Wicked Lust

by Sawyer Bennett

  "But I am," Bridger says simply.

  I just blink at him, refusing to believe he would do that. Where's his goddamn loyalty to me?

  "Look, Cain," Bridger says in a softer tone. "She was wrong and she knows it. She made it right in the end. And for what it's worth, I believe the reason she made it right was solely because of her feelings for you and Callie. She just couldn't hurt you."

  "I heard her on the phone telling someone she worked for about the club and Callie. She admitted she used me to get to the club."

  "Again," Bridger says in an even tone. "At first, yeah... that's what she was doing. But it tore her up, and she ultimately sacrificed that job to protect this club and Callie. It's all in the letter."

  I give a snort, not wanting to believe a word he says. It's much easier to hold on to my hate and anger. It's definitely easier to be able to put her from my mind and pretend this never happened. I can't fucking do that with her in my line of sight here.

  "You need to fire her," I say adamantly. "I won't work here with her."

  "Then I suggest you get in your truck and go home," he responds.

  My eyebrows shoot straight up. "Are you serious?"

  "Dead serious."

  "Suit yourself," I say, figuring either I'm going home on an unplanned vacation day, or that was just Bridger terminating my services. I don't bother to ask for clarification as I turn on my heel and head for the door.

  "The letter, Cain," Bridger calls out to me. "Do yourself a favor and read the damn thing."

  I ignore him and stomp out, fully intending to stay away until he cans her ass.

  I sit in my recliner, mindlessly flipping the channel on the TV. Nothing is holding my attention, but then again... I'm not a big TV watcher. Never have the time actually, so it's no surprise now that it's not giving me a single ounce of numbness.

  I glance at the clock.

  Almost ten PM, and I think about the letter for about the hundredth time since I left Bridger's office this evening. It's still laying in my side yard, and this I know because I walked to the end of my porch when I got home and saw it there in the moonlight. I stared at it, warring with myself about whether to read it, but I left it alone.

  It's like a damn homing beacon, calling out to me, Read me. Read me, Cain.

  Christ... I can't get it out of my head.

  "Fuck it," I mutter to myself and turn the TV off. I launch up out of the recliner, the springs groaning, and before I can talk myself out of it, head outside.

  The envelope is damp when I pick it up off the ground, and I have a small measure of relief as I think the words will possibly be smeared from the rain. But truthfully, I don't know if it was even in the rain. It could have blown off long after the storm had passed through last night.

  I carry it inside, head to the refrigerator, and pull out a beer. Opening it, I take a few pulls and then sit at my small kitchen table, staring at the thing.

  My name is written in neat, cursive letters on the outside, barely smudged from the wet.

  Before I can talk myself out of it, I put the beer bottle down and open the envelope.

  Inside are two sheets written in the same blue ink as my name on the outside, dated three days ago. I take a deep breath, and I read.

  Dear Cain,

  By the time you read this letter, and if all goes according to plan, I will be on a plane headed back home to Tennessee. While it would have been very easy for me to disappear without a word, I felt I owed you the truth so you could perhaps garner some small measure of comfort after you find out what I did.

  First... my name is Sloane Preston. Meyers is my mom's maiden name, and I used a fake name because I came to Jackson as an undercover reporter working for Revealed magazine in Washington, DC. My job was to follow up on an anonymous tip made to my employer about a sex club that had ties to Governor Hayes.

  While my actions sicken me now, I feel I have to honestly tell you everything. I first targeted you in the hopes that you would gain me access into the club. That first night we were together... I tried to orchestrate that. I punched that guy on the dance floor, hoping you'd find me interesting. I hoped you would want to know more about me, and it apparently worked. I had set the hook, and you took it.

  I'm sorry to hurt you that way. I wish I could avoid causing you pain, but it's more important for me to be honest with you, so I can hopefully find some redemption within myself.

  Here's something else I'm being honest with you about. After that very first night with you, I knew down deep in my gut that it was a mistake of massive proportions to get involved with you. Every day... every moment we spent together, I found my connection to you growing stronger, and my feelings for you growing deeper.

  Please don't ever doubt my feelings. While I was indeed trying to find a story, my real efforts went into building something with you. Every day, my own self-esteem and pride took a battering as I continued to lead a double life, and yet I couldn't bring myself to cut you loose. You started to become necessary to me, and in a very selfish move, I tried to figure out how to have it all.

  I figured out early on there wasn't a story there. I swear to you I tried to convey to the magazine time and time again that there was nothing there. I was met with resistance and firm orders to dig deeper. This past week, I wracked my brain trying to figure out a way from this mess. How I could salvage my job and my relationship with you. How I could look myself in the mirror and not be ashamed of what was looking back at me.

  Even when things were at their darkest for me, you ended up being my one shining light in this debacle. Ultimately, no matter what my employer wanted me to do, I realized I just couldn't hurt you. I couldn't hurt Callie. My job simply wasn't that important. It was my hope I could get them to back off, but I was fully prepared to quit if that didn't work. In fact, the purpose of me writing this letter is so you know that when you finally find out the truth about me, my intent at the end was to do whatever was necessary to protect you, Callie, Bridger, and the club. If you're reading this letter, it means the magazine is not accepting my inability to manufacture a story, and I'm going to have to quit.

  Once that happens, I'm going to have to go home to Tennessee.

  I really hope it doesn't come to that, but if you are reading this letter, it means I couldn't save everything. Just the things that mattered most.

  I wish you so much joy and happiness in life. My heart will be forever broken over losing you, but I hope to God that you find a way to make peace with this and move on. I care about you so much, Cain, and it kills me to know how much you're going to be hurt by this. I only hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me and ultimately find someone who is good to you.

  Love,

  Sloane

  I set the letter down and stare at it. My fingers curl around the beer bottle, and I grip it tight. I'm not sure how I feel about what she's said. I do have to admit, it seems like her intent for the most part was to protect Callie, the club, and me. I'm not sure why she couldn't just tell me what was going on, but it doesn't seem she was out to hurt us.

  It also seems that maybe she did have feelings for me.

  If only I could truly, deep down, believe that.

  Chapter 28

  Sloane

  I wonder if there will ever come a time that I'll see Cain for the first time in any given day, and not have my entire body just sigh with pleasure over the magnificence of this man.

  He opens the door to The Wicked Horse and strides in with confidence. I pause my efforts in wiping the bar down and admire the tight fit of his black BDU pants and the t-shirt that proudly proclaims him as head of security. He's recently had a haircut but he didn't shave tonight, and I remember with yearning the feel of that scratchy beard against my legs.

  Cain didn't stay away from The Wicked Horse long. Only a day, as a matter of fact. Bridger had told me the first night I worked that Cain demanded I be fired, and that he wouldn't work here with me. I was stunned when Bridger told me that h
e sent Cain home, but he didn't seem surprised when he came in to work the next evening.

  And as he's done every night for the past three nights, his eyes sweep the interior until he's confident he knows where every single person is. He always saves the bar for last, because he knows I'm there.

  He always glares at me, as he does now. His brows furrow inward and his eyes narrow, the expression fierce and his scar looking angry. Then his gaze moves on, and he barely looks at me again for the rest of the evening.

  Hell, last night, he stood five feet from me while a customer leaned over the bar and tried to grab my boob. One of the other bouncers across the room saw it and moved in to take action. When I cut my gaze over to Cain, he just stared at me a moment with hard eyes and turned his back on me, clearly giving me the message he didn't even care enough about me to do his job.

  Cain walks down the length of the bar, nodding at a few other patrons, and disappears in the back kitchen area. That's also been his pattern the last three nights, as he routinely shows up at work at least ten minutes early and then hides from me until his shift starts. With a sigh, I finish wiping down the bar and check with the existing customers to see if they need refills. It's early yet and only three people sit at the main bar, but in about an hour, it will start to fill up.

  "That is one sexy ass man," Tina says behind me. She's new here too, although she's been here a few weeks longer than I have. Her eyes stay pinned on the door that Cain just went through. "I wonder what it would take to catch his attention."

  "Punch a guy in the face," I mutter under my breath.

  "What?"

  "Nothing," I say with a smile. "I think he's gay. At least that's the rumor I heard."

  Tina's face falls with disappointment, but then her eyes flick over my shoulder and light back up. "Or what about him? I've heard rumors from some of the other waitresses that he's a beast."

  I turn around and see Bridger walking out of his office. Yeah... he's a beast alright, but I'm not going to let her know. Besides, I have a feeling that the only ones who get to play with Bridger are the ones he chooses and not vice versa.

  He walks to the end of the bar and jerks his chin at me, indicating he wants a word. Tina sighs loudly and I leave her behind, making my way down to him.

  "What's up?" I ask him.

  "Just checking in to see how things are going," he says as he leans both elbows on the bar. "Haven't had a chance to talk since you started."

  "I'm really enjoying the work," I tell him honestly. "Thanks again for the job."

  "Yeah, no problem," he says with a wave of his hand. "But I was talking about Cain."

  I look at the swing-through kitchen door over my shoulder and sigh. "Well... it seems he glared at me for maybe two seconds less than yesterday, so that's improvement, right?"

  Bridger cocks an eyebrow at me. "Well... what does he have to say?"

  "Say?"

  "Yeah... you've talked to him, right?"

  "No," I say, blinking at him stupidly. "He doesn't want to talk to me."

  "Well, no shit, Sherlock. You're going to have to press the issue with him. He's not just going to wake up and everything will be fine."

  I don't like his pissy attitude, especially since this has been tough on me. Watching the man who has my heart in a chokehold look at me with nothing but distaste, living in a strange place with no friends, and worrying myself sick about what hell my actions will bring down on my mom is hard. Not a day goes by that I don't consider packing it up and heading home to Tennessee.

  It's what my mom would like even if she doesn't come right out and say so. I told her pretty much what had happened as I had to prepare her for the article if Brant chooses to run it. So far, he hasn't, but I'm just waiting for it to hit any day now. And I really should be home with her if that happens.

  But I also told my mom about Cain and my feelings for him, and she's been supportive of me staying here a bit to see if I can make amends.

  "When am I supposed to have this big talk with him?" I sarcastically ask Bridger. "It's not like this place is conducive to a serious talk, and I'm pretty sure he'll shoot me if I come on his property."

  "It's pretty quiet in here right now," Bridger says while giving me a pointed look.

  "Right now?"

  "Do I need to repeat it?"

  "But I'm working," I say.

  "Then take a fucking break, Sloane. It's not rocket science."

  I roll my eyes and say, "At the risk of getting fired, you are one complicated man."

  "Lucky for you, I'm a fucking romantic at heart."

  "Yeah... you are no more a romantic than my ex-boyfriend who thought the act of bringing me a six-pack before a date would earn him brownie points, but I appreciate your zeal for others to find happiness."

  Bridger just cocks an eyebrow at me.

  "Fine," I say as I throw the towel on the counter below the bar. "I'll take a break. But if I'm not back in ten minutes, you better send a posse out to dig for my body."

  "Good girl," he murmurs and pushes away from the bar to head back to his office, but not before giving a jerk of his chin toward Tina. Apparently, he's decided to play with her, and since there are two other bartenders to watch over things, Tina scurries out from behind the countertop and follows him back to his office.

  Taking a deep breath, I head for the kitchen.

  When I walk through the swinging door, my gaze sweeps the room for Cain. I don't see him and ask Frank, one of the cooks, "Seen Cain around?"

  "Went out the side door a few minutes ago," he says, nodding his head toward the emergency exit.

  I square my shoulders and head that way.

  As soon as I push the door open, the cool August air hits me and I cross my arms to ward off the chill. August evenings in Tennessee are warm and humid, but it gets chilly here at this time of year.

  My head immediately swivels to the right where I see Cain leaning up against the wall, looking at something on his phone. His head snaps up with a semi-friendly expression, but when he sees it's me, his lips flatten out.

  "What do you want?" he mutters.

  "To talk to you," I say.

  "Don't want to hear anything you have to say," he retorts.

  "Well, tough shit. Man up and put your listening ears on."

  Cain pushes off the wall and takes a step to move past me, so I blurt out, "I saw your mom today."

  Cain stops, straightens to his full height, and squares his shoulders at me. "What?"

  "I saw your mom. Went in for a manicure. While I couldn't tell her details, I told her that I hurt you and I was very sorry for it. I apologized for hurting her son."

  He stares at me with his mouth slightly agape, gives a small shake of his head, and goes to move past me. So I tell him, "You walk away from me, I'll just follow you through the bar and continue to talk. Then everyone will know our business."

  Spinning on me, he growls, "You and I have no business together. You are nothing but a bad memory."

  Okay, that really hurts, and I involuntarily rub my knuckles across my sternum to alleviate the ache. "Okay... I deserve that. But I also deserve to have you hear me out."

  "You don't deserve it."

  "Callie, Bridger, Woolf, and your mom seemed to think I did."

  Cain snorts. "Just because they did doesn't mean I'm stupid."

  "Come on, Cain," I plead with him. "You owe me."

  "Why would you think that?" he asks incredulously.

  "Because I sacrificed a lot for you," I snap at him.

  "You sacrificed for me?" he scoffs.

  "Yes," I say firmly. "I put my family at risk, and I lost a good job because of you. In the end, I gave up everything for you and Callie. The least you can do is listen to what I have to say."

  For a fraction of a second, I think he's going to roll his eyes and stomp past me, but then he crosses his arms over his chest and watches me with silent but skeptical eyes. It's enough of a reprieve that I take a quick breath and push fo
rward while I have his attention.

  "I'm really sorry for what I did. My intentions were never to hurt anyone--only to gain the truth. But once I found out there wasn't a truth, I realized I had to do the right thing. From very early on, I was constantly trying to figure a way out that would protect everyone."

  "Your letter said that," he says flatly and takes a step toward the door. "Anything else?"

  "Yes," I whisper. "I really care for you. I miss you."

  His eyes flicker back and forth between my own, and I can tell he's actually considering my words. But then his irises lighten to a cool green, and he dismisses me while reaching for the door. "Wish I could say the same."

  The stab that pierces my heart this time brings a prickle of tears to my eyes. He takes notice of the sheen, locks his jaw tight, and turns away from me as he pulls the door open.

  "I'm not giving up," I desperately tell his retreating back. "I'm sticking around until you forgive me."

  He doesn't respond, and the door closes in my face. I wait a few minutes, blinking my eyes to dry them. Sucking in a quavering breath, I let it out slowly. That so did not go how I'd hoped, and went worse than I could have imagined. The futility of trying to chip through the concrete surrounding his heart hits me hard, exhaustion permeating my very core.

  With fatigue of the soul threatening an impending breakdown, I walk back into the kitchen, back through the service door, and hang a left toward Bridger's office. I'm just... done.

  Cain is nowhere to be seen, but that's not important. I tried, and I failed, and it's time to cut loose Jackson, Wyoming.

  Just as I reach Bridger's office door, it opens and Tina walks out with a glazed look in her eyes, dabbing at the corners of her mouth. I see Bridger just behind her fastening his buckle. His eyes lock on mine, and he gives me a mischievous grin.

  I stand to the side and let Tina pass, then look back to Bridger for permission to come in. He gives me a smile and heads behind his desk.

  "That was fast," he observes, noting my conversation with Cain lasted no more than ten minutes.

  "You too," I throw back at him.

  "What can I say... Tina's got a mouth on her."

  I roll my eyes, because I do not need to imagine Bridger getting a quick blow job from my co-worker. I most certainly don't feel like listening to her talk about it tonight.