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

by Sawyer Bennett

  My eyes zero in on my Suburban parked up near The Wicked Horse in the space closest to the slate path that leads from the back door over to The Silo. I click the remote entry fob and the lights flash, indicating the doors are unlocked. I reach for the handle, pull it open, and just as I'm about to step in, my gaze falls on a white Mercedes coupe sitting two rows back and three spaces over. I start to turn away and then do a double-take as I realize it's Catherine's car.

  I know she left The Silo probably about half an hour ago after giving everyone a show tonight. Since her husband died last week, she's been at The Silo every night, indulging in every wicked sex act you can imagine. Not that she didn't indulge before, but for some reason, since the old fart's death, she seems a bit more free-spirited in her pursuits. Maybe even doggedly determined to outdo herself every time.

  Tonight, my tongue was hanging out of my mouth while she occupied a room all to herself and played with a variety of electrical and mechanical toys Bridger's been collecting. She got right up against the glass wall and made sure everyone could see what she was doing. I bet I watched her come at least six times before she finally fell into a heap on the floor, panting with sweat-soaked skin and drowsy eyes. After she collected herself, she got dressed and sauntered out the door, waving goodbye over her head. I was so fucking horny after that, it took no time at all for Carol to wrench an unbelievable orgasm out of me. And strangely... I was imagining Catherine sucking my cock at the time, which is a bit weird.

  It's not like there's any mystery there. Catherine's deep throated me on a few occasions before, and I've fucked her on even more occasions than that. Didn't think she was really anything different from all the other sexual encounters I've had, but for some reason, it was her dark hair I imagined clenched in my fist rather than Carol's strawberry-blonde curls.

  Perhaps Catherine left her car here and went home with someone else. That must be it.

  Just as I start to turn my eyes back to my vehicle, I see movement within the darkness of the interior of her car. I peer harder, willing the light from the nearest security post to reveal the inside, and if I'm not mistaken, the seat is leaned back and someone's lying down, perhaps having just turned from one side to the other.

  What the hell?

  I close my door and walk quickly across the lot to her car, my head tilted in curiosity. As I get closer, I can see better, and it is indeed Catherine lying in the driver's seat reclined all the way back. She's on her side with her hands curled up by her face, her back to me. Those long, dark locks are spread out over her back and shoulder.

  I tap gently on the window, knowing I'm going to startle her but not being able to help it. She jerks upright, looking at me with frightened eyes. When she recognizes me, I can see her give a sigh of relief. She raises the seat up and rolls the window down. It's then that I notice her car is running.

  "Hey," she says, her eyes darting around the parking lot.

  "What are you doing?" I ask, completely perplexed to find her sleeping in her car. I know she's not drunk because Catherine doesn't drink.

  At all.

  That's because she does some crazy shit in the club, and she doesn't want anyone to ever think it's not of her own free will. She owns her kinky fuckery... and owns it good. I don't think she does drugs, so it's very confusing to find her here like this.

  "Um... I just..." Her voice trails off and her gaze falls down to her delicate fingers, which are intertwined tightly with one another.

  "Catherine... were you going to spend the night out here?"

  She lets out a huff of frustrated air. Looking back up to me with resignation in her eyes, she admits, "Yes."

  Nothing more.

  I cock an eyebrow at her. Catherine and her late husband reside in Vegas permanently, but he has a luxury cabin just outside of Jackson that they spent a lot of time at since he got her a membership at The Silo.

  "Is your car broken down or something?"

  She shakes her head and looks back down at her lap.

  "Then what the fuck?" I ask, exasperated and also damn worn out from the night's activities. I want to get home and get some shut-eye. Work comes early and I cannot miss it. I have to open the tattoo shop I work for at ten in the morning, and I need the few hours of sleep I can squeeze in.

  She's silent and I think she may refuse to answer me, but then her small voice reaches my ears and it stuns me. "I don't have anywhere else to stay."

  "What do mean? You have a seven-thousand-square-foot home not thirty minutes away."

  She shakes her head, that dark hair falling in a veil to hide her face. It's a gorgeous face, too. High cheekbones, with an exotic slant to her liquid brown eyes. It's a face that should be in movies or on magazines. A face beautiful enough that it landed her a wealthy husband on death's door and should have left her swimming in riches.

  "Catherine," I prompt, pulling on the handle to her door. It's still locked so I reach my hand inside, find the lock, flip it, and then pull the door open. I step in, squat down, and place my hand on her thigh. "What's going on?"

  She pulls in a shaky breath, lifts a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, which exposes her face again, and then turns to look at me with bleak eyes. "He didn't leave me with anything. Just this car, which he had titled in my name."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Samuel left everything to his two children. Of course, I knew he would leave them with something. But he always promised me he'd take care of me. I'd always have a place to live. An attorney showed up at the Jackson house two days ago telling me that I had to vacate. I was allowed to pack up my clothes, and that was it."

  My breath hisses out from between my teeth, and I wish that creepy fucker was still alive so I could pound his withered, crippled ass into the ground. That goddamn motherfucker.

  I stand straight after giving a quick pat on her thigh. "You can crash at my place tonight. I'll help you figure something out."

  "Seriously?" she asks, her eyes wide and her lips trembling. "I mean... we don't really know each other."

  "I've been balls deep inside you a time or two, Catherine. I think I know you a little bit," I say with a teasing smile.

  She blushes, and fuck... that's pretty. I've never seen Catherine blush, and she's done some things to make even the kinkiest of motherfuckers go red in the face.

  "Are you sure?" she hesitantly asks.

  "Positive. You can follow me to my place."

  "I'll be glad to pay you," she says earnestly. "You know... in sex or something. I've only got about fifty dollars in cash left to my name."

  My cock leaps at the thought, because yeah... although I'm tired, I would not say no to fucking her tonight. But instead, I decide to be a gentleman. "You don't owe me anything. Let's get you to my place so you can get a good night's sleep. We'll talk about it more tomorrow and try to figure out how to take care of you."

  She blushes again as I put my hand on the door to close it for her. Just before I do though, she whispers, "Thank you, Rand. You're a lifesaver."

  Hmmmm... I like the sound of that.

  Chapter 1

  Rand

  I try to be as quiet as possible as I creep past the couch where Catherine's sleeping. My tiny apartment can be walked from end to end in about five seconds. Roughly 475 square feet of efficient living. I've been renting this apartment from my buddy, Jake Gearhart. It's situated over the garage of his modest ranch house in the town of Jackson, Wyoming.

  It's nothing but a large square that has a semi private foyer/mudroom as soon as you enter. When you round the corner, you have the kitchen and living room to the left, and my bedroom to the right. The bathroom sits adjacent to the foyer.

  While I can certainly afford bigger and better, I don't see any need to spend my money on my living conditions as I'm rarely here. Over the last several years, I'd gotten used to sleeping in small quarters or hotels, so I'm comfortable as is.

  Jake's different. He has a family that includes the pretty wife who's a loc
al, an adorable two-year-old daughter, and another kid on the way, although you can barely see Lorelei's baby bump at this stage.

  As I try to creep past a sleeping Catherine, I wish I had bigger digs so I could have offered her a guest room so she could get some rest. I actually did offer her my room when we got to my apartment last night, but she refused.

  Staunchly.

  Said she didn't want to inconvenience me and she was already feeling like an imposition.

  I assured her she was not and tried to push my room on her.

  Her eyes immediately turned warm, and then sizzled with blooming sexual heat that made my dick start to get hard. "I'll only take your room if you let me pay you, and well... you know the only thing I got to offer at this point is my mouth or my pussy. Want it?"

  Fuck yeah, I wanted it. I've had both before and they're fucking fantastic.

  But not last night.

  Last night, Catherine was in a bad spot. I wasn't about to take advantage of that offer. I wanted her to see she could get something from someone without the expectation of needing to give something in return. It's called friendship and that's what friends do.

  And I think Catherine and I are friends.

  Maybe.

  Fuck, not really sure.

  So even though I really wanted to fuck her, I saw the stubborn pride bubbling low beneath the sensuality in her eyes, and I knew my dick was going to bed alone. Since she wouldn't take my room without feeling the need to basically prostitute herself in return, I conceded and fixed up the couch for her complete with pillow, sheets, and a thick quilt. I also offered her up a t-shirt and a pair of my sweatpants, of which she accepted only the t-shirt. It swallowed her whole and made her look even more vulnerable than I was already considering her to be.

  She doesn't stir as I walk behind the couch that sits perpendicular to the mudroom wall and essentially creates a living area that opens right up into an L-shaped kitchenette that houses my stove, refrigerator, and enough cabinet space to barely hold my dishes. A small, round table with two chairs completes the set up.

  As quietly as I can, I start making coffee, but the minute I open a squeaky cupboard door, I can hear Catherine starting to stir on the couch. After I fill the pot, measure the coffee, and start the brew cycle, I turn to find Catherine now sitting up with the quilt pulled demurely over her lap. She must have slept fitfully because her hair is a tangled mess and she has mascara smeared under her eyes, which reminds me of something.

  "Your bags and stuff in the trunk of your car?" I ask her.

  She blinks at me once, grimaces, and rubs a finger under one eye. She pulls it away, looks at the black smear, and wrinkles her nose. "Um... yeah."

  "Give me your keys. I'll go get them so you can get cleaned up and changed," I tell her.

  "Yeah," she says as she stands from the couch, her voice still rough with sleep. "I should get out of your way."

  "I didn't mean it like that," I tell her as she pulls her purse from the coffee table and reaches inside. "There's no rush for you to leave."

  Her face clouds over, almost as if she refuses to believe someone could be nice, before tilting down so she can look around inside her purse. I take the brief opportunity to appreciate that even with tangled hair, mascara smears, and a baggy t-shirt on, she's still one of the sexiest women I've ever seen. Hell, she may be the absolute sexiest, and I'm only judging this by the fact that, in this moment, I seem to be more attracted to her than ever before. I'm not sure if it's her vulnerability or my white-knight complex, but I've seen Catherine dressed in any number of sexy outfits with perfect hair and makeup, and I never wanted to fuck her as bad as I do right now.

  When she turns to me with car keys in hand, I hope she doesn't notice the hard-on I'm sporting. Not that I'd be embarrassed about it because Catherine's gotten me hard before and she knows it, but because I don't want her to think that's all I'm interested in from her. I especially don't want her thinking she has to pay me in that way.

  I take the keys from her and head for the door. "Mind pouring me a cup of coffee? I take it black."

  "Sure," she murmurs, but I don't look back at her. I need to get my dick under control.

  In the trunk of her car, I find a large suitcase, a carry-on, and a duffle-type bag, all done in the classic brown leather and gold lettering of Louis Vuitton. I'm totally not into fashion, but I'd bought my fair share of that designer for both my mom and Tarryn, so I know how expensive this shit is. I can't help but think that Catherine might find herself in a situation where she has to sell her fucking luggage to get some cash, and that's a shitty place to be.

  I cart the bags up the outside staircase to my garage apartment with my hard-on back under control. I find her sitting at the small kitchen table, a cup of coffee in her hand. My cup is poured and sitting by the coffee pot.

  "Listen," I tell her in my most casual voice so she doesn't feel like a charity case. "Why don't you stay here for a few days until you can get your bearings?"

  "I couldn't--" she starts to say, and I knew she'd rebuff the offer.

  "Come on, Catherine," I cut her off sternly. "We're friends. That's what friends do."

  "It's Cat," she says.

  This throws me off because I'd been expecting an argument. "Excuse me?"

  "Cat. The name I prefer to go by is Cat."

  I blink at her, stunned for a moment by the change in subject. "I didn't know that."

  She shrugs nonchalantly and lowers her gaze to her cup. "No one ever bothered to ask. Catherine is what Samuel insisted on calling me. It's how he always introduced me."

  Fuck.

  Just... fuck.

  I can almost see her identity disappearing right before my eyes. What did this asshole do to her? He left her destitute after already stealing who she was right out from under her.

  Taking my cup from the counter, I walk over to the table and sit opposite of her. I make a command decision, knowing it's the right thing to do in this moment. I know Jake will tell me I'm slipping into my savior role, but fuck him. Cat needs help and I don't think she has anyone else to turn to right now.

  "Here's what we're going to do," I say in a firm, take-control voice. Her eyes immediately snap up to mine. "You're going to stay here in my apartment with me. If you want to remain stubborn and stick with the couch, that's fine. No argument from me. That will let you get your feet underneath you. You can take a bit of time, figure out what you want to do... or where you want to go."

  "I don't have any money--"

  "If it's that important to you, you can pay me back when you get some." I don't even consider trying to talk her out of just accepting my generosity because I can see Cat has pride. I can see that's about the only thing she has of value to her name, and I'm not about to steal it from her. "How's that sound?"

  She turns slightly away from me, letting her gaze roam over the tiny space of my apartment. It takes her two seconds before returning to me. "You don't have a lot of room here. I wouldn't want to get in your way."

  "I'm not here a lot," I tell her as I stand from the table with my cup in hand. "I have a full-time day job. Between that and being at The Silo, we probably won't run into each other that much."

  And why do I feel a crushing sense of disappointment over that thought?

  "I'd want to pay you rent once I maybe get a job or something," she says, her chin lifting higher. Christ... the sexy seductress looks just adorable right now, all bowed up with dignity and determination.

  "What kind of work would you want to do?" I ask her, thinking I've got contacts in this area. Maybe I can help her out that way too.

  "I've only ever done two things to get by in this life, Rand," she says softly with just a trace of bitterness. It sucks to hear that tone the first time she calls me by my name. "And that's dancing and fucking."

  "Dancing?" I ask, because I can't bear to think of her prostituting herself to make a living. Although really... wasn't that what she was doing by marrying an older man?<
br />
  I mentally curse at myself for letting my head go there.

  "I was an exotic dancer in Vegas," Cat says with a grim smile. "That's where Samuel met me."

  I've seen Catherine naked many, many times and yeah... she has a dancer's body. Long limbs, soft curves in just the right places, and breasts that are spectacular. I bet she put on a fucking fantastic show.

  But that wouldn't benefit her here in Jackson as there aren't any titty bars and the thought of her returning to Vegas isn't all that appealing to me either for some weird reason. So I point her in the next best direction for now.

  "I suggest you work on finding out more about your legal rights," I tell her with a pointed look before lifting my cup to my mouth for a sip.

  "My legal rights?" Her eyes blink in confusion.

  "Well, yeah. I mean... you thought Samuel was going to take care of you, then some attorney shows up and tells you to get out of your house. Did he even show you a copy of the will giving him that authority?"

  Cat shakes her head, cheeks turning red with embarrassment. "I didn't ask. He was pushing me hard to get my stuff packed and to vacate."

  Even though I may not have gone to college and only have a degree from the school of hard knocks, I know enough to know that doesn't sound right.

  "You need to go to that attorney's office and ask for a copy of Samuel's will," I tell her. "As his wife, you're entitled to see it. I seriously don't think they can just kick you out like that. I'm sure there's some long process they have to go through or some shit."

  Cat's cheeks turn even redder. "I didn't even think to ask for a copy. God, I'm so stupid."

  Before I can stop myself, I take one step to her chair, grasp her chin with my hand, and squeeze slightly to get her attention. "You are not stupid. You're in a bad place and that attorney took advantage of that. But now you're on solid ground and I'll help you figure this out. Okay?"

  For a moment, I think she might cry on me, and I brace myself for it. I don't do well with tears. I'm a sucker for them. If I see one drop spill, I'll pull her in my arms. At that point, I'll really have to take shit from Jake that I can't seem to help myself when it comes to a lost woman.