The Wicked Horse Boxed Set (+Wicked Bond [5])

by Sawyer Bennett

  "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 b
ack.

  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.