The Grandmaster's Legacy (HOT Historical Suspense, Box Set)

by Taylor Lee

  He held her head between his knees not willing to let her lips or mouth leave his still throbbing cock. They stayed like that until he lifted her up and pulled her next to his trembling body.

  “Let me suck your lips, your tongue, suck on your mouth, honey. I wanna see what I taste like. Mm hmm. God, that’s good. Holy Christ, Lei, you turn me inside out. I don’t know how you do what you do to me. Do you know that? Every time you suck me like this it amazes me. What you do. How you make me feel.”

  He felt her wriggling up between his legs, and groaned. “You wanna get some, honey? You need this big cock of mine in your pussy, now that you had me down your throat? Yeah? Greedy little minx, aren’t you, baby? First in your mouth and now in your cunt?”

  “God, yes. I need you, Wyatt, I need you now.”

  She was shaking, excited from watching him come, tasting him, feeling his cock in her hands and her mouth.

  “Okay, honey, climb up. I don’t know if I can stand up, but I sure as hell can get this up. All I need is to smell that hot smell rolling off of you. See? Feel how hard my prick is already?”

  She groaned. Her climax streaked forward, roiling over her. She mounted him, her legs shaking, her breath coming in sharp gasps.

  “Climb up on me, Lei. Now! Ride me, baby. That’s it, Jesus. Oh, Christ, honey, forget what I said. I’m all over you, baby. Lay back.”

  He lifted her off of him and laid her on her back on the floor. He crawled up over her, his huge body dwarfing hers. Digging her fingers into his back, she pulled him down on her, sobbing with desire. So hot, so ready. She begged him to come inside her. Fast. Hard.

  “Yeah, honey, I want to go as deep in you as you took me. Spread your legs. Bend your knees up tight. Yeah, high and wide. Now I can go deep inside of you. This is how you like it, isn’t it, baby? Oh yeah. You like it deep and hard. The way I do. Tell me how good this feels!”

  She screamed in ecstasy. The climax that had been building since he first threw her over his shoulder was hard on her. He groaned with anticipation. He felt the huge waves rising up in her.

  He drove deeper and deeper. She shrieked and sobbed as the waves of passion flooded over her. With a fierce cry, he came again. He rode her until they both collapsed, shuddering and holding each other, laughing, crying. Overcome with their joy in each other.

  They lay like that for several long minutes, when they heard a voice.

  “Are you two about finished? Can I lock up now?” Joey called from his office door.

  Wyatt jerked to sitting. “Goddamn, Joey. I’m sorry. We thought we were alone. We were just gonna work on a couple of moves.”

  “Yeah? I sure as hell hope you don’t expect me to teach those moves to our students. Unless you’re willing to come in and demonstrate. Christ, I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  ~~~

  Chapter 7

  Wyatt running for governor was the biggest news to hit Wyoming in some time, bigger than Bernie Catron’s funeral. Hell, bigger than his death. The news reverberated across the state within hours and by the next day, newspapers throughout the West were publishing stories about the fabled half- breed moneyman who had thrown his hat in the ring for governor of the State of Wyoming. It wasn’t long before the big papers in Washington, New York, and San Francisco were headlining the news. Wyatt was great copy, made even more so, with Tom’s skillful intervention and amplification.

  Grant’s supporters, who had been licking their lips at the prospect of Grant’s governorship, were stunned by the news. They shook their heads in astonishment, as much as anger. Once again, Wyatt had turned their plans upside down, outfoxed them before the campaign had even begun. It didn’t take them long to regroup. They had already tasted the spoils of Grant’s likely victory. By God, none of them were willing to let them go. Once they got over their dismay, they consoled one another. Even if he was Wyatt fucking McManus, no half-breed could ever be elected governor in a western state. Hell, not a chance, given that Chinese and reservation Indians aren’t citizens. That leaves a lot of white people who wouldn’t consider voting for a half-breed. Within days, the shock subsided. The men who had spent years fantasizing about taking Wyatt down were chomping at the bit. This would be an even bigger victory. Instead of just defeating the candidate he supported, they would defeat him, once and for all!

  ~~~

  For the first several hours after Wyatt attacked him, Grant’s shoulder was virtually paralyzed. When he got feeling back and was able to walk, he hobbled up to his hotel room. He locked the door, unwilling to see or speak to anyone. By the next morning, his pain had turned to embarrassment. By the end of the day, fury set in. On the second day, his fury was a cold hard rage. It remained that way for the rest of the campaign.

  Clarence, Will, and John were almost as embarrassed as Grant. They were horrified, watching Grant cry, sob, like a baby. They were as humiliated as Grant. They had been impotent, unable, unwilling to help him. None of them, including Grant, admitted it. To a man, they were terrified of Wyatt.

  Grant and his team had perfected a simple campaign message they were about to roll out. ‘Don’t vote for a fucking Indian who is shacking up with a Chink.’ They would be more subtle, of course. As it turned out, not much more.

  A second line of attack Grant intended to pursue was Wyatt’s violent past. That was trickier. In the Wild West, being a strong man that people feared was an asset, not a liability. Grant knew he needed to play down Wyatt’s power. Portray it as savagery, not strength. Cowboys were strong. So were white men. Indians were savages.

  Finally, they would take on his wealth. This one was harder. Wyatt’s reputation as a clean scandal-free businessman who took down corrupt politicians and other crooks was the stuff of legend. Once again, Grant intended to use the potent club of racial hatred. Yeah, Wyatt wasn’t Chinese, but Lei was. And everyone knew how devious, cunning, and underhanded the Chinese were. How else were they able to come to this country and turn dirt wages and segregation into thriving businesses? Take Joey Chen. For years, before Wyatt took over the role of area benefactor, ranchers and farmers had come to Joey whenever they needed management advice or to borrow money. As much as those he helped appreciated it, there was always that undercurrent of resentment. A Chinaman had more money than they did.

  Then there was Wan Chang. The Forrester campaign considered Wan a gift from the gods. Their ticket to the governor’s house. While Tom and Wyatt may have thought with Wan’s help that they could neutralize or at least minimize the impact of their Chinese connections, Grant’s campaign had Chinese cards of their own to play. It turned out their cards were stronger and more powerful than Wyatt or Wan imagined. And more insidious. How those cards played out would ultimately decide the election.

  ~~~

  Sometimes the gods smiled, Grant mused, brought help from surprising and unintended places. As he lay in bed after Wyatt attacked him, nursing his throbbing shoulder and bruised pride, Grant almost didn’t answer the insistent knocking at his door.

  “Get the fuck out of here whoever you are,” he shouted as he put another cold towel on his shoulder.

  “Let me in, Grant. It’s Charlie Morales. I saw what he did to you today. I brought you some ice and a hell of a bottle of whiskey.”

  “Jesus Christ, Charlie, it better be the best bottle in the house. You better have a hell of a good reason for bothering me tonight.”

  Two hours later, Grant lay back on the bed, amazed. He thought to himself, what if he hadn’t answered the door? Who would have thought there was someone who hated Wyatt and Lei as much as he did? Maybe more. And, hell, that someone couldn’t be better positioned to help him. Best of all, the only payment he wanted was to bring Wyatt down and bring Lei with him. A man after his own heart.

  ~~~

  Charlie Morales, the owner of the Back Door Saloon, was a closet member of the Demonios. It was the fiercest gang in Mexico and the scourge of the southwest. Until they ran into Wyatt McManus eight years ago. Known for
their sadistic savagery, no one took on the Demonios willingly. Until Wyatt. He decimated the gang. Hit them at their core. In one of the most hideous—and deserved—massacres in gang history, Wyatt dismembered four of their leaders and burned alive their supreme leader. The massacre went down in the annals of gang violence. It established forever Wyatt’s reputation among the vicious. The message was set in stone. The Devil himself couldn’t help anyone who came up against Wyatt or the people he loved.

  The Demonios fled back to Mexico, then went on to California, where their new nemeses were the Tongs. The two groups had much in common, most notably, their savage overkill and the sources of their financial supremacy—prostitution, alcohol, and drugs.

  The few Demonios who made it to Wyoming went there for one reason—Wyatt McManus. Like Charlie Morales, they lived in anonymity, waiting for the day when they would avenge the honor of their gang and take down Wyatt McManus.

  Charlie had a reason other than Wyatt to help Grant: Lei. A year ago, he had made the mistake of thinking he could take on Wyatt by raping and killing his woman. Like Grant, he had watched with fury as Wyatt introduced the Chink bitch into polite company, as though she belonged. Charlie knew Lei was Wan Chang’s daughter. He planned to give the attack the signature of the Rongue Ri, the rival Tong to Wan Chang’s Sing Leon.

  What Charlie didn’t know was that like Wyatt, Lei was a kung fu master. It took him six months after she almost beat him to death to get his dick up enough to shove it in one of his whores. Lei had focused the majority of her kicks and strikes on his groin. To this day, it hurt to take a piss. More often than not, his shit was streaked with blood. The only redeeming fact was that Lei apparently didn’t tell anyone about the attack. Wracked by the shame of it, Charlie only told his closest men. They were astonished at the damage the young woman had done to their boss. The only reason Charlie could think of that she didn’t tell Wyatt was because she didn’t want to give him a reason to kill again, not when he was becoming the most respected businessman in the west.

  Charlie despised Grant Forrester. He wasn’t nearly violent enough for Charlie’s taste. The asshole thought he could take Wyatt down in a fucking political campaign. Charlie knew better. To get Wyatt, you needed to be a vicious as Wyatt was, as savage, as personal. But Grant was a useful tool, the campaign an unwitting decoy. Let Grant think that Charlie was just a fat Mexican with a hard on for Wyatt’s wife. Charlie would have the last laugh. Revenge didn’t begin to describe the hatred Charlie felt for Wyatt, and for Lei. Neither did retribution. No, it was more like demonic wrath. Only Wyatt and Lei’s grief would begin to assuage his rage.

  Charlie knew he was Grant’s most potent, hidden weapon. Intentionally or not, a saloon owner is often at the center of the action. The town saloon is where a lot of the action takes place, from planning sessions to after hours orgies. Much of what happened in Wyatt’s campaign took place at the Back Door Saloon—under the watchful eyes and ears of Charlie, with his direct line to Grant.

  ~~~

  If Grant intended to make the campaign personal, so did Tom.

  “Look, I don’t want to make you any cockier than you already are, but let’s face it, Wyatt. When we get you out there next to blubbery Grant with his smarmy smile, spit soaked cigar, and elevator boots, who do you think makes a better impression?”

  Wyatt grinned at Tom and took a drag off his cigarette.

  “See, that’s what I mean. You’re a charming guy, Wyatt. Christ, you’re as handsome as they come. But I swear to god, your best weapon is that goddamn grin of yours. You capture men and women with that smile. Doesn’t he, Chief?”

  Chief smiled in return. “From the time he was eight years old. Once he stopped being scared and realized he was with me to stay, that kid started charming people and horses. He hasn’t stopped since.”

  Tom continued. “It isn’t just greenhorns like me who are impressed. When you ride up on Master, you look like who you are. A Wyoming rancher and businessman. You’re authentic. You’re who you say you are. That’s important, Wyatt. It’s something we’re going to emphasize. Grant isn’t from here. He’s a goddamn carpetbagger. Christ, I’d like to see him in a pair of riding pants. No, I take that back. I can’t imagine a worse sight.”

  Wyatt’s grin faded and he said with an exasperated snort, “Okay, okay, Tom, I get it. You like the way your candidate looks. Now let’s talk about what a violent son of a bitch he is. Christ, Tom, I’ve killed people, mutilated them. What do you think Grant is gonna do with that?”

  “Wyatt, you tell me when being strong and carrying a gun in a dangerous country filled with outlaw gangs is a problem. Or protecting yourself? Or killing bad guys who were killing innocent people? Tell me when that is ever gonna be a problem in a place like Wyoming? Or that you ride with a group of men who also carry guns, men who are trained to help you. Protect your property. Your family. When is that a problem in Wyoming?”

  “I’ll tell you when, Tom. When the guy we’re talking about is an Indian. The guys on the other side are gonna do their best to portray the things I did as the acts of a wild savage.”

  “You know, Wyatt, that may have worked ten years ago. But hell, I’ve seen the way people smile at you when you ride in with Alex and Elena. Christ, when Nicolas Deshi is with the three of you, people melt on the street. Every person who sees you sees the proud father of three young children who adore him. They don’t see a savage. They see a man who buys his beautiful children an ice cream cone when they come to town with him.”

  Chief nodded in agreement. “He’s right, Wyatt. I have seen attitudes change over these last five years. Hell, people are even nicer to me because they know I’m with you. Tom is right. Grant is barking up the wrong tree on this one. Sure, there are still people who won’t vote for you because you’re part Indian. But not people who know you, and, Wyatt, a hell of a lot of people in Wyoming know you.”

  Tom got up and closed the office door. He came back and sat down, a sly smile twitching his lips. “I’m only going to say this to the three of us. The largest group of voters in the state of Wyoming is our natural constituency. Grant can’t win them over if he tries.”

  “Who might that be, Tom, given that reservation Indians can’t vote and Chinese aren’t citizens?” Wyatt asked with an ironic grin.

  “Women.”

  Both Wyatt and Chief stared at him, not understanding. Then a smile flashed across Wyatt’s face.

  “Thanks for closing the door, Tom. And, yeah, even if you are right, let’s not make this an overt part of the campaign.”

  “You know I’m right, Wyatt. Look, if anyone was a fixture in every brothel, beaver barn and chippy joint in Wyoming – up to three years ago—it was you. The last time I checked, whores can vote, right? I’m also willing to bet there are a large number of upstanding married and unmarried women across the state who have enjoyed the legendary talents of the best looking guy around.”

  Wyatt shook his head, but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  Chief also shook his head, as if in disbelief, and then agreed, “Hell, Tom, you’re right again. I never thought of it that way. Wyatt’s past ‘associations’ could actually be an advantage. We have all been trying to downplay them, given the situation with Lei. The last thing we wanted to do was underscore that the number of women Wyatt has “known” would create a – what did you call it – a constituency?”

  Tom was grinning from ear to ear. “What did Walt Peters say about you, Wyatt? ‘The guy’s prick must be a national treasure the way the women run after him.’? That’s one of the best lines I’ve heard. You can stop blushing. You know you’re proud as hell of your reputation. Who wouldn’t be? I can tell you something else. Again, we won’t say this in front of Lei. We all know those days are past. You are living with the mother of your children and the love of your life. However, there are more than a few women out there who believe that a guy with your past can always be corrupted by the right woman, or so
they hope.”

  “Christ, Tom, don’t even say that in jest. Hell if Lei heard that…”

  “If Lei heard what?” Lei asked as she started to walk into the office, then stopped in the doorway. She looked at all three of them quizzically. Her smile became a frown when she saw their smiles turn to confusion. More telling was the blush that flashed across Chief’s face.

  Tom recovered as best as he could. He said in his smoothest Washington politician’s voice, “We were talking about potential voters we could approach, Lei. I told Wyatt all the work he has done with the suffragettes could be helpful. A lot of women who vote know that every candidate Wyatt has supported over the years believed that women should have the vote. Those women will be good targets to help us get out the vote of other women.”

  Lei stood in the doorway, and then glared at Wyatt. He took a drag off his cigarette, quirked an eyebrow, and gave her a diffident smile. Something in his face made her flush. The flash in her eyes signaled her anger.

  “There’s a larger group of women you could tap, Tom. How about all the women Wyatt has fucked? My understanding is that the suffragettes only number in the hundreds. Why stop there?”

  With that she turned and walked out, slamming the door behind her.

  “Oh, Christ, Wyatt, I’m sorry. I should never have started that whole discussion. It was disrespectful of Lei and of you. My apologies.” Tom was clearly upset, dismayed.

  “It’s okay, Tom. You didn’t mean for Lei to hear. Unfortunately, everything you said is true, including the fact that women do constitute a group of voters we can probably tap and tap successfully. That fact sure as hell doesn’t help me with the woman I love, but it might help me get elected. Christ, that’s a hell of a note, isn’t it?”

  With a deep frown creasing his forehead, he turned and left the room.