The Breaker (Erotic Country #1.)

by Lucy Watt

  She gave him large innocent eyes. ‘She didn’t like that?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Then he reached under the couch and she heard the sound of chains being dragged out.

  ‘Oh shit,’ she mumbled.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Four short lengths of chain were attached to a central ring to form a cross. At the end of each chain was a thick leather cuff. Brett shackled her hands behind her back with two of the cuffs before leading her into his room. His sheets, she was delighted to find, where crisp and white. Once he had her kneeling on the bed, he ran the chains down to her ankles and attached the other two cuffs. Then he turned off the light and left her alone in the room.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she called after him.

  He didn’t answer. All she could do was fall backwards with her hands under her back, her heels pressed up under her bum and her knees wide open. The breeze from the overhead fan ran over her skin, making it cold, especially where she was wet – over the tiny beads of sweat between her breasts and especially between her legs, which she couldn’t close, and where everything was drenched. The air moved gently over her, making her cool in some places and freezing in others.

  She closed her eyes and went with it, enjoying the sensation and deciding not to buy into his teasing. She would wait him out. She would not beg.

  But lying there, with no idea what he was about to do made her crazy with frustration and anticipation. She could hear him in the kitchen. Cupboards opened and a kettle hummed. Cutlery clinked. He was making a cuppa?

  After what seemed like hours, he was back, standing in the shadowy doorway, sipping what smelled like hot chocolate. A shaft of light came in through the doorway and cast shadows over her body. He stood, drinking slowly, watching her. She got wet, watching him watching her. What was going on in that deliciously dirty mind of his?

  He walked over and she felt both sides of the bed dip around her as he straddled and kneeled over her. She looked up at him. His tattoos were arranged over his body in a way that was erratic and unplanned; so unlike him, yet unpredictable in the same way.

  He took some hot chocolate in his mouth, leaned forward and kissed her, letting the hot liquid wash into her mouth and spill onto her cheeks. He moved further down and ran his hot mouth between her breasts and over her tummy, biting and sucking as he went, his teeth making her flinch every time they pulled at her skin. With each flinch, the links of the chains rattled beneath her.

  He reached for the mug again, slowly drank what was left. She watched his throat swallow, his Adam’s apple jumping up and down. She wanted to bite it.

  He dropped the mug to the floor, shifted to the bottom of the bed and stood over her, then took her by the ankles and yanked her to the edge of the bed in a quick sudden movement. His hands ran up the inside of her thighs, and he went down, with the hot chocolate barely down his throat, and put his burning mouth around her smooth, naked lips, sucking and pulling at one after the other. And then his tongue was exploring deep inside her, hot and delicious, alternating between light and teasing and firm and forceful, nipping her clit and sucking it hard. Her orgasm rose and her back lifted from the bed.

  ‘Not yet.’ He lifted his head and kissed the inside of her thigh.

  She groaned impatiently.

  He rolled a glowing blue condom over his prick, and chuckled suddenly. ‘Big smurf daddy, coming at you.’

  She rolled her eyes.

  He ran his hands over her tummy, took hold of her ribs and effortlessly lifted her from the bed. She let her head roll back, going limp in his arms, with her hands chained behind her back and knees bent, ankles behind her bum, hanging in the cuffs without resistance. ‘You look so incredibly beautiful like that,’ he whispered.

  He sat on a stool and pulled her onto him. The central ring and the chains ran over his lap and her ankles hung either side. His wrist coiled around her hair and held her head back as he brought his hips up and ground into her. She gripped her thighs around his hips and fucked him hungrily until she came, with such force that she thought she would pass out.

  Her head was still spinning when he lifted her again, dropped her back onto the bed and rolled her over onto her tummy. Her arms pulled cruelly behind her. After coming so fiercely, she was wasted, and she didn’t want to hurt like this. She felt groggy as he slid under her chains and over her back. He pushed her legs apart and took her from behind, rolling his cock around inside and making her moan again with both the pain in her arms and the pleasure in her core, which was still a deranged bundle of nerve endings.

  The sound of her cries made him swell larger inside her and he began pushing into her harder. One elbow rested either side of her head and his hands tangled into her hair, pulling hard.

  She cried out angrily. Her screams only made him fuck her harder. Every thrust pulled at her arms, tore at her hair and made her core sing with joy. She panted to stop herself from crying, and ended up squealing instead. When she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, he buried his face into her neck and pulled out. He pulled off the smurf coat, slid his shaft in the crack between her arse cheeks and she felt hot come spurt all over her bum and her back. It was the horniest sensation she had ever felt in her life and she wanted to lie there feeling like that forever.

  But Brett jerked suddenly away from her, pulling her leg painfully on the way. ‘Fucking hell.’

  ‘Ouch!’ What was he doing now? He had barely unloaded. She didn’t like the way he was snapping her out of her alternate universe so quickly. She wanted to stay there, groggy, wallowing in it.

  Brett grabbed his jeans and swore again.

  ‘What?’ she breathed in a tired stupor. Her eyes were too heavy to open. Her body was a dead weight. She still couldn’t move in the chains.

  Then, seeming to change his mind, he dropped the jeans and hurriedly reached for the hobbles. He fumbled with the buckles.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ She tried to roll over and stop him.

  ‘Sit still,’ he barked, urgently trying to free her.

  Light washed in through the window. A car was in the driveway. Then another. And another. More light. Much brighter than normal headlights.

  As Brett unbuckled the last of the hobbles, she rolled over and looked out the window. What she saw made her go cold all over.

  CHAPTER NINE

  A car, followed by two utes, rolled down the driveway. The utes had their huge spot lights on. She reckoned there were at least twenty people altogether. Several voices yelled his name.

  ‘Get dressed,’ said Brett as he threw his legs into his jeans. ‘It’s the Heads Up boys.’

  ‘Into what?’ Her clothes were in the lounge room. She didn’t want to run naked down the hallway. All the shutters were open.

  He wrenched a drawer open and tossed her a t-shirt and some boxers. ‘Find the phone in the kitchen and ring Mrs Carney at the house. Ask her to get hold of Jim and Tom. Where’s Liz?’

  ‘In the flat, on her own.’ Sophie was instantly terrified for her.

  ‘Ring her. Tell her to keep the lights off and hide. Anywhere. In a cupboard. Under the bed.’

  He set off down the hallway and opened the front door.

  She quickly wrapped a sheet around her body, ran after him and pulled at his arm. ‘Don’t go out there. There’s too many of them!’

  He turned to her and ran a hand over her face. ‘Do not ring the cops, unless I’m dead.’

  She stared wide-eyed at him.

  ‘Promise me,’ he said.

  She swallowed and nodded.

  ‘Lock the door behind me and then ring Nance.’ He slipped out the door and closed it behind him.

  Locking the door behind him was the hardest thing she had ever had to do. It felt like feeding him to the lions. She peered through the long narrow window next to the door and watched him hop down the steps as if he was off to greet old friends. He looked almost glad to see them. Was that just a front?

  She ran to the kitchen and picked up the phone
, trembling. The house number was engaged. A mobile lying on the counter buzzed. She stabbed at the screen, trying to work out how to answer the stupid thing. Eventually she tried sliding her finger over it and she heard Nancy’s voice.

  ‘Bloody Hell, Nance, there’s about twenty of them,’ she said in a panicked voice. ‘Brett’s already gone out there!’

  ‘Well don’t you go out there,’ she said firmly. ‘Liz is already here with me. You stay inside while I ring Tom and the boys and tell them to get back here.’ The phone clunked in her ear and she ran back to the front window.

  The cars reached the end of the driveway and began circling within the house yard, revving their engines and shining their spotlights over the homestead. She could hear yahooing and laughter.

  Brett walked out into the middle and stood there while the rushing waves of light circled him. He looked down and kicked casually at the ground as though he couldn’t be more ready for them.

  One car stopped and then the two utes did too, but their lights shone brightly over the yard. The place went eerily quiet.

  A lone man got out of the passenger side door of the car and she heard it slam shut. He walked directly to Brett and stood before him with his chin raised. Sophie recognised him: it was Jarred Young. He was smaller and wirier than Brett, but then most men looked small next to Brett.

  Brett held out a hand, as though to shake.

  The guy slapped it away and shoved at Brett’s chest. He was looking for a fight. A murmur rose in the crowd of men, who had all stepped out of their vehicles. Brett’s feet didn’t move as he deflected Jarred’s shoving. She heard him speak but couldn’t make out the words. Jarred shoved Brett again and several of the men began jeering. They were like hyenas, circling a lion.

  She wanted to race out there and tell them what a bunch of cowards they were, that Brett could hammer any one of them without even trying. Even she could handle most of them. But twenty of them, all together? She was terrified for him. She glanced up the road, looking for headlights, praying Jim and the boys would come home soon, but the rodeo was an hour’s drive away. Brett would be dead by then.

  Jarred, spurred on by the mob, swung at Brett and belted a fist into his face with a nauseating crunch that Sophie heard from the house. Her hands flew to her face and she stifled a scream.

  Brett looked up slowly and rubbed his jaw, then stepped towards Jarred, towering over him. The place went eerie and silent again. ‘That the best you can do?’

  Jarred swung his fist and landed another one on him, this one sending Brett reeling backwards. But he found his feet again and walked back to Jarred. Still he didn’t fight back.

  ‘Come on, coward,’ Jarred screamed. ‘Fucking hit me, like you hit my brother.’

  Brett spat blood from his mouth and faced up again. ‘I’ve paid my dues, Jarred.’

  ‘Not to me you haven’t.’

  ‘I owe you nothing.’

  ‘Come on, hit me,’ the man screamed, almost hysterically. ‘Hit me so I can send you right back to where you belong.’ Jarred’s intentions were clear.

  Several other men began goading him as well, and Sophie prayed he would keep control. If he lost the plot and hit one he would be breaking parole and he’d go straight back to jail, which was exactly what these guys wanted. What could Brett do but stand there and cop it sweet? She couldn’t watch.

  The realisation that Brett wouldn’t fight back seemed to spur Jarred on, and he landed fist after fist into Brett’s flesh. Some went under his ribs and others went into his head. Brett put his arms up and deflected as much as he could while twenty men yelled every name under the sun at him.

  Sophie couldn’t take it any more. She had to do something. She had to break this up. How? Her eyes flew around the room. Keys. The horse truck. Sophie snatched them and raced for the back door. She sprinted across the small pathway between the house and the horse shed and yanked open the door to the truck, clambered in and locked herself securely inside. She fired it up and rammed it into gear, flicking on the lights.

  The truck rolled around the corner of the horse shed with the high beam on and every man in the yard stopped and gaped. She drove straight at them, scattering them and roaring towards one of the utes. She hit the ute and pushed it until it screamed against its brakes. She pushed it halfway up the driveway. It spun sideways and she crushed it between the bullbar of the truck and a fence post, revving the truck until the ute resembled a recycled coke can. Men jumped onto the side of the truck and banged on her door, yelling. She grabbed for the air horns and pulled them long and hard, blasting a thunderous noise through the night, which for some reason spooked them into jumping off. Maybe it just sounded so psycho. She felt like a mad woman.

  She rammed the gear stick into reverse, roared backwards and aimed it at the car. The driver already had the engine started and its tyres spun as it shot out of the way. Men ran everywhere. She saw Brett bolt for the house and stand on the porch, with his hands on his knees, heaving as if he was going to throw up. She sat with the engine running, watching them disappear up the driveway.

  When they were gone, she shoved the truck into neutral, hung her head on the steering wheel and burst into tears. She cried uncontrollably, unable to move, until the door rattled beside her. She wearily reached for the knob, unlocked it and pushed the door open.

  Brett stood glaring up at her, still heaving. His face was a bloody mess, fat in all the wrong places and with one eye closing over. ‘For for the love of God,’ he panted up at her. ‘Give me the bloody keys; you are in no state to be driving.’

  A burst of relieved laughter shot from her chest. A man who could keep his sense of humour at a time like this was worth marrying. She let her exhausted, tear-filled eyes fall onto him.

  But he wasn’t laughing; he was just standing there looking pissed.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘That ute you just pushed halfway up the driveway?’

  She grinned at him, sure he would have enjoyed that as much as she did. ‘Made a proper mess of it, didn’t I?’

  ‘That was mine.’

  She dropped her head onto the steering wheel and went back to sobbing hysterically. Just under the wheel, Brett’s hand reached up and took the keys out of the ignition. Then she felt his arms pull her down from the cabin and wrap around her.

  Her legs flopped over his arm while he carried her back to the house. He sat on the couch, with her in his lap. She couldn’t unlock her arms from around his neck. Liz and Nancy followed them through the front door.

  ‘Jim and the boys are on their way,’ said Nance, slowing and looking Brett over. ‘You alright?’

  ‘Had worse,’ he said. But he closed his eyes and winced. Sophie wasn’t so sure he was OK. She felt him slump beneath her and she crawled off him. Her eyes caught her bra hanging over the back of the couch and she deftly stuffed it behind the cushions.

  Nancy stepped forward and checked his eyes. ‘You look concussed.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said, but his voice sounded drunk.

  Sophie used the moment to discreetly slide a discarded glowing condom under the couch with her toe.

  By the time Jim and Tom came arrived, there was a large gathering outside the house. Every man from Stoneleigh and Bangaloo Creek seemed to be out the front. Nancy wanted to take Brett into town to see a doctor but he wouldn’t hear of it. ‘It’ll go down on my parole report,’ he said. ‘They’ll make up all sorts of lies.’

  It was so unjust. Sophie seethed. Finally Brett convinced them all that he just wanted to be left alone. The adrenaline was leaving his body and the bruises were kicking in. Everyone filed out of the house, including Sophie.

  * * * * *

  After she’d talked to Liz on the front porch for at least an hour, Sophie found Brett lying on his back in his bedroom in the dark. She turned on the lamp and he recoiled. She winced too. Already his body showed bruises and a nasty cut bled below his swollen right eye.

  He rolled onto his back a
nd lay with his eyes closed, running his hands through his hair. ‘It’ll never be any different, Sophie.’

  ‘Yes it will,’ she said. ‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself.’

  ‘I feel sorry for you. And Jim and Tom. Everyone here. I’m trouble.’

  She sat on the edge of the bed and touched his cheek. ‘That needs stitching.’

  ‘Leave it,’ he said, pushing her hand away.

  ‘You should go to the hospital.’

  ‘No hospitals. No coppers. I said, leave it.’ He rolled over. ‘I want to be alone.’

  Sophie stood slowly and walked out of the room. Outside, she padded softly across the yard to the horse shed. Less than a minute later, she returned with the equine medical kit. It was full of bandages, ointments, liniments, rolls of cotton wool and sterile syringes. She rummaged around and found what she needed: alcohol, silk sutures and a curved needle. She cut the silk into lengths, poured alcohol into a stainless steel dish and dropped them in to soak with the needle.

  Back on the bed, she gently touched his face and inspected the cut. It was at least an inch wide and was gaping.

  He took hold of her arm. ‘I want to sleep.’

  She ignored him and took some gauze swabs and a small bottle of iodine, tipped one onto the other and began gently swabbing.

  ‘Sophie!’ He yelled at her and slapped her hand away.

  She looked at the swab on the floor, stunned.

  ‘Get off,’ he ordered.

  ‘No,’ she said stubbornly.

  He sighed through his teeth and glared at her. ‘I’ve had enough, Sophie. My head hurts and I’m tired. Get off.’ His voice held a warning that made her nervous.

  ‘No,’ she repeated. ‘You’re going to get a huge scar if you leave it.’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘You have too many scars already.’ And she wasn’t just talking about the ones on the outside.

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘I don’t want you looking in the mirror every day for the rest of your life and thinking about that bastard. I don’t want you to be reminded about it every day.’ She couldn’t help crying again. She was exhausted, but also full of new and strange emotions.