The Wicked Horse Boxed Set (The Wicked Horse Series)

by Sawyer Bennett

  I ignore the requirements for the job as I’m more than qualified and decide to really address the elephant in the room. “I’ve been with both your men at The Silo. Why are you helping me? Why in the hell are you even here shaking my hand?”

  My voice gets a little hysterical at the end, and Callie’s eyes soften. She ignores the fact I haven’t invited her in and takes two more steps toward me. Her hands come to my shoulders and she squeezes them. “Cat… I don’t know you, but Bridger and Woolf both assure me that you are a very nice person. Sloane and I know all about The Silo and what our men did there before we came along. And that’s where I want you to focus… you were with them before Sloane and I got involved, and we have no right to judge or be mad at something they did before we fell in love. So if we don’t have a problem with it, I don’t think you should.”

  I blink at her stupidly because although her words make sense, I know just enough about women to know they are jealous creatures. I also know no women who would want to be friends or co-workers with someone who had very kinky sex with their significant other.

  “She doesn’t believe you,” Sloane says as she leans a shoulder against the doorjamb. “Figures.”

  “Well, we don’t have time to convince you. I’m starved. We promised Rand we’d take you to lunch and discuss the job, so let’s go,” Callie says in exasperation and takes my elbow.

  I’m still sort of frozen from the shock of all this, but my feet willingly move when she pulls me toward the door.

  “Rand did tell you we’d be by, right?”

  I shake my head, no words coming out. As I grab my purse on the bench in the mudroom as an afterthought, Sloane mutters, “Typical man. Forgetting the important things. Don’t worry… we’ll have a great time at lunch. Margaritas at The Merry Piglet make everything better.”

  Now that is something that’s finally clicking with me. I could use a margarita.

  Or five.

  *

  “So then everything spills out of my purse,” Sloane says with a gasping laugh, “and a butt plug rolls out. Right to the foot of the waiter. He picks it up and just hands it to me with a red face. And Cain was dying laughing.”

  Callie wheezes she’s laughing so hard, slapping at the table and nearly knocking over her third margarita. I look back and forth between these two women as I have been most of lunch… with my mouth hanging open.

  Sloane looks up at me with tear-filled eyes and smirks. “Come on, Cat. That’s funny, right?”

  “She’s still in shock,” Callie affirms with eyes just as wet from laughter.

  “Maybe we broke her,” Sloane says thoughtfully, wiping a finger under her eye to push away the moisture. “Rand’s going to be pissed.”

  I take another healthy slurp of my margarita, also my third, and mutter with a smile, “It’s funny.”

  Then I take another slurp.

  “So what’s your take on anal?” Sloane asks me, and I start choking. “Like or dislike? Callie still hasn’t worked up enough courage to take it all the way, but I love it with Cain.”

  “I… I…” I stutter as both of them look at me with mischievous faces. Eyes shining and happy, and truly, truly not in the least offended by the presence of a woman such as me. I mean, they seriously look like they’re enjoying this company and discussion.

  Almost like I’d imagine real girlfriends do.

  Resolution strengthens my spine. I decide to accept the fact that they seem to like me and are not put out by my past relationships with their boyfriends. I decide to own it.

  “Yeah… I like anal,” I say confidently with my chin tilted up. “If it’s done right. And let me tell you, Rand does it right.”

  Callie puts her chin in the palm of her hand and gives a dreamy sigh. “Maybe one day.”

  “Girl,” Sloane drawls in exaggerated fashion. “You and I can compare notes later when Saint Callie isn’t around.”

  “Hey,” she exclaims, sitting up straight and glaring at Sloane. “I am not a saint. I’ll have you know I’ve done a three-way with Woolf and Bridger.”

  My mouth falls back open again. I decide to fill it with more margarita.

  “Please,” Sloane scoffs and waves a dismissive hand at her. “Who hasn’t had Bridger in a multiple before?”

  My head snaps toward Sloane. I suck deeper on the straw until the last liquid is pulled up and the ice rattles in loneliness at the bottom of the glass.

  “You’ve had Bridger before, right?” Sloane asks with a naughty sparkle in her eye.

  “I would plead the fifth,” I say resolutely, “but I feel like you two would berate it out of me. So yes… I’ve had Bridger before.”

  “He’s yummy,” Sloane says.

  “Totally,” Callie agrees.

  “And your dad’s the governor?” I ask with comedic suspicion and a cocked eyebrow at her. “Because it’s just so hard to believe with some of the things coming out of your mouth.”

  “It’s true,” she says solemnly, holding up her hand and placing the other over her heart. “Swear it.”

  “And you really want me to work for you?” I ask, not with any more doubt, but more in awe because I can’t understand why this opportunity is being given to me. I did nothing to deserve it.

  “I really do,” she says with a genuine smile. “We help friends around here. You’re Bridger and Woolf’s friend, and so you are now my friend.”

  “And mine,” Sloane chimes in.

  Callie leans forward, pushes her margarita glass to the side, and says, “So I’m offering you the job and I think you should say, ‘Thank you, Callie, I accept.’”

  “Thank you, Callie,” I say with a nod of my head in gratitude. “I accept.”

  Because I’d be an idiot not to.

  “Excellent,” she says, beaming me a huge grin, and then she’s shouting across the restaurant. “Livvy, another round of margaritas.”

  “Oh my God,” Sloane mutters. “I’m going to be so drunk. Cain’s going to need to come get me.”

  “Yeah, I think our workday got shot to shit,” Callie agrees. “Good thing I’m your boss.”

  My head snaps to Sloane. “You’re working the campaign too?”

  “Yup,” she says, sucking down the last of her third margarita. “Only until I can find something better suited.”

  Callie kicks Sloane under the table. I know this because the table rattles and Sloane yelps before glaring at Callie. “Ow. That hurt.”

  “Good, because that was a strike to my heart that you’d even imply you’d work somewhere else,” Callie says seriously.

  Sloane rolls her eyes and throws a thumb in Callie’s direction. “I’m a journalist by nature, so I’m gladly helping Callie out until I can do something more suited to my degree.”

  “Gotcha,” I say in understanding.

  “So, listen,” Callie says in a low, secretive voice as she leans forward. Sloane does the same, apparently eager for gossip. “I don’t know any details, but Woolf shared with us that things with your husband were really bad. And he said that you’d been kicked out of your house, left with no money after he died, and that Rand was helping you out.”

  Sloane nods seriously in agreement. “What she’s trying to say is, now in addition to Rand, you got two new peeps who will have your back until you can get on your feet.”

  “And you don’t have to tell us any details, but if you do need to talk, especially to another woman, you only have to call,” Callie adds on.

  Before I can respond, the waitress returns with a tray loaded with three margaritas and another basket of chips and salsa. We murmur thanks and when she leaves, Sloane reaches out to take a chip. How she can even fit any more food in her stomach is beyond me. She already killed a large chimichanga.

  I take a moment to let not only what they just said to sink in, but everything that’s happened in the last seven days. I’ve had apparently five people step up and go to bat for me, and they hardly know me at all. It provokes strange feelings
within me because I’ve never even had those closest to me—mother or husband namely—care for me like this.

  For the first time, I think I start to have a small glimmer of hope that there are good people in the world, and I don’t just have to push my way through life in survival mode. I might actually be able to have fulfillment and happiness.

  “I didn’t marry for love,” I say suddenly, looking up from my glass to first Callie’s eyes and then Sloane’s. “I’d run away from home at seventeen, spent time on the streets, and then eventually became a stripper. Marrying Samuel was my way out of destitution and back-alley blow jobs so I could afford to eat.”

  Callie and Sloane both wince, but their eye contact never wavers. Their gazes don’t hold a speck of judgment but are full of empathy.

  “He abused me,” I continue on, and Sloane’s hand shoots across the table to cover mine. She gives it a squeeze. “Not physically himself, but to make long, sordid stories short, he farmed me out to friends and business contacts. Even his son.”

  “Fucking douche-bag, evil asshole,” Sloane growls, and Callie’s eyes get moist again.

  “He made me go to The Silo, and he made sure I became known as the woman who loved getting gang banged because that’s what he got off on,” I say, realizing I don’t have any bitterness about it right now. It is what it is, and for whatever reasons these opportunities are being afforded to me, they landed me in a place with good people that I wouldn’t have met but for The Silo.

  “And if you’re wondering why I just didn’t leave,” I continue, playing with my straw, “I berate myself over and over about my stupidity in not. But if I’m going to be honest with my new friends, I didn’t leave because even though he did those things to me, my life was still better than what it was before. I wasn’t handed out often, and I’ll even admit, a lot of things that happened at The Silo I enjoyed to some extent. I don’t know what type of woman that makes me… to let her husband treat her that way… which is why I still find it a bit hard to accept you want to be my friends.”

  “Cat,” Callie murmurs. “We all make choices in our life that we are held accountable for later. I can’t see that the choice you made to stay does anything more than label you a survivor. It’s just that simple.”

  “And I’ll add on to that,” Sloane says quietly. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with liking your time at The Silo. Callie and I have both experienced it, and we love the freedom it provides. As women, we need to revel in our sexuality and accept that we are allowed to have desires and fantasies we want to be fulfilled. The Silo gives that to us. Find the right man on top of that—who understands and values your inner kinkiness—and well, hell… that’s like the best sex ever.”

  “Yeah,” Callie reiterates. “Don’t ever feel ashamed about The Silo and what you’ve done there. Even with Woolf and Cain. Granted… we don’t need details, but it’s nothing that changes our opinion about you.”

  “So true,” Sloane agrees.

  My heart swells and grows warm. It settles in deep and a rush of joy pulses within me. These women… two amazing, non-judgmental, caring and confident women… actually seem to like me.

  Accept me.

  Want to help me.

  Maybe my time at The Silo was nothing more than fate or pre-destiny. Maybe I had to meet and marry Samuel, have him debase me and ultimately lead me to The Silo, so that I could be in this very place at this very moment.

  My thoughts turn to Rand, who has been equally as non-judgmental and caring as Callie and Sloane.

  Actually more so.

  I think about what Sloane just said… find a man who understands and values my inner kinkiness.

  That’s totally Rand.

  From the very start.

  An idea strikes and it might even be fueled by the margaritas, but I know by the time I’m ready to act on said idea, I’ll be sober. Reaching into my purse, I say, “I need to send a quick text to Rand.”

  “Oooohhhh,” Sloane gloats with a knowing look in her eyes. “You’re sexting him, aren’t you?”

  “Well, yeah,” I admit with a sheepish smile as my fingers fumble across the keys. “Kinda, sort of.”

  Chapter 15

  Rand

  I’m not sure I’ve ever had a day drag by more slowly than today has. It’s been a long day. Agonizing actually.

  It started off with me meeting Bridger to give him the trust agreement we took pictures of and that I had printed out early this morning. I left the copy with him and asked him to look it over, but I talked to him about what route we should take in the meantime.

  On the way back to Jackson from Vegas, Cat agreed to let me talk to Bridger first. She wanted to call Kevin right then and there to confront him, but I wanted to take a bit of a more cautious approach. It might be better to hit up an attorney first for a legal opinion, but I knew Bridger always had great advice, so I figured we should wait it out just a day so I could talk to him.

  I had already set up Callie and Sloane to take Cat out to lunch today. Woolf had texted me late Monday night after we got back to Jackson and Cat was already asleep, telling me he’d talked to Callie and she was going to ask Cat to work for her on the campaign. This was excellent news and was a job about as far away from The Silo as I could get her. Ironic since not but a few weeks ago, Sloane was digging around as an undercover reporter trying to connect the governor to the sex club.

  So while Cat’s apparently eating burritos, I’m spending a tremendously slow day at Westward Ink, watching the clock tick down to quitting time so I can get home to Cat.

  And yeah… weird that I’m thinking words like “home” and “Cat” almost synonymously, but I can’t fucking help it. The more I become embroiled in her affairs, the more intrigued I become by her. The more she starts to blossom and starts to become the confident, take-control woman I know her to be deep inside, the more attracted I become to her. The more I get to know about her and the things she’s overcome so far, the more I become attached to her. The more she milks my cock, the more I want her to milk it.

  Hard and often.

  Haven’t even thought about The Silo once since she and I talked about it five nights ago.

  My phone dings with a text and I see it’s from Cat. Callie said they were going to The Merry Piglets, which always means margaritas with lunch.

  It’s cute and coy, and I never thought I’d use those words to describe Cat. Sloane and Callie think I should own my inner kinkiness. And I’m kinda drunk.

  I’m sitting at the front counter, previously bored out of my mind but now fully alert with interest. I immediately write back, I think you should own it too. And you’re a cute drunk.

  It takes a few moments for her to text me back, and I wonder what an inebriated Cat really looks like. Never have I seen her intoxicated. She never once had an alcoholic drink at The Silo, and I’ve never seen her look to be high or out of control. I bet she’s fun though.

  Want to know something that really turned me on at The Silo?

  And there it is… the first time I’ve thought about The Silo in five long days. It’s a record for sure.

  My fingers fly across my phone. Yes, I do.

  Her reply comes back much faster than the priors, and I go ahead and take that to mean she’s eager to let me know her dirty thoughts. This I can get on board with because, for the most part, Cat’s sort of taken a backseat in bed and let me control how things go. I’d like to see her start making some demands of her own so I can show her there’s someone who really wants to give her that.

  I get achingly hard when I read her reply. Watching you and Logan together.

  My head spins. She liked watching Logan and me together? I can’t believe she’d even remember something like that because in The Silo, that stuff’s pretty normal.

  My cock starts to throb realizing she enjoyed watching me.

  Sure, with another guy, but that doesn’t bother me. What Logan and I do together is hot. We don’t mess around with each othe
r without a girl involved, as neither of us is gay. Not even sure we’re bisexual.

  Maybe.

  Who knows?

  But we both have no qualms with some guy-on-guy action when we’re in the heat of things. Always in a multiples or an orgy-type situation. He’s fucked me and I’ve fucked him, although he prefers to top. I like both.

  We’ve both sucked each other’s cock, and let me tell you… he’s damn good. Not as good as Cat, but damn near close.

  It’s not been that long since we did a fantasy together, and a smile comes to my face as I remember that was a four-on-one we did with Bridger, Cain, and Sloane. Logan and I didn’t have sex that time, as it was all about Sloane’s pleasure, but we did a lot of touching while in the process, and that’s just as nice.

  I text her back without giving any deep thought to what I’m getting ready to offer. Want a repeat?

  I hold my breath for what seems like an agonizingly long time, until I get back two words guaranteed to make the rest of this day go slower. I do.

  We’ll be at the apartment by 6:30. Be naked and ready. And sober. I want you fully alert.

  After I send that text, I dial Logan’s number. He’ll be game. I know he’ll be well done with work for the day, cleaned up, and ready to go by 6:30 PM. Which is technically a ridiculously early time to get your sexy party on, but fuck if I’m going to wait.

  *

  Logan’s waiting at the top of the stairs that lead up to my apartment, leaning back against the door with one booted foot propped against it, another long leg stretched out. With his arms folded casually across his chest and a bland look on his face, you’d have no idea looking at him that he was vibrating with sexual need right now.

  Logan is one of the most sexual creatures I’ve ever known. Before I knew the real deal about Cat, I would have put them in the same category, almost as if they needed sex to survive. I hang out at The Silo a lot, but Logan is there every single night, for hours at a time. I’m not sure there’s a patron there who has as much sex as he does, and it never seems to get old for him.