Wicked Lust (The Wicked Horse #2)

by Sawyer Bennett

  Awww… that’s sweet.

  I throw the condom on the floor, tuck my dick away, and snatch the gun from the bed. Giving them both a nod and a toothy smile, I say, “Not one word of this to anyone. I so much as hear you’ve told someone, and I’ll come back and I won’t be so nice. Are we clear?”

  “Yes,” they both simultaneously say. “We won’t.”

  I stare at them, my eyes promising all kinds of retribution. When I’m satisfied we’re good, I turn and walk out of their bedroom.

  Down the hall, and right out the back door. As soon as my feet hit the ground, I pull the black knit mask off and take a deep breath of the fresh Wyoming air. I swivel my head, the cervical bones in my neck popping.

  I feel loose and relaxed.

  I actually sit on the bottom step and look up at the stars hanging low and heavy in the sky. Beautiful. The porch light flicks on, bathing me in a yellow glow. The door opens, and I turn my head to see Amy standing there.

  She’s holding a bottle of Hoback Hefeweizen out to me and gives me a smile. “That was excellent, Cain.”

  “I thought it was some of my better work,” I say with a grin and hop up to accept the beer, which is my favorite from the Snake River Brewery.

  Amy’s husband appears over her shoulder and pulls the door open. “Want to come in while you drink that?”

  “Sure,” I say and trot back up the steps, walking back into one of the fantasy cabins that belong to The Wicked Horse. This wasn’t the first fantasy I’ve played in involving Amy and Charles Mason, but this was a special one. It’s their wedding anniversary and, as members of The Wicked Horse’s sex club, Bridger wanted to do something special for them.

  As the door closes behind me, I wonder if the blonde girl is still back at the club. I’m technically off duty, and I consider for a moment finishing my beer and going back to check it out.

  But then Amy’s hand is on my crotch and she’s rubbing my cock, which is eagerly responding, and I know the party here isn’t quite over yet.

  Blonde woman is forgotten.

  For now.

  Chapter 1

  Cain

  I knock on Bridger’s office door. Three solid raps and I hear his heavy bootsteps on the other side. There is no polite “Come in” as the door is locked with a passcode that no one enjoys except for Bridger himself. Well, probably Woolf, as I doubt someone changed the code since the announcement two days ago that ownership changed.

  He opens the door and gives me a small smile. “Thanks for coming in on your day off.”

  “No problem,” I assure him as I step in. “Didn’t have anything better planned.”

  Which is the truth. If I had my way, I’d be doing some extra work out on the Double J or some part-time construction with Walt, but neither of those sources panned out. And Christ… I could use the extra work as I got in another fucking bill that doesn’t belong to me, and yet, it does.

  It’s the story of my life. Working to pay off debt I didn’t incur, but that I’m still obligated to settle under the eyes of the law. If Rachel wasn’t already dead, sometimes I swear I could wring her scrawny neck out of frustration.

  Bridger closes the door behind me and motions to the couch. “Have a seat.”

  As he walks to sit behind his desk, I plant my ass on the dark brown leather couch that has seen plenty of action in this office. I know this because I’ve personally fucked a few of the bartenders in here, though only by express invitation of Woolf or Bridger to join in a threesome when things were slow.

  “We got a problem that I need you to take care of,” Bridger says bluntly, and it causes me to move from slouched posture to ramrod straight. The tone of his voice has me tense.

  “What is it?”

  “Colton Stokes’ membership to The Silo has been terminated,” he says with little emotion, but I’m still shocked. To my knowledge, no one has been kicked out of the club before.

  “I need to know why,” I tell him.

  Bridger nods because he knows I need to know. As head of security, if this is due to some type of breach, I need to fix it. It’s why they pay me a handsome salary with generous quarterly bonuses. To not only keep the patrons of the Wicked Horse—the nightclub portion of this business—safe, but to ensure the secrecy of The Silo, the sex club portion of the empire.

  “He told Governor Hayes about the sex club,” Bridger says with a hard glint to his eye. “Told him his daughter was at an orgy in one of the cabins. Told him about Woolf’s involvement.”

  And sudden understanding dawns on me. I mean, I knew Woolf got out because of Callie, but I just assumed it was because the poor fool went and fell in love and didn’t need this lifestyle anymore. But I get it now. There’s no way he could have been with Callie if that information was threatened to become public. Governor Hayes is coming into an election year, and he can’t afford for it to be public knowledge that his daughter was dating the owner of a sex club and she attended an orgy there.

  “Fucking douche,” I mutter as I scrub a hand through my short hair.

  “Exactly,” Bridger agrees.

  “And not a damn thing you or Woolf can do about the non-disclosure breach?”

  “Yeah, that’s a dead end.”

  Woolf and Bridger have a non-disclosure agreement that every member of the sex club has to sign, agreeing to absolute secrecy of the existence of the club and its members. A breach of that agreement sets a minimum limit on damages at a cool million. The only problem is, to enforce that agreement, Bridger—as the sole owner of the business now—would have to sue Colton. That would be public record, and there’s no way in hell a legal document could be filed and made available for anyone to see that publicly accused him of outing the governor’s daughter as a participant in an orgy.

  The desire to keep the club secret wasn’t borne of any shame or embarrassment by Woolf or Bridger. On the contrary, they’re extremely proud of what they created, which is a protected environment where people can indulge in their most wicked fantasies. Therefore, they were fully prepared to enforce any breach of the non-disclosure through legal means. Hell, they have an attorney on retainer just for such a problem. But with the governor’s daughter now being involved, it requires a different sort of way to handle this.

  “What’s the plan then?” I ask as I stand, the menace clear in my tone, because there’s no way this is going to be overlooked. Not by Bridger and certainly not by me. That fucker not only just threatened my friends, but he threatened my very livelihood. He’ll have to pay.

  “I want you to visit him today,” Bridger says as he hands me an envelope across the deck. It’s thick, and I instantly know it contains cash for me. A bonus, so to speak. “Deliver the notification that he’s not welcome back on Double J property, and he will not so nicely be escorted out if he makes an appearance at The Wicked Horse or The Silo ever again. Also let him know I’m not pursuing the non-disclosure, but impress upon him that there will be ramifications if he opens his mouth again.”

  “Any limit to those ramifications?” I ask, my blood tingling with excitement. I never did like the prick and I like to fight. More importantly, I like the money in this envelope. I intend to earn it.

  “Don’t kill him,” Bridger says with a chuckle. “But make it hurt.”

  “Gladly,” I say as I tuck the envelope in my back pocket and start to turn for the door.

  “One other thing,” Bridger says. I halt, turning back around to face him. “Amy Mason called me this morning.”

  “Oh, sweet Amy,” I say with a chuckle.

  “She was very impressed with your performance the other night,” Bridger says with a lewd smile. “She wants to arrange for an encore. At her house.”

  “When?” I ask, because it will have to be on one of my days off.

  “Week after next. Her husband is out of town on business, and she wants a repeat type of fantasy. You ‘break-in’ to her house, but she wants you to be a little rougher on her this time. Make it a bit more
realistic.”

  “Does Charles know she’s doing that with him gone?” I ask hesitantly, because something about this doesn’t sit right. Amy and Charles Mason always act out their fantasies together.

  “No clue,” Bridger says, pointedly looking at me. “Is that a problem?”

  My brows furrow as I contemplate. “I don’t know. Just seems a little off. And of course, there’s always a risk doing something like that off property. Last thing I need is for some crazy bitch to actually claim I broke in and raped her when it’s part of a fantasy she requested.”

  “I can cover that in a fantasy agreement,” Bridger offers. “We’ll type up the exact scenario, have her sign it in front of a notary, including that it be done at her house at her request.”

  “I guess,” I say half-heartedly, the idea still not sitting right. And nothing against the scenario itself. I’ve had plenty of women want to act out a fantasy where they’re being forced, but the fact she doesn’t want to do this with Charles involved sort of makes me wary. This is due to the mere fact that a good chunk of The Silo’s members are in committed, monogamous relationships. A good third of the club is married, and they enjoy indulging in the fantasy aspect with their spouses.

  Amy and Charles Mason are just such a couple. In the few that I’ve done with them, there’s definitely a tight bond between them. I mean, you have to have an amazing level of trust in your partner to engage in some of the debauchery that goes on in The Silo. I guess it just feels a little disloyal, but truthfully… that’s not really my problem.

  “Want me to tell her you’ll do it?” Bridger asks with a raised eyebrow.

  “Yeah,” I say quickly before I can talk myself out of it. It won’t earn me any extra immediate cash, but my quarterly bonuses are calculated with how often I’m requested as a fantasy maker, so I want to keep the customers happy. “Work up the agreement and get her to sign it, then have her get up with me via email to set a date. That way we’ll have that in writing too.”

  “Sounds good,” Bridger says as he stands up from the desk, indicating our time is over and he has a million other things to do. “Anything else you think we should do to help seal this leak Colton made?”

  “Update the security code on The Silo. Right now, it’s just a five-digit number. I’d scramble the password and give each member a remote security access fob that generates a new passcode each day.”

  “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 her 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 w
ouldn’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.