The Wicked Horse Boxed Set (The Wicked Horse Series)

by Sawyer Bennett

  “Good idea.”

  “Oh, and think about maybe requiring a damages deposit for all members. Make them deposit a chunk of change into a trust account, separate from their membership fee. It’s automatically forfeit if they breach. Make it in addition to the million-dollar clause.”

  “Brilliant,” Bridger says with a devious smile. “And we should make sure that it covers any guests they decide to bring in.”

  “Definitely,” I agree. “Especially since we don’t have time to run background checks on each guest since no notice is needed. But if you tie the member’s purse strings to the liability of the guest, it will make them think twice over who they choose to bring into the club.”

  This is actually a major weak spot in my opinion, allowing members to bring in guests. I pointed this out to both Bridger and Woolf before we even opened the doors, but it was ultimately decided we needed to give some latitude to the members, especially since they paid a whopping fifty thousand per year to be members. In addition, most members were affluent and couldn’t risk exposure, so we figured they would pick their kink partners with care. In fact, they probably had their own non-disclosure agreements in place for protection.

  “I’ll get legal to draft up amended non-disclosures, and we’ll notify the patrons about a damages deposit. Any thought on the amount?”

  I shrug. “The members of this club are multi-millionaires. The membership fee of fifty thousand is chump change for them. I’d make at least the same amount for a damages deposit, if not more.”

  “A hundred thousand it is,” Bridger says with a nod.

  I chuckle, knowing every fucking member will pay it without batting an eyelash. The totally filthy rich have no qualms about blowing that kind of money on their kink.

  All I know is I’m extremely grateful to not only be a fantasy maker for the club, so I can frequently get my rocks off in the dirtiest of ways, but also my employment through The Wicked Horse earns me a platinum membership free of charge. Call it part of the perks package that comes with the job as head of security. While a few select employees at The Wicked Horse have silver memberships as part of their pay, earning them two visits per week, I was granted a full platinum membership because I’ve known Woolf just this side of forever since we grew up together. My position comes with built-in autonomy and authority.

  The benefit of the platinum membership is that I can walk into The Silo any day of the week, and I’m guaranteed a mind-blowing fuck because it’s a private club of many like-minded people. I enjoy this freedom from responsibility and commitment to another person, since the last such person managed to make my life a living hell and even though she’s dead, she still manages to fuck up my existence on a daily basis.

  “Alright, man,” I say as I turn for the office door. “I’m headed to Stokes’ house now. I’ll give you a call later and let you know how it went.”

  “Make it hurt,” Bridger reminds me, but I don’t need it. I’m looking forward to doling out a little Cain Bonham justice on behalf of my friends and employer.

  And then after, I might just come back to The Wicked Horse and see if the blonde woman shows up again. If so, it will be five nights in a row as she had her pretty ass parked there again last night when I came on duty. We played our little staring match with each other, but tonight, I’m not working. If she shows again and wants to take that flirting to another level, I’m ready.

  Game on.

  Chapter 2

  Sloane

  God, I can’t stand country music. You’d think a girl born and raised in the great state of Tennessee would thrive on this shit, but I don’t. Never liked it growing up, leaning instead toward grunge and rock.

  But despite the twangy, deep voice of some vintage Garth Brooks booming over the sound system, I’m finding that I really like The Wicked Horse. Its rough pine flooring and dark paneled walls give it that rustic feel, but the expensive, cowhide-covered seats, custom-carved bar, and specialty drink menu speaks more to a clientele who prefers western chic. It’s an interesting combination but ordinarily not one that would keep me coming back.

  No, I come back for another reason, and that is mainly because I’m interested in the head of security, Cain Bonham. I just found out his name yesterday, and if I’m lucky, he’ll be here again tonight. I’ll keep coming back, night after night, hoping to catch him off duty. I happen to know, for a fact, that he does not engage with customers while he’s working. I know this not only from personal observation, but because my girl Jasmine, who sits directly opposite of me right now at our little table we’ve managed to sit at for the past five nights, hooked up with him a few months ago. She assured me he never looked at her twice until one night when he came into The Wicked Horse dressed in jeans, a pair of heavy, black biker boots that seemed out of place in a country-western nightclub, and a dark gray t-shirt. He was clearly off duty. Once he went up to the bar and ordered a beer, Jasmine told me she had set her sights on him.

  Said she’d been lusting after him for a few weeks, but the word on the street was that he was crazy rigid about not mixing work and pleasure. She decided to come on to him that night, and it apparently earned a one-way ticket to his bed.

  Well, she confessed they actually fucked in the parking lot up against the side of her car in between beers, but still… she claimed it was the best sex she’d ever had.

  She relished in telling me the story because Cain Bonham is an intimidating dude. Women don’t know whether to fawn or fear… and I suppose that’s reasonable. I’m not scared of much in this life, so I would totally go for the fawn path, which wouldn’t be hard given his dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and sharply angled cheekbones. He’s tall and built like a brick wall, his tight, black Security t-shirts hugging those biceps perfectly. I’m not put off nor scared by the large scar that runs along the ridge of one such perfectly sculpted cheekbone. The scar suits him because otherwise, he’d just be a pretty boy.

  Instead, he looks raw, edgy, and utterly gorgeous in my opinion.

  See… easy to fawn.

  Jasmine thinks my interest in Cain is amusing. She told me he doesn’t go back for seconds, or so rumor says, so she’s all for me getting my rocks off with him if I’m so inclined.

  And I am inclined because Cain Bonham is a job to me at this point. If I have to engage in sex with him to further my interests, then so be it. I promise not to enjoy it… too much, but that’s probably a lie. You can tell just looking at the man that it’s going to be explosive.

  Cain didn’t start out as a job to me. When I first came in here with my new girlfriends, I was casing the joint, no doubt. He caught my eye almost immediately with his rough good looks, and I got sidetracked from my mission to engage in some crazy staring matches with him where I tried to allude with just the power of my gaze that I was interested. It was sort of a game, and because I’m a sexually active and liberated woman, I have no problem in random hookups or one-night stands. That’s what I was interested in.

  At first.

  But after a few nights of hanging out at The Wicked Horse for some basic background research purposes, I started to realize that nothing was going to jump out at me that would help me reach my goals.

  And my goals are pretty nefarious… at least to the owners of this establishment.

  I intend to infiltrate a supposed secret sex club that is being operated through this nightclub, and in turn, connect Governor Hayes to it.

  That’s when I set my sights on Cain Bonham as more than just a personal interest. From what little I know of the sex club, and let’s face it, it’s not very much at all, I need someone on the inside to get me in. Now, I have no clue if Cain’s obligations as the Head of Security extend to that avenue of the business, but the magazine shot me over a quick employment background check on him that revealed to me a few interesting things.

  Cain often works part time at the owner, Woolf Jennings’ ranch, the Double J.

  Most importantly, Cain was employed for three years by
SDE Enterprises, which is a corporation based out of Driggs, Idaho. SDE owns a lot of different ventures, but one in particular caught my eye.

  A sex club named Scandalous.

  This was all enough to lead me to believe that Cain is probably involved with it.

  He’s my “in,” and I intend to sit my ass in this bar every night until I have the opportunity to make a connection with him. It’s my hope that said connection is going to be memorable enough that it will keep him coming back for more, which will hopefully give me an inroad into the underbelly of the business.

  My reasons for doing this are layered and complex, but at its most basic level, I’m a reporter for Revealed magazine, a publication based out of Washington, D.C., that works to expose corrupt politicians. At a deeper level, I’m avenging my mother every time I take a sleazeball down who thinks he or she can use their public office to walk on the backs of others.

  Admittedly, Cain wasn’t my immediate target when I moved here to Jackson, Wyoming just a week ago. And he’s not really my target now, just a means to hopefully discover something print-worthy. I’m still not completely sold on whether there is, in fact, a story here. The “anonymous” tip the magazine received isn’t very promising in my opinion. I spoke to the tipster via phone at the order of my editor, Brant Sweeney. I say “anonymous” with air quotes and sarcasm because I was able to find out the cell phone owner’s name easy enough with our background resources.

  So I spoke to some dude named Colton Stokes—who still thinks he’s anonymous to me. He was fairly tight lipped and would only tell me three things.

  First, that there’s a private sex club that’s owned, in part, by Woolf Jennings, president and CEO of JennCo. This is interesting in that Woolf Jennings is a billionaire with a massive cattle and oil empire, but it’s not newsworthy for Revealed magazine.

  Second, that Woolf Jennings is dating Callie Hayes, whose father is the governor of Wyoming.

  Third, that Callie also is a member of the sex club.

  Again, these tips aren’t promising in my opinion. I wasn’t quite sure what he wanted us to do with the information, so I pushed him on it. My money is on the supposition that this Colton Stokes guy is probably nursing some bruised feelings from a rebuff from the lovely Callie Hayes—yes, I researched her too—and he wants some payback.

  He could not, however, tell me how any of this tied to Governor Hayes.

  When I pushed him on this, he was at a loss too, except to say Callie would probably be his campaign manager, and that would only naturally lead him to suspect campaign finances were probably tied to the sex club. In addition and way more promising, I also learned through additional research that Woolf Jennings is a major contributor to the governor.

  This had possibility. A very slight possibility, but it was one that Brant felt deserved some attention. He had told me in his nasally tone, “People don’t want to read about politicians taking payments from lobbyists. They want sex. Dirty, filthy sex. Go find it for me.”

  And so I moved to Wyoming.

  While I don’t think there’s much of a story here, I’m still here to do my job. If there’s something to be found, I’ll do it. Besides, this article is pure gold as far as I’m concerned. Plus, again… if Hayes is dirty and I help to bring him down, I can visit my mother and tell her all about it. Not sure she’ll understand, but it will make me feel better.

  Jasmine kicks me under the table, and my eyes shoot up to her. Garth Brooks is gone, replaced by Luke Bryan, and I realize I’ve drifted hard. I raise my eyebrows and shoot her a look.

  She nods past my left shoulder, and I turn slowly in my chair.

  Cain Bonham has just walked in, looking as sinful as ever. Dark brown hair cropped close on the sides but slightly longer on top. I found out he served in the Marine Corps and while it’s not military buzzed, it’s still pretty short. It only serves to highlight those damn fine chiseled looks, and the stubble he wears on his jawline also lends to his overall rough allure. He’s wearing dark jeans and a lightweight black sweater with a crew collar. I can’t see what’s on his feet because of the crowd, but I’m guessing biker boots, since Jasmine mentioned them before. She loves the biker type of guys.

  Cain doesn’t look my way but heads straight to the bar, nodding and giving what could pass as a half-smile to some. I turn back in my seat, surprised to find my heart beating so fast.

  “You need to get your ass up and go talk to him,” Jasmine pointedly says. “I’ll go with you if you want.”

  She’s sweet. Really, she is.

  As part of my cover, I fortuitously got a job at a small, leather retail store on the town square, courtesy of a favor called in by my editor through the network of publication favors that infiltrates the United States. The woman known as Sloane Preston became Sloane Meyers—in tribute to my mother as that was her maiden name. I then became a retail clerk at Jackson Hole Leather Emporium. Jasmine works there as well, and we hit it off. Especially after I asked her about The Wicked Horse and she got all excited… told me she goes there all the time. The other two girls, Marilyn and Samantha, are local girls, close friends of Jasmine, very sweet but trolling for husbands, and they don’t know any other way to do it than to hang out in a bar every night.

  The group was my perfect cover for hanging out at The Wicked Horse, and I’ve been with them here for the past five nights, engaging in some flirty staring with Cain and wondering when I’d get to make my move.

  It looks like tonight is the night, but how to go about doing it? I have to be different because I need more than a one-night stand with him. He has to be interested in more than just sex, but from what I’ve been able to glean just from observing him, he seems more of a loner than anything else.

  My choices are to engage his mind to make him interested in me as a person, or give him the absolute best, dirtiest, mind-blowing sex he can ever imagine, so he’ll want to come back for more.

  I take a sip of my beer and contemplate how to go about setting the hook.

  Chapter 3

  Cain

  I noticed the blonde woman the minute I opened the door to The Wicked Horse because my eyes involuntarily went to the table she sat at with her girlfriends for the past few nights. It’s odd to me that I felt a weird sort of elation over seeing her there, and it made me realize how much I was looking forward to hopefully figuring out the mystery of this girl tonight.

  My powers of observation are keen. No more than three steps inside the door and I saw her friend across the table raise her eyes my way and tilt her head toward me. The blonde woman started turning her head my way, and I immediately averted my eyes and headed toward the bar. No sense in letting her know right off the bat I’m here for her. Make her work for it a bit, I guess. Otherwise, where’s the fun in that?

  That little exchange also told me something important. The blonde was waiting for me to come in, and she shared that with her friends. I saw her friend clearly get her attention and nod my way, so that tells me one very monumental piece of evidence.

  I’m going to fuck that girl tonight.

  It’s odd I’m attracted to her, but I’m only talking about her superficial beauty. She’s a well-put-together package no doubt, because what red-blooded man doesn’t love a blonde with curves? But it’s more the way she looks with her hair curled in loose waves down just below her chin, wide-set innocent eyes of baby blue, and dimples to the left and right of her mouth when she smiles.

  She looks like a metaphorical piece of apple pie, all sweet and sugary.

  That’s usually not my thing. I like women who are aggressive and know what they want. With as much dirty fucking as I do on a regular basis, vanilla women are just a tad too boring. Doesn’t mean I won’t fuck them, but it does mean they’re forgotten sooner than the others are. But I have to hand it to the blonde. She’s not been handing me shy smiles and surreptitious looks. No, she stares at me like a woman who knows what she wants, and that’s just so contradictory to her naive look.r />
  That’s what, in fact, makes her such a mystery. I wonder when she’s crying out in pleasure, will it be in a wholesomely saccharine way or if she’ll pull my hair out by the roots while screaming for me to make her come harder?

  It will be interesting to find out.

  Now, how to go about getting in her pants?

  I decide to drink a beer and ponder the question, because it’s still early and what I know about the blonde is that she’ll hang here for a good chunk of the night. At least, that’s been her modus operandi so far, so I feel confident I don’t have to make a move soon. And besides, if I miss the opportunity with her, that’s no skin off my back. I’ve got The Silo sitting twenty yards off the back of The Wicked Horse. I can bust a nut there just as easy.

  “Beer?” Ted says from across the bar. Good dude and he’s also a fantasy maker at The Silo. He and I have starred together in some group fantasies in the past. The guy will fuck anyone that has a willing orifice, so it makes him a more popular member of the club.

  I nod at him as I take one of the few empty seats and watch as he pours my favorite. After he sets the Hefeweizen in front of me, I slide a ten-dollar bill his way and thus is the extent of our exchange. I’m not an overly chatty dude to begin with, but when I come here, I like to drink, people watch, and keep an eye on my crew.

  My back stays turned to the blonde for a few sips of my beer, but then I turn casually around on the stool and gaze out over the club. For a Thursday night, it’s fairly packed, although it’s still early yet. Give it another hour and it will be standing room only. My eyes first connect on Angel, our DJ, as she sits in a glass booth with a pair of headphones over her glossy, red hair. She’s probably the only woman in the world who intimidates me, and only because she enjoys degrading and defiling men. She’s a fem-dom, hardcore to the extreme. No matter how much weird shit I’ve seen happen in The Silo, it still blows my mind the amount of people who will pay to receive pain and degradation as a way to get off.