse, MT

by Devlin, Delilah

  She dropped her cigarette and ground it with the heel of her white, old-lady nurse shoes to put it out. Rather than turning her back to reenter the building, she frowned and walked toward him.

  Cage was seriously regretting having said a word, but he waited for her to come closer. His mother had taught him some manners.

  “You and your friends,” she said, her tone not the least friendly, “you working out of that trailer just north of town?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She snorted. “Thought so.” Without another word, she turned on her heel and moved toward the door.

  “Wait a second,” he called after her. “Did you have something else you wanted to say?”

  With her hand on the doorknob, she glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t know what Ethan Palmer was thinking, selling you that land. Then again, I think I do.” She shook her head. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable is all I’m gonna say. You’re not Dead Horse.”

  With that, she opened the door and stepped out of sight.

  Cage frowned, understanding what she meant by not being Dead Horse, and wondering whether he ought to tell Reaper that some folks around here didn’t appear too happy with outsiders moving in.

  Chapter 5

  Cage woke in the dark, his heart thudding, his breaths breaking apart. After swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress, he sat with his elbows planted on his thighs, his head cradled in his palms.

  “Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck,” he said louder, filling the emptiness in the room. Glancing at the digital clock on the nightstand, he sighed and rubbed a hand over his head, knowing he wasn’t getting any more sleep this night. Too many nights, he’d awoken feeling this way—angry, aroused…hopelessly stuck in a loop of memories that singed and ruffled every nerve ending.

  He’d made it out of the SEALs without experiencing any aftereffects, no serious injuries…no PTSD. How had leaving Elaine left him with nagging dreams and sleepless nights?

  He closed his eyes, not wanting to, but unable to resist savoring the memories that had played out in his mind…crisp sheets tangled around his hips, slender arms wrapped around his waist as he’d thrust his swollen cock inside slick, hot walls, the rhythm like a drumbeat that his pulsing heart followed.

  The sounds they made… He bit back a moan, because the wet percussive strokes, her soft grunting gasps made him feel…primal, powerful…in a way rushing an insurgent never had.

  He missed the feeling of her hair sticking to his sweaty skin as he rose on his arms above her, the scrape of her nails as they raked his spine. In bed, they’d been well-matched—in passion and in stamina.

  When he’d thought he couldn’t rise again, her mouth could draw life into his cock, have him spearing upward to feel her teeth strafe his shaft, her throat open and close against his cockhead, then he’d slide deeper as she moaned all around him, the vibrations the most incredible sensation he’d ever felt.

  Cage fell backward on the mattress and spread out his arms, letting the AC in his motel room cool his chest and waft around his turgid cock. It wasn’t going down on its own. Not if he laid like this all night.

  “What the fuck am I doing here?” he rasped.

  Fisting the bedding on either side of him, he tensed his muscles—his thighs, his hips—and pulsed into the air, fucking the air, needing the movement, delaying the moment he’d surrender and stroke himself into an orgasm.

  He wasn’t quite ready to let go of the dream. Of the day they’d met. In the gym in Bozeman.

  He’d donned his workout gear and sparred with a fighter she’d had meet them there. He hadn’t known, but the guy he’d pummeled into the canvas had been her best fighter.

  Afterward, after the other guy had picked himself up and left the gym, he’d sat on a mat while she’d lowered to sit on a weight bench. As they’d talked about what it was she wanted him to do, he’d noticed that while her body from her thighs upward was perfectly still, perfectly ladylike, below her knees, she couldn’t stop moving. A calf sawed forward and back. Her toes curled and straightened.

  He’d had an idea then that she wasn’t as unaffected by him as she tried pretending she was. And because he’d always been a man who went with his gut, he’d crawled closer on his hands and knees, watching as her green eyes widened and she leaned her upper body away. When he’d placed his hands on her thighs, she hadn’t slapped them off, she’d placed hers on either side of the bench and leaned farther back.

  After getting the “go sign”, he’d rolled up the edge of her skirt until he couldn’t move it any farther out of the way unless she lifted her sweet ass. He’d glanced up into her eyes, noted the heat in her gaze and slight lift of her chin, but then she lifted her bottom an inch and waited as he shoved her skirt higher.

  The sight of the creamy skin exposed above her thigh-high hose and the thin strip of brownish-black hair visible beneath her lacy bikini panties had his cock pulsing against his loose shorts. With her gaze locked on his face, he bent and licked her with the flat of his tongue, from the bare strip of skin at her inner thigh, right over the lace guarding her pussy.

  She’d made a feminine sound, a shaky, gusting moan. He’d felt her thighs quiver beneath his hands and against one cheek. Locking his lips against the fabric, he’d teased her with the point of his tongue then suctioned over her clit until she lifted her legs and placed them over his shoulders before wordlessly settling her back against the padded bench.

  Her surrender had blown his mind. The sight of her, so put together above the waist, so open below—the memory of her scent and taste was still with him. He’d made her come with his fingers and his tongue, and afterward, she’d pushed down her skirt and stood, without a wobble, and told him she’d text him the address to his first fight before heading toward the door.

  Yes, she’d left him with a hard-on, but he’d known she was his from that day forward. Until the night he’d walked out on her.

  Cage closed his eyes and licked his palm. Then imagining that his fist was her tight cunt, he fucked his cock through his tightly clenched fingers until he blew. Afterward, as he stumbled toward the bathroom to shower, he cursed himself for his weakness and the jealousy that had eaten away at him for three years, wondering who had taken his place in her bed.

  Chapter 6

  The next evening, Cage followed the GPS coordinates Micky texted to him, along with a note saying Cage was on his own because he had something else to do, and drove over a cattle guard positioned at a gate leading into the property where the fights would be held.

  Beside him, Fig fidgeted in her seat. He’d been surprised by her transformation. Apparently, she’d taken his advice to heart. No nerd gear. Instead, she wore a skin-hugging black tank, layers of silver chains around her neck, a fake spiderweb tattoo that crept upward from one bare shoulder to her ear, and black-rimmed eyes that made her look tougher than her slender figure should allow. The holey jeans and scuffed cowboy boots finished the picture, and somehow, Lacey had managed to scrape back her wild curls into a wet-looking cap that made her look even more fierce.

  Yeah, anyone looking at her would think she belonged among the seedier elements attending this event.

  “The tattoo too much?” she asked, her tone surly.

  His lips twitched. “The perfect touch,” he said. “Lacey suggest it?”

  “Lacey did everything,” she said, then pouted her lips.

  “Reaper told me she’s smarter than she looks.”

  She rolled her dark eyes. “That’s so sexist.”

  “I know,” he said, then shot her a grin. “You ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be,” she said under her breath. Then she tapped the earbud radio she held in her hand and inserted it into her ear. “Testing…” She gave a nod. “They can hear me,” she told him.

  He wasn’t wearing anything that might get knocked loose.

  He pulled to a halt beside a man dressed in all black with a gun holstered on his thigh. Rolling down the window, he
gave the guy a frowning glance. “Cage Morgan.”

  The guard checked his list with a flashlight. “Well, isn’t that a shame. I see your name here, but it’s crossed off in big black Sharpie.”

  It didn’t take him a second to know who had caused the problem. “Get Elaine on the radio. Now.”

  The man raised an eyebrow.

  “Tell my wife I’m comin’ in,” he said, lowering his voice to a growl.

  The man took a step back and leaned his head toward the radio pinned to his shoulder. “Hey, Elaine,” he said. “Got a problem at the gate.”

  A squawk sounded, and then Elaine said, “That wouldn’t be Cage Morgan, would it?”

  Cage couldn’t help the thrill that spilled over him hearing her voice after so long.

  “Yes, ma’am, says you’re his wife.”

  “Tell him… Fuck.” He heard a huffing breath. “Tell him I scratched his name off tonight’s lineup. I don’t know what the hell Micky was thinking. Tell him to go home.”

  The guard smirked as he glanced at Cage.

  Cage was done waiting. He pressed on the gas pedal, and his truck lurched two feet forward, the grill clanking against the metal gate.

  The guard took a quick step back. “Hey, he’s gonna crash the gate.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” Elaine said, “let him in.”

  The guard was forced to walk around the back of Cage’s truck to lift the chain loop off the post.

  Once the man was out of the way, Cage gave him a mocking salute then followed the dirt track deep into the woods.

  “Your ex is as friendly as you are,” Fig drawled.

  “You think I’m not friendly?”

  Fig snorted but didn’t answer.

  Through the trees, Cage spotted bright lights up ahead. “Not out of the woods yet,” he murmured.

  “That supposed to be a joke?” Fig said, but she was unbuckling her seatbelt and leaning forward. As they entered a large clearing, she whistled. “You weren’t kidding about her putting on the dog.”

  “Don’t know what that means, but I told you, she’s good at what she does.”

  They passed two large, gauzy white tents that seemed to glow due to the lights shining from inside. The sides billowed in the breeze, filling then falling back. They made their way to a parking area with attendants directing them with flashlights to show them where to park. At the front of the grassy lot, in easy walking distance of the tents, were a number of Mercedes Benz sedans, BMWs, a Jaguar, and a couple of Porsches.

  They were shown to the far end of the lot.

  “Kind of like nose-bleed seats at a ballgame,” she muttered.

  “VIPs get special treatment. They’re the heaviest betters. She makes sure they’re happy.”

  Fig shook her head. “I didn’t even know there were jobs like these. How the hell does someone find them?”

  “They have fathers connected to shady characters who are willing to do anything for a buck.”

  “You have to born into it?”

  “Or they spot the talent to run it then seduce it—with money or sex.”

  “Was that what happened to you?”

  He grunted. “She didn’t seduce me into this world.” Then again, while he’d thought he’d been the one to seduce her, now he wasn’t so sure. Elaine had always had her eyes on the prize—the next big fight, the next “investor”—bigger, better events. She’d taken her father’s business and built it into a huge operation. Yeah, a criminal operation. But so far, her victims had all been willing to pay the price of admission.

  Nothing like a little mutual extortion to keep everyone’s lips sewn shut.

  Again, bitterness bled through, burning his gut. He had many regrets—the biggest one the fact he hadn’t been able to set her on a path that didn’t lead to hard time.

  Too late for that now. He let his ears lead the way, following the low roar of many voices to the place where the fights were being held.

  As they approached the ring, he noted the bleachers on both sides and an area where those who weren’t as well-funded or who preferred to be in the mix stood several bodies thick to watch what was happening inside the ring.

  The first fight was already underway between a couple of scrappy welterweights whose speed and fierceness roused the crowd. Women dressed in low-cut shirts that bared their upper breasts and midriffs moved gracefully up and down the stands with glasses of wine, mugs of beer, and flutes of champagne.

  His gaze roamed the crowd until he saw a familiar face in the bleachers. Brent was seated between two well-dressed pricks. He wasn’t wearing his usual smirk. Instead, his attention was riveted on the fight. Cage figured he had somehow placed a bet on the outcome, even though Elaine had strict rules that prohibited anyone attached to the business from placing bets on a fight. Her weaselly brother had never accepted the fact that the rules applied to him.

  He continued scanning the crowd until he found her, standing to his left, wearing a sleek radio headset, her mouth moving as she spoke into the mic. However, her gaze was on him. The moment she noted that he returned her gaze, her mouth tightened and her eyes narrowed. She said something into her mic, then tore off her headset and handed it to a man standing beside her, likely her latest assistant, and moved through the crowd toward Cage.

  No breeze lifted her hair this time. No music played in his mind. If it had, he wouldn’t have been able to hear it over the shouts and groans of the crowd as one of the fighters in the ring went to his knees then crashed face first against the canvas mat.

  Her gaze never strayed toward the fight. The woman looked as though she had a bone to pick. With him.

  His cock stirred, but he kept his expression set so she couldn’t read his deep satisfaction.

  “That her coming our way?” Fig asked, standing on tiptoe to shout into his ear.

  “Yeah.”

  Elaine’s gaze cut for a second to Fig, but she didn’t even blink as she continued making her way toward him.

  When she was withing grabbing distance, he jerked his head away from the crowd.

  She gave him a curt nod.

  To Fig, he dug into his pocket for a roll of bills. “Go find something you want,” he said.

  Fig lifted an eyebrow then looked away, pretending she wasn’t interested in what he was doing. He knew she’d be trailing him and reporting to the team.

  When they were far enough away from the crowd to carry on a conversation, he halted and faced her. People walked past them, heading to the tents or back to the stands. They moved around them like water around rocks in the center of a fastmoving stream.

  He couldn’t help letting his gaze roam her body. Other than the fine lines beside her eyes and mouth that seemed a fraction deeper, she hadn’t changed.

  He took in the black silk shirt tucked into skintight black trousers. As a nod toward the uneven terrain, she wore black, pointed-toe boots. “You’re lookin’ good, Elaine.”

  Her beautiful green eyes narrowed. “Cut the crap. What the fuck are you doing here? Don’t tell me it’s to fight because I won’t believe you. You don’t need my dirty money.”

  So, she remembered some of what he’d said when he’d split. A pang of regret struck him in the chest. Had he hurt her when he’d trashed her life’s work?

  “Maybe I’m feeling a little nostalgic.”

  She snorted and fisted a hand on her curvy hip. “I want you gone.”

  Cage studied her face. There was more in her expression than just irritation or anger over his being there. Tension dug a line between her eyebrows, and her gaze flitted back to the stands behind them. Was she nervous about something?

  To draw her attention back, he moved closer. “Baby, I’m here for you,” he said, his voice husky.

  “Cage,” she bit out, but she clenched her jaws and didn’t say anything more.

  He stepped closer still, aware this could be the moment he could take her down, but now, standing this close, his priorities took a little detour. He reac
hed out and cupped her cheek, expecting she’d jerk her head away.

  But she shocked him by leaning her cheek against his hand. “Don’t do this,” she whispered harshly. “Not now.”

  “If not now, when?” he rasped.

  She closed her eyes and took a backward step. “I don’t have time for this shit. Are you really here to fight?”

  Not with some unknown opponent. The only person he wanted to mix it up with was her.

  In his periphery, he caught sight of Fig; her eyebrows were raised. She was looking for his signal. Her own thumb was turned upward, telling him now was a good time.

  It was do or die time, but his feet felt glued to the ground. Something didn’t feel right. “You’re coming with me.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t have time for this. I have a fight to run.”

  “You have an assistant; let him handle it.”

  “He’s not the one my clients like to talk to.”

  “Your clients are here for the booze and the fights. They won’t even notice you’re gone.”

  “My brother will.”

  “Brent can fuck himself,” he said, his words coming out more harshly than he’d intended, but fuck, he’d meant every word.

  “We’ve had this fight before,” she said, her voice going husky.

  “And it ended so well,” he bit out.

  A breeze caught a thick, long strand of her hair, and she brushed it away from her eyes. Her eyes glittered in the meager light cast by the tents.

  Elaine with tears in her eyes wasn’t something he’d ever seen. His gut tightened. “Come with me. Whatever trouble you have, I’ll help you.”

  She laughed, the sound brittle and a touch hysterical. “Help me? You left me. I haven’t seen you for three years, and you show up out of the blue. Come with you?”

  Behind her, Fig was giving him the stink eye and mouthing, Now!

  And because he wasn’t going to let any other man on the team rush her, he bent, shoved his shoulder into her middle until she folded, then took off running toward the woods.